My son is so controlled by his wife that he only meets me in secret.
I, Margaret Elizabeth, raised my son, James, alone. Perhaps it’s my own fault that he grew up so dependent on his wife, but the realization breaks my heart. My childhood friend, Beatrice, once told me bluntly, “You coddled him too much.” Her words stung, but they made me think. Now I live in a small town near York, barely seeing James or my granddaughter, because his wife, Victoria, has completely taken over, and I’ve become a stranger in their lives.
James was born after I’d already put his father out of my mind—we’d lived together unmarried for four years. My father, a successful businessman, bought me a flat after I finished school to give me independence. In my youth, that flat was the centre of every gathering, but everything changed when I met James’s father. Love felt eternal, but the pregnancy was a surprise. There was no question of not keeping him—in my dreams, I was already holding my baby. His father tried to win me back, but I pulled away. We split before James was born. My parents urged me to stay for the sake of the child, but I insisted, “I’ll be both mother and father to him.” My dad just sighed and said, “Your life.”
When James was seven, my father passed away. Until then, we lacked for nothing—toys, clothes, holidays, my son had it all. He never threw tantrums, and my friends would ask, “How did you raise such a calm boy when he’s so spoiled?” I’d proudly reply, “I just love him. He’s the only man in my life.” Back then, I never imagined my “only man” would grow up and choose another woman, pushing me aside. I was consumed by his schooling, his future. To keep him out of military service, I arranged for him to “serve” in a cushy posting, and I’d bring him home-cooked meals every day just to see him smile.
After his service, James went to university, where in his third year, he met Victoria. The moment I saw her, my heart sank. She was beautiful, but her gaze—cold, commanding—sent a chill through me. I knew right then: this girl would dominate him. And she did. He became her shadow, bending to her every whim, spending all his money on gifts, inventing surprises just to please her. Victoria didn’t manipulate him outright—she simply let him love her, and he lost himself in her. Our conversations became nothing but his gushing praise of her. I knew I was losing my son, but I hid the pain, forcing politeness with my daughter-in-law.
Before the wedding, Victoria made her demands clear: the ceremony had to be lavish. I spent nearly all my savings to indulge her. But that wasn’t enough—I signed over my flat to James and moved in with my mother. That decision was my undoing. When Victoria found out the flat was in James’s name alone, she threw a fit. The next day, he rushed to the solicitor and added her to the deed. I felt the ground vanish beneath me—my sacrifice meant nothing to her. From then on, Victoria held a grudge, and I became an unwelcome visitor in the home that was once mine.
When their daughter, Emily, was born, things got worse. Victoria had James wrapped around her finger: he worked, provided for the family, and jumped at her every command at home. Then she found an excuse to keep me from seeing my granddaughter. “Emily’s allergic to your cats,” she declared. “You bring fur on your clothes—it harms her.” It was nonsense, but James believed her. He wouldn’t even look me in the eye when he said, “I’ll visit you sometimes instead.” His words cut like a knife. My boy, the one I raised, had become a stranger, obeying a wife who’d walled him off from me.
Now James sneaks over like a thief. We talk for half an hour about nothing, his eyes darting away, before he rushes off, terrified of being late for Victoria. I hardly see Emily—only at school plays or her ballet recitals, under Victoria’s watchful glare, never allowed a proper hug. My granddaughter’s eyes are starting to mirror her mother’s cold stare, and it terrifies me. My heart aches—I’m losing not just my son, but my grandchild too.
I want to change this, but I don’t know how. Victoria’s built a wall I can’t break through. James, my little boy, is her puppet now, and I’m an afterthought. Beatrice was right—I spoiled him, and now he can’t stand up to her. How do I fix this without wrecking his family? Every secret visit is another reminder of what I’ve lost. I live with this pain, dreaming of holding Emily, of talking properly with James, but Victoria stands between us like an immovable barrier. And I fear this rift will last forever.
