Im called Emily, and at sixty, I live in Bath. Never did I imagine that after all Ive endured, the past would return with such audacity and cruelty, twenty years of silence later. The most painful part? Its my own son whos brought it back.
At twenty-five, I was head over heels. Jamestall, charming, full of lifewas everything I dreamed of. We married quickly, and a year later, our son William arrived. Those early years were like a fairy tale. We lived in a small flat, making plans together. I worked as a teacher, and James as an engineer. Nothing could touch our happiness.
But over time, James changed. He came home later, lied, grew distant. I ignored the rumours, turned a blind eye to his late returns and the scent of another womans perfume. Then one day, the truth was undeniable: he was cheating. Not just once. Friends, neighbours, even my parentsthey all knew. I clung to saving our family, for Williams sake. I endured too long, hoping hed come to his senses. One night, I woke to find his side of the bed empty, and I knew I couldnt take anymore.
I packed my things, took five-year-old William by the hand, and went to my mothers. James didnt even try to stop us. A month later, he moved abroadsupposedly for work. Soon enough, he found another woman and erased us from his life. No letters, no calls. Absolute indifference. I was alone. My mother passed, then my father. William and I faced everything togetherschool, hobbies, illnesses, joys, graduations. I worked tirelessly so hed want for nothing. My life revolved around him.
When William started at Cambridge, I helped however I couldcare packages, money, emotional support. But buying him a flat? That was beyond me. He never complained, insisting hed manage. I was proud.
Last month, he came home with news: he was getting married. My joy didnt last. He was fidgeting, avoiding my gaze. Then he dropped it:
“Mum I need your help. Its about Dad.”
My breath caught. He said hed reconnected with James, whod returned to England and was offering him the keys to a two-bed flat, inherited from his grandmother. But there was a condition. I had to remarry James and let him move into my home.
I was stunned, staring at my son, disbelieving. He pressed on:
“Youre alone Youve no one. Why not try again? For me. For my future family. Dads changed”
I walked to the kitchen in silence. The kettle, the tea, my shaking hands. Everything blurred. Twenty years of raising him alone. Twenty years without a word of concern. Now, James reappears with a “proposition.”
I returned to the living room and said calmly, “No. I wont do it.”
William erupted. He shouted, accused me of selfishness, blamed me for his fatherless childhood, claimed I was ruining his life now. I stayed quiet. Every word cut deep. He didnt know the sleepless nights, how Id sold my wedding ring to buy him a winter coat, how Id skipped meals so he could have meat.
Im not lonely. My lifes been hard but honest. I have my job, my books, my garden, my friends. I dont need a man who betrayed me, returning not for love but convenience.
William left without a goodbye. He hasnt called since. I know hes hurt. I understandhe wants the best for himself, just as I once did for him. But I wont trade my dignity for square footage. The price is too high.
Maybe one day hell understand. Maybe not soon. But Ill wait. Because I love him. Trulyno conditions, no flats, no “ifs.” I brought him into this world with love. I raised him with love. And I wont let that love become a bargaining chip.
As for my ex-husband let him stay in the past. Thats where he belongs.
