Love can sweep you off your feet, make you forget everythingexcept the one who holds your heart. Thats what happened to Charles. He fell hard for Yasmin and lost sight of everything elseeven his conscience and his duty as a son. The choice between comfort and guilt weighed heavily on him.
“Charlie, where are we going to live?” Yasmin asked sweetly, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she leaned in.
“Where else? At mine.”
“But you live with your mum,” she pouted, crossing her arms.
“So what? Shes kind, easygoingdont worry about it,” Charles reassured her, brushing off her concerns.
Charles wasnt some naive lad. He was well into his thirties, and this would be his second marriage. His first wife hadnt worked outthey were too different. Shed miscalculated, assuming he earned well, pressuring him to start a business. But without capital, he couldnt get off the ground. In the end, she left him. At least thered been no children.
Hed met Yasmin in a café. Hed gone with his mate, Graham, to celebrate the birth of Grahams sona healthy lad, nearly nine pounds. Theyd had a few drinks when they spotted her, sitting alone, looking forlorn.
“Hey, love, whats got you down?” Charles had grinned, sliding into the seat opposite her. “Come join us. My mate heres got a proper reason to celebratehis sons just arrived.”
Yasmin barely hesitated before moving to their table.
“Congratulations,” she said, eyeing Graham. “A sonthats good. An heir.”
After the café, Graham went home, but Charles walked Yasmin back to her flat-share near the textile factory where she worked. Shed come from a small village up north, ten years his junior. That very night, he stayed over.
They dated, strolled through parks, and before he knew it, Yasmin had steered the conversation toward marriage and children.
“Charlie, youre over thirtyno kids yet. Time to fix that, yeah? Later might be too late,” she teased, though he knew she was tired of the noisy shared flat. She wanted a proper home.
Charles was smitten. He proposed.
“Yes! Yes!” she squealed. “When do we sign the papers?”
“Soon. For now, just move in with Mum and me.”
“No, Charlie. I wont live with your mother. Ive heard enough horror stories about mothers-in-law. I want our own place.”
“But, love, we cant afford rent on my wages. Thered be nothing left. Finewell figure something else out.”
Margaret sat by the kitchen window, watching the first snowflakes drift down. She wasnt well. Retired now, shed spent years teaching maths at a secondary school before her health gave out. Shed been rushed to hospital more than once.
That evening, Charles came home with Yasmin. Theyd met beforeshed visited a few timesbut Yasmin never bothered with small talk. A curt greeting, then straight to Charles room, her laughter echoing through the flat. She left without so much as a glance at Margaret.
“Mum Yasmin and I are getting married. Shell be moving in here,” Charles hesitated, then pushed on. “Thing is she doesnt want you living with us. Ive looked into ittheres a lovely care home just outside town. Good facilities, medical staff on hand You understand, dont you? We need our own space.”
The world could be cruel. It was easy to dismiss ageing parents when care homes existedeasy to forget the nights theyd stayed up by your bedside, the sacrifices theyd made. Charles hadnt considered any of that.
“I understand, son,” Margaret whispered, feeling something inside her snap.
She packed her meagre belongings into an old suitcase, and Charles drove her awayto the care home, far from the city.
Now her life was confined to a small room, where she sat by the window, clutching a worn photograph of her sonthe only remnant of her old life.
She hopedsomewhere deep downthat hed come back for her. Margaret had been widowed at thirty-six, raising Charlie alone. Her entire world had revolved around him. Shed worked two jobs just to make sure he never went without.
“Charlie” she whispered to the photo, tears slipping down her cheeks.
Time passed, but Charles never visited. Life with Yasmin was livelyuntil, barely six months in, she started coming home late, smelling of drink.
“Yasmin, where are you vanishing to every night? Youre my wifeshouldnt you be here?”
“Out with the girls, yeah? Veronicas birthday,” she slurred, shrugging.
“I married you so Id have a partnernot so you could gallivant about!”
“Dont lecture me, Charlie. Im a grown woman. You wont starveyou can cook, cant you?” She laughed, stumbling to bed.
A year later, Charles divorced herand remembered the debt he owed his mother.
“God, this is my punishment I cast her aside and didnt even check on her”
Then came the momentthe quiet ache of regret. One evening, as Margaret sat in her armchair, gazing at the grey sky, the door to her room creaked open.
“Mum”
She turnedand couldnt believe her eyes. There stood Charles, gaunt, shadows under his eyes.
“Charlie? Whats wrong? Are you ill?” she gasped, all anger forgotten.
“Mum, Im sorry I never shouldve” His voice broke. “I was a bastard. I treated you horribly. Please forgive me”
He dropped to his knees.
“Yasmin she wasnt who I thought. Shes been seeing other blokesalways out with friends. Stopped working, didnt come home some nights She left me for someone else. I filed for divorce.”
Margaret listened in silence, then stroked his hair.
“Charlie, I failed you. How could I do that?” He sobbed, clutching her frail shoulders.
“Its alright, son. You came back. Thats what matters.”
“Pack your things, Mum. Youre coming home.”
Margaret returned to the flat, where traces of Yasmins perfume still lingered. She and Charles lived together again, and he did everything to make amends.
“Mum, look what I got you,” hed say, bringing gifts after worka warm blanket, a cosy jumper, an orthopedic pillow.
“Son, you shouldnt spend so much”
“I want you comfortable. You spent your life for me. Thank God I realised in time. Well be alright now.” His voice was firm. “Ive got a better jobhigher pay. Well even get a bigger flat, your own room.”
“Oh, Charlie, Im so proud. But you mustnt live just for me. You need a family.”
“Alright, alright. Ill introduce you to Victoria. Weve been seeing each other.”
The next evening, Charles brought Victoria home, clasping her hand.
“Hello, Margaret,” she said warmly, her grey eyes kind. “I brought an apple piehomemade.”
“Oh, love, you shouldnt have!”
“Was no trouble at all.”
After Victoria left, Margaret hesitated.
“Son is she alright with me living with you?”
Charles flushed.
“Mum, when I told her about the care homeshe nearly tore me apart. Ive never been so ashamed. But I wanted her to hear it from me.”
For the first time in years, Margaret felt warmth in her chest. Not all was lost. Some people were still good.
Soon, evenings were spent with tea and Victorias apple or cherry pies. The three of them lived togetherpeaceful, happy. If Margaret dozed off, Victoria would tuck a blanket around her, and Margaret would whisper,
“Thank you, love.”
Charles finally understood true happinesshome wasnt walls, but the people waiting for you, no matter what.
One night at dinner, Victoria smiled nervously.
“Margaret, Charlie were expecting.”
Margaret burst into tears. “Oh, my darlingsIm so happy!”
Charles was speechless. Hed wanted children for so longall his mates had them. Then, recovering, he leapt up, hugging Victoria.
“Victoria, youre brilliantI love you so much!”
“And youre not so bad yourself,” she laughed.
That night, Charles lay awake, overwhelmed.
“Its never too late to fix a mistake. Never too late, as long as Mums still here.”
Time passed. Victoria gave Margaret a grandson and Charles a son. Their flat rang with laughter. Two years later, they moved to a bright, spacious homea nursery for the baby, a proper room for Margaret.
Good people still existed. And sometimes, if you listened, regret could lead you back to where you belonged.
