**A Mother I Owe Nothing To**
Emma and Oliver were preparing for their wedding. The night before the big day, Emma’s mother, Margaret, came to meet Oliver’s mum, Victoria. The introductions happened at Victoria’s house in Manchester. They chatted about wedding plans over tea, and the evening passed smoothly. The next morning, as Margaret got ready to leave, Emma walked her outside.
“So, what do you think of Oliver?” Emma asked.
“He seems lovely,” her mother smiled, then sighed heavily.
“Mum, what’s wrong?” Emma frowned.
“Sweetheart, keep your distance from his mother. There’s a lot you don’t know about her.”
Those words would soon carry weight.
When Emma learned Victoria planned to move in with them, she confronted Oliver directly.
“You’ll have to choose—either me or your mum.”
“I’m not choosing,” he said calmly. “We’ll carry on as we are, and she can sort herself out.”
“So you won’t let her move in?”
“I’ve already told her no.”
“How’d she take it?”
“Not well. Called me ungrateful and swore I’d regret it.”
“Predictable.”
Victoria had retired early after years as a flight attendant.
“Enough,” she’d declared, securing a generous pension—far more than most. Yet, she quickly realised it wasn’t enough for her lavish tastes. The solution was obvious: shift the burden onto her son.
“I raised you, paid for your education. Now it’s your turn—support me,” she announced when Oliver turned 23. “Starting next month, you cover the rent and groceries.”
“Fine,” he agreed. “But if I’m paying, you stay out of my life.”
She agreed—and, to her credit, kept her distance. His life never much interested her. Oliver had been raised mostly by his grandparents while she chased her own dreams, never quite catching them.
Years passed. He moved in with her during secondary school, dutifully paying the bills while she spent her pension on indulgences. By the time Victoria turned fifty, Oliver brought home a wife.
“You look so well kept!” Emma stammered at their first meeting. “Not what I expected from a pensioner.”
Learning the newlyweds would stay with her, Victoria was pleased. “Good,” she said—thinking, *Now I won’t have to cook.*
Emma took it kindly, but Oliver set her straight:
“She just didn’t have the guts to kick us out. I’ve been paying for everything myself these past five years.”
Margaret’s visit soon shattered whatever illusions remained.
“Be careful, love. That woman lives only for herself. She’ll discard you the moment it suits her. Hold on to your husband—I like him. But his mother? Unlucky, that.”
Six months later, Victoria fell in love. A man named Daniel started visiting often. Then—
“You have two weeks to move out. I’m selling the flat. Moving to Brighton.”
“Seriously?” Oliver was stunned.
“Why not? It’s mine. My parents bought it.”
“And you’re throwing us out?”
“Yes. Perfectly legal.”
Oliver grabbed his coat and left. By evening, they were packing. A colleague renting out a spare room took them in. Within a month, Victoria sold the flat and left with Daniel.
Days later, Oliver asked her for a loan.
“No. Every penny’s already accounted for,” she said coldly.
“Right. Good luck, then.”
“You too,” she smiled—not even a hug goodbye.
A year later, Victoria called. Daniel had divorced her, taken her money, and vanished. Homeless, she returned, declaring:
“I’m moving in with you.”
“No. Use what’s left for a mortgage.”
“A mortgage? At my age? On a pension?”
“Get a job. Manage like everyone else.”
“You won’t help me?”
“I owe you nothing, Mum.”
She erupted. “Ungrateful wretch! I raised you!”
“I learned from the best,” he replied.
Victoria couch-surfed while her money lasted. Then, rejection after rejection. Back to Oliver.
“Mum, you’re not ill. Rent a room. Find work.”
“Don’t you feel sorry for me?”
“No. You remind me of the grasshopper that sang all summer.”
Eventually, Victoria found her solution—not a job, but a new husband. The first willing one with a flat.
But that’s another story entirely.
