**Light in the Window: A Path to Happiness**
Victor, or Vicky as his mother called him, had long passed the age of thirty-eight. But to Professor Eleanor Hartwood of the local university, he remained her little boy, her precious treasure. She never saw him as a grown man capable of living his own life.
Eleanor had never married. She devoted herself entirely to her work and her son, whom she had given birth to at thirty-six. Victor was born frail, and she did everything to strengthen him. Her care knew no bounds—she dressed him, spoon-fed him, even brushed his teeth for him. By three, he was a sturdy, sweet little boy, but Eleanor never let him stray from her side.
Problems arose in nursery school. The teachers chided her:
“Your son can’t do anything on his own! The other children dress themselves, but he just waits for help.”
She dismissed their criticism.
“He has a mother! If it’s too hard for you to dress him, find another job!”
In the end, she pulled him from nursery and hired a nanny who, like her, denied the boy any independence. Victor grew accustomed to others making decisions for him. By the time he started school, Eleanor found a new nanny—a retired neighbor who monitored his every move. She obtained medical notes excusing him from PE. Food, clothes, routines—she chose it all.
“Eat your sandwich, you’re still hungry,” she’d say, carefully spreading butter on bread before handing it to ten-year-old Victor.
He obeyed without protest. There was no arguing with Mum.
Victor wasn’t naturally heavy, but lack of activity and overfeeding took their toll. By twenty, he was tall, pleasant-looking, but slightly pudgy. He enrolled at the university where his mother taught. Colleagues snickered watching Eleanor wait for him in the cloakroom, helping him into his coat. His jacket sleeves had mittens clipped to them—so he wouldn’t lose them.
He studied diligently and, after graduating, stayed on as a lecturer—his mother insisted. At twenty-six, she decided it was time for him to marry. She chose the bride. Victor didn’t object. But the marriage quickly collapsed.
“She wasn’t who she pretended to be!” Eleanor fumed. “She said Victor was too dependent, criticized my care. I wouldn’t stand for it and had them divorced!”
Ten years later, she found another bride. And again, she dissolved the union, declaring the woman “unsuitable.”
Emily, Victor’s second wife, had their son Matthew after the divorce. Eleanor demanded a DNA test to confirm paternity. But for the first time in his life, Victor stepped out of her control. He went to Emily’s to meet his son.
Emily lived modestly in a rented flat. The moment Victor saw two-month-old Matthew, something in him shifted.
“I’m staying with you,” he said firmly.
He called his mother later, saying he’d collect his things another time. Eleanor sobbed all night, desperate to reel him back. She didn’t even know Emily’s address. Victor avoided her, picking up his belongings when she was out.
Then one day, he invited her to Matthew’s birthday. Eleanor arrived laden with gifts, beaming.
“For my grandson, Matthew Victor Hartwood!” she announced proudly in the shop.
Victor greeted her at the door, Matthew in his arms.
“Meet your grandma, son,” he said. “Mum, you’ve no rival in spoiling him. Emily, as you know, lost her parents years ago.”
He handed the baby to her. Eleanor held back tears, though her heart ached with emotion.
“You’re giving him a fork?” she gasped, eyeing Emily. “What if he pokes himself?”
“It’s a child-safe fork,” Emily replied.
“And his socks? Does he put them on himself?”
“He does,” Victor cut in. “He’s been doing that for ages.”
“And drinking from a cup? What if he spills?”
“If he does, he’ll learn to be neater,” Victor smiled.
“Riding a bike? What if he falls?”
“We’ll help him up,” he said. “And if he cries, we’ll comfort him.”
Eleanor was the only guest. The table was set with warmth, and for the first time, she felt valued.
“Mum, Emily and I remarried,” Victor said. “Matthew has my name now.”
“Why don’t you move in with me?” she ventured timidly. “My three-bed feels so empty…”
“No, Mum,” Victor replied gently. “We want our own place. We’re saving for a mortgage. It’ll work out.”
Eleanor spent the day with Matthew, and they bonded instantly.
“Let me take him sometimes,” she pleaded.
“Just don’t spoil him rotten!” Victor laughed.
“What else are grandmas for?” she retorted. “Without you, I’m so lonely… Work isn’t enough. You make me happy. Thank you, Emily, for my grandson!”
“And thank you for your son,” Emily smiled. “Matthew has the best father.”
Returning home, Eleanor was swallowed by silence. Rooms once full of life now felt cold. She opened her laptop and began typing:
“For sale: 3-bed flat, 700 sq ft, central Oakvale. Spacious kitchen, separate bathroom, third floor, quiet courtyard with a playground. Near schools…”
But after a pause, she closed the draft and searched for smaller flats instead. Her eyes landed on a modest one-bed near the university.
“I’ll keep this one for my grandson,” she decided. “They’re living in a rented room—how could I allow that? I’ve savings, and if need be, I’ll take a loan. My salary can cover it.”
A week later, Eleanor arrived unannounced. Emily tensed, but her mother-in-law simply placed keys on the table.
“The flat’s clean, furnished,” she said, almost apologetic. “I bought a one-bed nearer work. Just a bed and desk for now, but I’ll manage.”
Victor and Emily were stunned.
“Mum, what about you?” Victor asked.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Matthew needs a home.”
Little Matthew toddled over, arms outstretched.
“He wants his gran,” Victor chuckled.
Eleanor scooped him up, spinning around the room, laughing.
“There’s sunlight in my window again!”
Her heart, so long numbed by loneliness, now beat in time with joy. She knew—for that smile, for her family, she’d made the right choice.
