The Final Sacrifice
“Mum, I need to talk to you.”
“That sounds ominous.” Irene gave her son a worried look.
Handsome, bright. He’d always been such a good boy, never caused her any trouble. But then, in his final year of college, he fell in love for the first time. Skipped classes, his grades slipped. She tried talking to him. Turned out the girl didn’t feel the same. She liked another boy—one whose parents had money.
No matter how much Irene tried to convince him that first love is pure, that money didn’t matter, that the girl simply fancied someone else, her son wouldn’t listen. He’d convinced himself that if they’d had money, a flash car, she’d have chosen him.
He took the rejection so hard Irene feared for him. She found a therapist, someone who could talk to Will man-to-man. It helped. He passed his A-levels, got into university. And, of course, fell in love again.
By the end of his first year, he announced that most students lived away from home—he wanted a flat, independence.
“How will you afford it? Rent isn’t cheap. I can’t help—you know my salary. You’re eighteen; your father’s child support’s stopped. Or have you decided to drop out, switch to distance learning?”
“I spoke with Dad. He said he’d help at first.”
“You spoke to him? Saw him? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’d have talked me out of it. You divorced him, not me.”
“When we split, he switched jobs straight away. Had his salary officially lowered to cut child support. He walked away from both of us. You really think he won’t back out?”
Will shrugged, defensive. “He promised.”
“Sure, a month or two—then an excuse. What then? You think Lily’s parents will bail you out?” Her maternal instinct told her he was hiding something.
After pressing him, Will caved.
“I told Lily the flat was mine—inherited from Nan. That there’d be no rent.”
“So you lied.”
“She hasn’t told her parents. They’re strict. They send her money—it’ll be enough.”
“And she’s fine living off you? Let me guess—you told her your dad’s got money so she wouldn’t pick someone richer. What happens when the truth comes out?”
Will scowled. “Money decides everything. When I finally have some, I’ll be old.”
“Starting with a lie isn’t right. Tell her the truth. If she loves you—”
“Enough, Mum. I’ve decided. Shouldn’t have told you. We’re not getting married. If it doesn’t work, we’ll split. You’re making problems out of nothing.”
Irene didn’t sleep. In the morning, she tried again, but Will snapped, stormed out. Returning from work, she found half his things gone. She couldn’t breathe—hadn’t imagined her gentle boy would leave like that.
She called that night. Loud music drowned his voice—probably celebrating. He muttered an apology, afraid of her tears.
Lost, she rang friends. One said she was clingy—he needed independence. Another said husbands prevented such messes. Her mother blamed her: spoiled him, sacrificed too much.
They weren’t wrong. But what else could she do? She’d give her life for him.
At first, she called often. Will grew impatient. “Stop checking up on me.”
He visited while she was out—leftovers and missing clothes proved it. After two months, he came on her day off. Her heart sank. Gaunt, crumpled shirt. She fed him silently, packed the fridge’s contents.
Then he said it.
“Nan lives alone. Maybe you should move in with her—free up your flat?”
“Money’s not the only issue, is it?”
“No. Lily’s pregnant.”
“You didn’t use protection?”
“She says the pill’s bad for her.” He shifted. “I already asked Nan. She agreed.”
“Again, you decide without me? Which flat do you want?”
“It’s too small for a baby. You and Nan would be better—”
Fury rose. She swallowed it. “I’ll think about it.”
After he left, she paced. Could she really leave? Move back with her mother, surrender control?
Her mother called. “I’ve emptied the wardrobe. You’ll have your old room.”
Irene bit back tears. Of course—everyone decided for her.
Moving brought relief. She’d given everything—now nothing remained to take.
Six months later, Lily had a girl—Daisy. They married last-minute. Visiting the flat, Irene recoiled at the mess. Lily seemed oblivious.
Irene left, shutting the door on her old life.
Will returned increasingly—thin, exhausted.
“It’s awful. We fight nonstop.”
She pitied him but had nothing left to give.
Then the blow. “We’re splitting. She won’t agree unless I give her half the flat.”
Irene’s voice hardened. “No. You wanted independence—sort it yourself.”
Will lashed out, blaming her.
She didn’t flinch. “Enough. No more.”
For the first time, she refused him—and felt no guilt.
A mother’s love, unchecked, becomes a noose. Give too much, and you vanish—leaving nothing for yourself.
