You know, I always thought our family had everything just right—steady, reliable, safe. My Oliver, my only son… His birth dad left before he even turned three. But my second husband, William, stepped up, raised him like his own, was there for every little thing. We never had more kids, so all our love and hopes poured into Ollie. He grew up kind, clever, polite—the sort of son any mum would be proud of. Then *she* came along, and everything shattered.
Emily. I clocked her the moment I saw her at the supermarket, even before he brought her home. She was at the till, arguing with the cashier over some petty thing. I remember thinking, *That’s the sort of girl who brings trouble*. Arrogant, sharp, icy. Never crossed my mind she’d one day walk into *my* house.
When Ollie introduced her as his girlfriend, I was gobsmacked. Knew right then she’d drive a wedge between us. And I wasn’t wrong. After that first visit, he barely came round anymore—always some excuse: work, busy, tired. Turned up to family dos without her. If I tried to talk to him, he’d shut down, avoid eye contact, change the subject. Felt him slipping away. Couldn’t do a thing about it.
Then the bomb dropped.
Last summer, at my niece’s birthday party—garden, laughter, sunscreen smells—my sister joked, “So when are we getting grandkids? Ollie’s been married ages!” My blood ran cold. *Married.* Turns out, six months prior, he and Emily tied the knot. Abroad. No ring, no party, no photos. And *no us*. Just quietly, secretly, like we’d stopped mattering.
My chest caved. Couldn’t even speak. Just walked inside. Later, he rang. Said he didn’t want to upset us, that I’d never liked Emily anyway, why ruin it for everyone? Said it all flatly, like he was discussing a new hoover. His voice didn’t even sound like *him* anymore.
Part of me gets it. He wanted to dodge drama. Keep it simple. But family’s not about *convenience*. It’s about sharing the big things. Being there. Instead, he did it behind our backs. This is the boy who used to grip my hand when he was scared of the dark. Who once promised he’d only marry someone I’d love too. How did we get *here*?
Now? I’m lost. Don’t blame Ollie—he’s my son. Always will be. But *her*? Never forgive. Not for the wedding. For taking him from me. Slow, sneaky, like a cat stealing milk. Making him believe family’s something you can scrap with a plane ticket.
He thinks he avoided a row. But all he did was make it worse. Could’ve tried to bridge the gap, given us a chance. Now? There’s a wall between me and that woman. Not anger—just… cold. Indifference. And that’s worse.
Time’ll pass. I’ll pretend, for him. For grandkids, maybe. But my heart won’t thaw, not properly. ‘Cause the truth’s sunk in: I’m not part of my son’s life anymore. And no amount of “cheerio” can stamp *that* pain out.
