*”You Dont Owe Me Anything”*
Son, think carefully before its too late! That boy is nothing like you. Your Alice probably had him with her ex and now shes making you raise him! I just know it!
Mum, enough! Oliver *is* my son Why must you always stir the pot? Right, Im going home.
Margaret had raised her son alone. Between her and Edward, the bond had always been stronghed never disrespected her, never talked back, and did brilliantly in school. As he grew, he became an engineer, just as shed hoped. Now it was time to sort out his love life. Margaret had picked out a fiancée for him: a lovely young woman named Beatrice, her best friend Agathas daughter.
Edward and Beatrice, under pressure from Mum, started seeing each other, but the spark never really lit. After a few awkward months, they called it quits. Then Edward met Charlotte. It was whirlwindEdward saw in her a kindred spirit from the start. They married within three months, much to Margarets dismay. Six months later, Charlotte was pregnant. A boy arrived, and they named him Oliver.
Everything *should* have been perfect, if not for Margarets relentless disdain for her daughter-in-law. Every visit came with fresh criticisms, even four years into the marriage:
Look what shes done to you! Youre a complete mess
Mum, Im *not* a mess! The shirt just got creased in the wash.
Sit down, eat something! I bet your wife hasnt cooked a thing. Youll starve!
Mum, were having dinner at home. Charlottes a great cook.
Oh, I know her cookingfrozen lasagne or, worse, takeaways. Meanwhile, Beatrice took pastry classes. Now *theres* talent
Edward brushed off his mothers jabs as best he could. He ignored her gossip and never repeated her complaints to Charlottewho didnt deserve them anyway. But Margarets cold war against her daughter-in-law raged on. And one day, her strategy worked
Hello, son Why does your *Charlotte* never visit? You always come alone!
Mum, how can she visit when you snipe at her constantly?
Id only snipe if she gave me reason! And while youre here sipping tea, shes probably off with that ex of hers. I know all about *Daniel*, that useless layabout. And that boy looks just like him. She had him *before* you, and now youre footing the bill!
That night, Edward blew up at his mother. Hed had enough of the sly digs and whispered suspicions. He stormed home in a foul mood.
Daddy, daddy, hi! Oliver raced to greet him.
Hey, mate. Whatd you get up to today?
Mum and me went to the park. We saw Mr. Daniel. He bought me chocolate. And juice!
A cold thought slithered into Edwards mind: *What if Mums right?* That evening, he confronted Charlotte.
Why were you with your ex?
Ed, it was *coincidence*. We ran into him. We chatted, then he walked us home.
Why does my *wife* and *son* need walking home by *him*? Is Oliver even *mine*?!
Edward, are you *serious*?!
That night, they had their first real row. After that, arguments became routine. Eventually, Charlotte had enough. She packed her things, took Oliver, and moved back to her hometown.
Divorce followed, and Edward was stuck with child support. He *knew* the boy wasnt hisbut he never fought it in court, resigning himself to paying. Margaret, thrilled, launched a full-scale campaign to reunite Edward with perfect Beatrice.
It worked. Edward married Beatrice. But from day one, his new life was chaos. Beatrice nitpicked endlessly, demanding luxuries.
Irenes husband already bought her *two* fur coats! The Wilsons just got a *Mercedes*! Meanwhile, Im stuck in last years winter coat driving a *Dacia*! Are you even a *man*?
Fifteen miserable years passed. Edward worked two construction jobs while Beatrice sunbathed in Marbella and maxed out credit cards. She refused children”Im living for *me* first.” Margaret tried to meddle, but Beatrice shut her down fast.
Then came the call from the hospital. Margaret had had a stroke. She needed round-the-clock care. Beatrice announced, Im *not* playing nurse. Put her in a home.
Beatrice, maybe I should quit work
Are you *mad*? Howd we pay the mortgage? My *Range Rover* still has four years on the lease!
Margaret went to a care home. Edward returned to work. A month later, she passed. He came back for the funeral but forgot to tell Beatrice. Unlocking the door, he got the shock of his lifehis wife in the arms of their neighbour. No scene, no shouting. He just packed a bag and moved into his mothers flat.
After the funeral, Edward sat alone, stewing over Margarets wisdom. Why had he listened? A life wastedno family, no friends, not even a car (Beatrice took *everything*). Then he thought of Charlotte. And Oliver. Was the boy even his? Too late now
*Oliver must be nineteen A man now. Whats he like?* The empty flat offered no answer.
Next morning, Edward took a train to Charlottes hometown. He found the house easily. No one answered the door. At work, he guessed, loitering outside. Twenty minutes later, he turnedand froze. A young man approached. His *exact* face, twenty years younger.
Oliver Oliver my son.
You? What are *you* doing here? Olivers voice was ice.
Son, II owe you an apology. The resemblance Wheres your mum?
Gone. Ten years now. Car crash.
And you? Who looks after you? Let me help. Ive got money
I live with Gran. We want *nothing* from you.
But son, I *wanted* to
Oliver walked inside and slammed the door.
Son! *Please!* Im your *father!*
Edward stood there, sobbing, face wet with tearsor was it rain? He came back again and again, begging for a chance. But Oliver refused. Some doors, once shut, stay shut forever.
