**The Last Sacrifice**
“Mum, I need to talk to you.”
“That sounds ominous,” Irene said, studying her son with concern.
Handsome, smart—he’d always been a good lad, never given her much trouble. Then, in his final year of school, he fell in love for the first time. Started skipping classes, his grades slipped. She tried talking sense into him. Turned out, the girl—Emily—didn’t return his feelings. She fancied another lad whose parents were well-off.
No matter how Irene reassured him—that first love was the purest, that money had nothing to do with it, that Emily simply wasn’t interested—he wouldn’t listen. He’d convinced himself that if only *he* had money, a flash car, she’d love him instead.
He took the rejection so hard, Irene feared for him. She found him a therapist, a man who could talk to William straight. It helped. He scraped through his A-levels, got into uni. And, of course, fell in love again.
By the end of his first year, he announced, “Half the lads at uni have their own places. I want to rent a flat, be independent.”
“How will you pay for it? Rent isn’t cheap. I can’t help—you know my salary. You’re eighteen now, your dad’s stopped the maintenance. Or are you dropping out to work?”
“I spoke to Dad. He’ll help out at first,” William replied.
“You *saw* him? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’d just talk me out of it. *You* divorced him, not me,” he snapped.
“When we split, he switched jobs straight after. Made sure his official pay was slashed to lower the child support. He walked away from *both* of us. You really think he won’t back out after a month or two?”
William hesitated, then caved. “I told Emily the flat was mine—inherited from Nan. Said we wouldn’t have to pay rent.”
“So you lied? And her parents won’t help either?”
“Emily hasn’t told them we’re living together. They’re strict. But they send her money every month—it’ll be enough.”
“She’s lying to them too, then? Not afraid to live off someone else’s dime? Let me guess—you also told her your dad’s loaded, so she wouldn’t pick someone richer?”
William scowled. “Yeah, I did. What else was I supposed to do? Girls always choose money. By the time I have any, I’ll be old.”
“Starting your life on lies is *wrong*. Tell her the truth. If she loves you—”
“Stop, Mum. I’ve made my mind up. Shouldn’t have said anything.”
Irene barely slept. By morning, his things were gone. He’d slipped out without a word.
When she finally reached him, loud music drowned their call—probably some celebration. He muttered an apology, afraid of her tears.
Stunned, she rang her friends. One said she was clingy—time to let him go. Another had a husband who’d “put his foot down” with their daughter. Her own mother blamed her: “Spoilt him rotten. Should’ve remarried instead.”
They weren’t wrong. But she’d sacrifice anything for him.
Then he turned up weeks later—haggard, in a wrinkled shirt. His dad had cut him off, just as she’d warned.
“Mum… Nan lives alone. You could move in with her, and we’d take your flat.”
“You’ve talked to Nan *already*?”
“Emily’s pregnant.”
Irene’s chest tightened. *This* was what she’d feared—her shoulders weren’t strong enough for his burdens.
Emily, it seemed, had opinions: Nan’s flat was “too small and damp” for a baby.
Clenching her fists, Irene agreed—then moved in with her mother, surrendering her home, her freedom. At least now he had nothing left to take.
But doubts gnawed at her. Why weren’t *Emily’s* parents helping?
A policeman friend dug up the truth: Emily’s dad was a drunk; her mum had remarried. Neither cared.
Months later, a granddaughter arrived—Daisy. The flat they’d taken was a mess, but Irene bit her tongue.
Soon, William was on her sofa, exhausted. “Emily wants more money. We fight non-stop.”
Then came the ultimatum: “She won’t divorce me unless I agree to sell the flat. Or I’ll never see Daisy.”
Irene hardened. “No.*Your* choices, *your* consequences. Let *her* parents bail you out this time.”
William stormed out, spewing venom.
For once, she didn’t crumble. A mother’s love shouldn’t be a noose.
