Ladies, it hurts me even to put these words down, but I can’t keep it inside any longer. My son—the only one I carried, raised, and cared for—now acts as if I don’t exist. And all of this started when *she* came into his life—his wife, my daughter-in-law. To this day, I still don’t understand what I did wrong. Where did I slip up? How can someone I love so dearly turn away from me like I’m nothing?
I raised my son alone. There were men in my life, but none of them stayed—some took advantage of my kindness, others just vanished. Maybe it’s my fault—maybe I wanted love too badly and mistook anything that felt close for the real thing. Back in the ’90s, I worked myself to the bone, saving every penny just to give him a decent life. I pushed through exhaustion, never sparing a thought for myself, sacrificing sleep and comfort.
Then someone came along—a lifeline. Married, yes, but he helped. Most importantly, he got my son a job at an oil company. He didn’t owe us anything, but he supported us—emotionally, financially—when no one else would. Thanks to him, my son built a career: trade school, then university, internships, a steady job. I believed in him even when he dreamed of his own business instead of a factory wage. I gave him money, even when I could barely afford bread.
Then he brought *her* home. Pretty, but a bit dim, I thought at the time. She got pregnant fast. I was thrilled—I’d have a granddaughter! I helped plan the wedding. A friend of mine lent them money for rings, and that’s when I first felt uneasy. She picked one that cost more than the entire budget, without consulting anyone. I gently suggested maybe they should both get modest matching ones instead. The look she gave me could’ve frozen hell. From that moment, I was enemy number one.
I kept quiet. Endured it. I even bought them a car so my son could earn extra after shifts. But then everything fell apart. They sold the car, money got tight. Her parents started with the jabs: *”What kind of man can’t provide for his family?”* Divorce followed. My son drank himself into a pit. Lost his license. I pulled him out, helped him back up. Then he started a business. And the moment money returned—so did she. And he let her. But he started avoiding *me*.
The business is in my name—because of his debts. He pays them off bit by bit. Then he took up gambling, chasing the dream that one big win would fix it all—his marriage, his life, his stability. I gave him more money—for staff, rent, expansion. He swore it’d work. I believed him. Then he demanded more—for me to quit my job and “be useful” to him. So I did. And now? I sit and wait for them to remember I exist. Mostly, they don’t. I can’t even buy my granddaughter a gift—no spare cash. They only call when they need something.
He gave me a car—sleek, modern. But I can’t afford petrol or insurance because he won’t give me a penny. Sometimes he takes it, returns it damaged. Once, when I desperately needed to go somewhere, it wouldn’t start. And let’s not forget I’m still paying off the loan for his *last* car—the one in my name. At first, he paid. Then he stopped. And what do I do? Stay silent. Because that’s what mothers do.
I signed over part of my flat to them. Holidays? Not invited. Not for Christmas, not birthdays. Once, I went to his workplace—he yelled at me. Said I embarrassed him. *Why?* I don’t drink. I’ve written for literary journals, been in the Writers’ Guild, read books, worked hard my whole life. I’m not some doddering old nuisance.
Sometimes I just apologize—for everything. Even when I don’t know what I’ve done. Just, *”Sorry if I’ve upset you.”* Now? Blocked. Can’t call. Can’t text. Just silence. And it’s driving me mad. I sit by the window, watch strangers’ children pass, and wonder—*what did I do wrong?* Why has the one person who was my everything decided I’m nothing now?
I cry from a pain I can’t voice, can’t escape. I cry because the one who should’ve been my rock is now the farthest person in the world. All I have left are memories and this stubborn hope—that one day, he’ll remember. How I held his hand when he was scared. How I stood by him when the world turned away. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll understand. A mother doesn’t betray. A mother just loves.
