Three years of marriage and every night, my husband left our bed to sleep with his mother. One night, I followed himwhat I uncovered took my breath away.
Its hard to believe, but Tom and I had been married for three years. To the rest of the world, we were the ideal couple. Tom was considerate, hardworking, and loving. But there was something about him, a peculiar habit, that gnawed at me relentlessly.
Every night, somewhere between midnight and one in the morning, Tom would slip quietly out of my arms, careful not to wake me. Hed tiptoe out of our bedroom, heading to his mothers room. She lived with usMrs. Margaret. And every morning, just before dawn, hed finally creep back.
That first year, I tried so hard to understand.
Mum cant sleep, Lucy, hed say. She needs someone by her side at night.
But by the second year, doubts and questions grew louder in my head. Was Tom a mamas boy? Was I just a third wheel in my own marriage?
By the third year, jealousy and suspicion consumed me. It hurt seeing Tom so devoted to his mother, as if there was someone standing between us, night after night.
Why do you sleep in her room? I demanded one evening, finally unable to hold it in. Im your wife! You should be with me. What are you doing in there with her all night? Chatting till the sun comes up?
Lucy, please understand, Tom replied, dark circles under his eyes. Mums unwell. She cant be alone.
Unwell? I countered. In the mornings, I see her eating breakfast, watching breakfast telly. She looks perfectly fine. This just feels like an excuse not to sleep near me!
He only bowed his head and walked away quietly.
Fueled by anger and suspicion, I made my choice: I would follow him. I needed the truth.
Midnight came.
As always, Tom carefully untangled himself from me. He thought I was asleep, but Id been lying there for hours, waiting, watching. He slipped from the room.
I waited a few agonising minutes, then crept after him barefoot, doing everything to stay quiet.
I arrived at Margarets door. It was partly open.
My whole body tensedI was ready to burst in, to finally confront them.
But what I witnessed floored me.
Insidelit only by a dim lampMargaret, who by day seemed so calm, so normal, was softly tied to her bed with strips of sheet. She was thrashing about, eyes wild and glazed, drenched in sweat, foam gathering at her mouth.
Get away! Leave me alone! Dont hurt my boy! she shouted hoarsely.
Tom was holding her, stopping her from hurting herself. I could see his arms, covered in bite marks, scratches, bruises.
Shhh, Mum, its me. Tom. Youre safe, he whispered, stroking her back.
No! Youre not Tom! Tom is dead! They killed him! she screamed, sinking her teeth into his shoulder.
He just closed his eyes in painyet didnt let go, didnt lose his patience.
I saw tears silently stream down his face.
Minutes later, Margaret vomited all over Toms shirt. The sharp, foul stench reached the doorway, but rather than recoil, Tom gently wiped her face clean, then changed his own clothes and hers.
My knees buckled. I had to steady myself against the doorframe.
Finally, after what felt like forever, Margaret quietedlucidity flashing across her face.
Tom? she asked, voice barely more than a whisper.
Yes, Mum. Im here.
She reached for him, noticing the fresh cuts.
Oh my darling boy, did I hurt you again? Im so sorry I didnt mean toplease, just leave me, go back to Lucy. Poor girl, youre neglecting her because of me.
Tom shook his head, tucking the blanket around her.
No, Mum. Ill stay. Lucy doesnt need to see any of this. I dont want her frightened or made to deal with this mess. Im your son. Its my burden. Let her sleep soundly.
But youre so tired
I can manage, Mum. I love you both, and Ill always protect youLucy by day, and you at night.
I crumbled. I pushed the door wide and entered.
Lucy?! Tom jumped up, trying to hide his soiled clothes. You shouldnt be in hereit smells awful
I went to him then, knelt by his side, and hugged his waist, sobbing, all the guilt flooding in.
Im sorry, I cried. Tom, I was wrong about you youve been enduring all this alone
I looked to Margaret, who now watched me with deep shame.
Mum, I said quietly, taking her hand, Why didnt you ever tell me? You have dementia, dont you? And the sundowning syndrome? (I knew it meant things got so much worse at night.)
We didnt want to trouble you, love, the old lady whispered. You work so very hard. I didnt want to be a burden.
Youre not, I said firmly.
I got up, fetched warm water and a towel, and gently cleaned Toms scraped arms and Margarets weary face myself.
Tom, I said while sponging away the grime, Three years youve carried this by yourself. From now on, youre not alone. Im your wife. In health, in sickness even if it means caring for Mum.
But Lucy
No buts. Well take turns, or well find a nurse. But youll never have to shoulder this by yourself again.
Tom broke down and hugged me. For the first time in years, I saw relief in his eyes. That heavy burden finally grew lighter.
After that, Margarets condition was no longer our secret. We faced it together. And I came to see that real love isnt measured in perfect moments, but in the willingness to stand by each other through the shadows and the storm.
The jealousy dissolved.
All that remained was respect and an even deeper love for a man who endured pain and sacrifice, just to protect those dearest to him.
