“Let them live with you! You’re the one who raised him like this!” my ex-husband, Edward, shouted down the phone, his voice trembling with anger. I stood there, pressing the receiver to my ear, feeling everything inside me tighten. The argument was about our son, Thomas, and his girlfriend, who had decided to move in together. But that conversation with Edward made me reflect not just on Thomas but on how our past mistakes had shaped our family.
Edward and I divorced ten years ago. Thomas was fifteen then, and the split hit him hard. One day he blamed me, the next his father, and often he just withdrew into himself. I tried to be both a mother and a friend—helping with schoolwork, listening to his stories about mates, driving him to football practice. After the divorce, Edward kept his distance. He paid child support and sometimes took Thomas for weekends, but there was no real closeness between them. I saw how much our son missed his father, but Edward was always busy—new job, new family. I never said it out loud, but it hurt to see Thomas longing for something Edward wouldn’t give.
Now Thomas is twenty-five. He’s grown up, graduated from university, and works at a tech firm. Six months ago, he introduced me to his girlfriend, Emily. She’s lovely, a graphic designer, always polite and cheerful. When they decided to move in together, I was happy for them. But since they couldn’t afford their own place yet, they asked to stay with me. My two-bed flat isn’t grand, but there was enough room. I gave them my bedroom and moved to the sofa in the sitting room. I thought it would be temporary, just until they saved enough for rent.
At first, it went well. Emily helped around the house, Thomas bought groceries, and sometimes they invited me to join them for supper. But after a couple of months, I noticed Thomas growing irritable. He’d snap at Emily over small things, and once I overheard them arguing about money. I stayed out of it—they were adults; they could sort it themselves. Then Edward called, furious. “Did you know your son refused to help me fix the shed? Said he had his own plans! And that Emily girl doesn’t respect me at all!”
I was surprised. Thomas had never mentioned his father asking for help. Turned out, Edward wanted him to come to his country house and repair the roof. Thomas refused, saying he was too busy. And Emily, according to Edward, “thinks too highly of herself.” I tried to calm him: “Edward, they’re young, they’ve got their own lives. Maybe you’re pushing too hard?” But he exploded. “You spoiled him! Raised a mama’s boy, and now he’s got no respect for his father! Let them stay with you, since you’re so generous!”
His words stung. *I* raised him? Where was Edward when Thomas needed a father? I was the one who pulled him through the teenage years, the rows and the tears. But maybe Edward was right. Had I coddled him too much? Made him selfish? I started remembering all the times I’d indulged Thomas—buying him whatever he wanted, shielding him from trouble. Maybe I *had* made him too dependent.
I decided to talk to my son. That evening, while Emily was out with her friends, I asked, “Thomas, what’s happened with your father? He said you refused to help him.” My son frowned. “Mum, he expects me to drop everything and drive out to his place. I’ve got work, projects—I can’t just leave. And Emily doesn’t owe him anything.” I nodded, but something didn’t sit right. Thomas sounded reasonable, but his tone was sharp, like he couldn’t be bothered to understand his father.
Later, I spoke to Emily. She admitted Edward had made a rude remark about her once, and she’d answered back. “I didn’t mean to offend him, but he acts like I should just obey,” she said. Then I realized—it wasn’t just about Thomas. Edward seemed to want control but wasn’t willing to meet anyone halfway.
That row with my ex made me think about a lot of things—our marriage, our mistakes. Maybe Edward and I never showed Thomas that family means compromise. I decided not to interfere in their feud, but I’d ask Thomas and Emily to be more patient. They’re young; they’ve got their whole lives ahead, but respect for elders matters. I also talked to Edward, suggested he ease up and try to rebuild a connection. He grumbled but said he’d think about it.
Now, watching Thomas and Emily, I see us—Edward and me, years ago, full of hope but tangled in our own problems. I don’t want them to repeat our mistakes. My flat is their shelter for now, but I know they’ll soon fly the nest. And I’ll be left with memories and the hope that one day, my son and his father might find common ground. Maybe Edward will even realize that raising a child was never just my job—it was his, too.
