My son has been my companion and support all my life. But after his wedding, we became strangers.
I never imagined that my child could change so much under someone else’s influence. My only son, Alex, was always a golden boy—polite, kind, ready to lend a hand. That’s how he grew, and that’s how he remained into adulthood. Before he got married, we were inseparable: we saw each other often, talked for hours about everything under the sun, shared our troubles and joys, and helped each other out. Of course, within reason—I didn’t interfere excessively in his life. But everything fell apart when she came into his life—Mary.
At the wedding, Mary and Alex received a gift from her parents: a one-bedroom flat in the heart of London, freshly renovated. It became their own, their little love nest. I haven’t visited them, but my son showed me photos on his phone: bright walls, new furniture, cozy. After the passing of my husband, I was left with not a penny of savings, and I decided to give the young couple almost all my jewelry—gold chains, rings, earrings that I gathered over the years. I told Mary, “If you want to melt them down, I don’t mind.” I wanted to do them a good turn, to support them at the start.
But Mary… She immediately showed her true colors. A woman with a sharp character. I noticed how she peeked into the envelopes with money they received at the wedding—her curiosity clearly getting the better of her. It put me on guard. Sure, that tenacity could make her a good wife, but on the other hand, you’ve got to keep your wits about you. Modern women often see their husbands as a wallet, spend his money as if it were their own, and then divorce, taking half and looking for new prey. I don’t want such a fate for Alex, but my anxiety gnaws at me from within.
Six months after the wedding, Mary announced that she didn’t want children yet. Not now, she said, in their cramped flat it was impossible. She shrugged, “What can we do? I don’t want to take out a mortgage, and who knows when we’ll save up for a bigger place. Alex isn’t a big boss yet.” She was speaking her mind, but I heard calculation in her voice. I live in a house that my late husband started building. It remains unfinished, with gaps in the walls. In winter, it’s as cold as a refrigerator—I don’t have enough of my pension to heat the whole place. And then Mary suggested, “Sell the house, buy yourself a flat, and give us the rest for a new flat. Then we might think about kids.”
Do you understand what that means? She wants me, old and frail, to move into a little flat, while they take everything better. And then, who knows, they might take that flat from me, sending me to an old folks’ home. I initially considered agreeing—if they would at least help me financially once a month. But now? No way! With someone like Mary, you have to be vigilant—she’s capable of anything foul.
After that conversation, Alex visited me a few times. He hinted that her idea wasn’t so bad: “Why do you need a big house? A flat would be easier, lower utilities.” I stood firm, “The city is growing, in 5-10 years houses will increase in value. My plot is no longer on the outskirts; selling now is foolish.” Once, I suggested we switch. They move into my house, and I move into their flat. After all, it’s the same, isn’t it? But Mary dug in her heels. She didn’t like that the house needed fixing and investing while I would live in their gifted flat carefree. She wants comfort, even if my offer is more advantageous. That’s just how she is—and there’s nothing to be done about it.
Then I got ill. Seriously, to the bone. I lay in bed, unable to get up—fever, cough, head splitting. I called Alex, begged him to come, bring food and medicine. I knew the young couple didn’t have much time, but I wasn’t up to cooking—I could barely manage the kettle. Previously, I could not have imagined that he wouldn’t drop everything and rush over. But now? He showed up only the next day. He made me some packet soup, dropped a box of aspirin on the table—without packaging, it seemed expired—shrugged, and left. Thank heavens, my friend saved the day—she brought soup, medicine, everything needed. What if she hadn’t been there? What then?
My son was my light, my support all my life. I trusted him unconditionally—he was not just a son but a friend, part of me. But the wedding rewrote everything. We became strangers, and I am powerless to change it. He is my only child, my love, my pride, but now I see: his heart is no longer with me. He chose her. Mary stood between us like a wall, and I’m left on the other side—alone, abandoned, unnecessary. Reason says the bond that was, is severed. It came time for him to choose—a mother or a wife. And the choice is plain as day. Yet, my heart still hopes he will remember who I was to him and return. But with each passing day, that hope melts like snow under an alien sun.
