“He didn’t come because his wife wouldn’t let him,” she muttered, her voice thick with hurt. “She said we’re always demanding something from him—that she doesn’t need our house anyway.”
Valerie let out a weary sigh, her hands clasped tight in her lap. “He’s not coming,” she said softly. “At this point, James and I don’t even get upset anymore. We’ve grown used to it. Promises every time, then silence.”
“What happened this time?” I asked. “His wife again? I remember things weren’t exactly smooth between you two…”
“Maybe it was her,” Valerie admitted, bitterness creeping into her words. “Not that my son ever outright *says* she’s the one stopping him. But it’s obvious. He used to visit more. Now? Nothing. She’s found a way to keep him there. We’ll have to hire builders for the roof—apparently he can’t spare even *one* day.”
She was talking about her son, Thomas, now forty. Twelve years ago, he left their quiet village for the city, working his way up from mechanic to supervisor. He built his life there—married late, bought a flat, all on his own. His wife, Rebecca? They met when neither was young.
“She’d never had a serious relationship before him,” Valerie continued, lips pressed thin. “And I see why. That temper of hers… *merciless*. We clashed from the start. I tried, truly. But Rebecca? She’s always acted like I’m the enemy.”
“Overheard her on the phone once,” their neighbor cut in. “Even her *hello* drips with contempt. What he sees in her, I’ll never know.”
Rebecca barely acknowledged Thomas’s parents. Once a year, if she allowed it, he’d visit—alone. This spring, he’d promised to come help with the roof. Bought his train ticket. Then Rebecca stepped in.
“She’s pregnant,” Valerie spat, frustration sharp in her voice. “Now suddenly she can’t be left alone. Never mind that she’s a grown woman, a nurse—what danger could she possibly be in? Two weeks of nagging, and he caved.”
“How’s that even work?” James shook his head, jaw tight. “Does he escort her to work? Her parents live ten minutes away—let *them* help. Why must he drop everything for her?”
“*Exactly*,” Valerie agreed. “I swear, her mother’s behind this. ‘Don’t let him go, what if he comes back and leaves you?’ Her younger sister ended up a single mother, didn’t she? Now she’s back living with *them*.”
“But Thomas isn’t like that,” I argued. “He’s decent. Why couldn’t they both come?”
Valerie scoffed. “Rebecca? Visit *here*? Never. James rang her once—just once—and she screamed the house down. After that, he forbade me from calling him at all. Pointless.”
“What did she say to him?”
“That we’re always making demands. That we’re keeping him from his *real* family. That our house means nothing to her—‘keep your drafty old pile, we don’t want it.’”
“The nerve!”
“And my son?” Valerie’s voice wavered. “Claims he’s ‘caught in the middle.’ That he can’t upset her—not with the baby. I understand, but—” Her breath hitched. “We raised him. Gave him everything. And now he can’t spare *one* day?”
James had finally snapped. Told Thomas he wouldn’t wait—he’d hire the builders himself. If his wife mattered more than his parents, so be it.
But Valerie’s whisper cut deeper than anger ever could. “He doesn’t *see*,” she said. “Wives come and go… Parents? You only get one set. And they don’t last forever.”
