My son was my friend and my rock throughout my life. But after his wedding, we became strangers.
I never thought my child could change so much under someone’s influence. My only son, Alexander, was always a golden boy — polite, kind, and ready to lend a helping hand. That’s how he grew up and how he remained as an adult. Until he got married, we were inseparable: meeting often, talking for hours about everything, sharing our joys and troubles, supporting each other. Of course, I didn’t meddle excessively in his life. But everything fell apart when she entered his life — Mary.
At the wedding, Mary and Alexander received a gift from her parents — a one-bedroom flat in the heart of London, freshly renovated. It became their own little nest. I’ve never visited, but my son showed me photos on his phone: bright walls, new furniture, cozy. After losing my husband, I was left with no savings, so I decided to give the youngsters most of my jewelry — gold chains, rings, earrings I’d collected over the years. I told Mary, “If you want to re-purpose them, I don’t mind.” I wanted to help them in their new beginning.
But Mary… She quickly showed her true colors. She had a sharp, keen character. I noticed her glancing into the envelopes of money they received as wedding gifts, curiosity evident as to how much there was. It made me uneasy. On one hand, such sharpness could make her a good wife, but on the other — one had to be careful with her. Modern women sometimes see husbands merely as wallets, spending their money as their own, then divorcing and taking half before moving on to someone else. I don’t wish such a fate for Alexander, but the worry gnaws at me.
Six months after the wedding, Mary declared she didn’t want children just yet. She claimed it was impossible in their cramped one-bedroom place. She pondered aloud, “What to do? I don’t want to take out a loan, and who knows when we’ll earn enough for a bigger home. Alexander hasn’t become a big boss yet.” I heard the calculation in her voice. I live in a house my late husband began building. It’s still unfinished, with holes in the walls. In winter, it’s as cold as a freezer — I can’t afford to heat the whole place on my pension. Then Mary proposed, “Sell your house, buy yourself a small flat, and give us the rest for a new place. Then we can think about kids.”
Do you understand what this means? She wants me, old and frail, to move into a tiny box and let them take the best. And later, they might even take that small flat from me, sending me to a care home. Initially, I considered agreeing — if they helped me financially just once a month. But now? Never! With someone like Mary, you have to be vigilant — you never know what to expect.
After that conversation, Alexander visited me a few times. He hinted that her idea wasn’t so bad: “Why do you need a big house? It’d be easier in a flat, less upkeep.” I stood my ground: “The city’s growing, in 5-10 years the properties will rise in value. My lot’s no longer on the outskirts; selling now would be foolish.” Once, I suggested we swap. They’d move into my house, and I into their flat. It’s the same, right? But Mary balked. She didn’t like that the house needed fixing, required investment, while I’d live carefree in their gifted flat. She wants convenience, even if my option is more advantageous. That’s how she is — nothing to be done.
Then I fell ill. Seriously so. I lay in bed, unable to rise — fever, cough, a splitting headache. I called Alexander, pleading for his visit, to bring food and medicine. I knew time was tight for them, but I was too weak to cook — couldn’t even manage the kettle. In the past, I’d have expected him to drop everything and rush over. Now? He came the next day. Made me some instant ‘Lemsip’, left a pack of aspirin on the table — no box, probably expired — shrugged, and left. Thank goodness my friend came to the rescue — brought soup, medicines, everything I needed. What if she hadn’t?
My son was my light, my support my whole life. I trusted him implicitly — he was not just a son, but a friend, a part of me. But the wedding changed 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 has placed herself between us like a wall, leaving me alone, unwanted. My mind insists the bond we had is broken. It’s his time to choose — mother or wife. And the choice is clear as day. Yet my heart still hopes he remembers what I once was to him and returns. But each day, that hope melts away, like snow under a foreign sun.
