Dear Diary,
The day began with a sharp remark from James as I stepped through the back door of the little corner shop where I work. Leave the keys and disappear, he said, his voice flat as the morning mist outside our council house. It struck me like a cold wind, but I forced a smile and tried to push the thought away.
Lucy, my longtime colleague, peeked into the storeroom where I was sorting invoices. Helen, youre still here late again? Come home, youve worked yourself to the bone! she chided, eyeing the bustling aisles where young shoppers hunched over their phones while I wrestled with paperwork.
Its the end of the month, Lucy. We have a stock check tomorrow and Mr. Semen will have a field day if were not ready, I muttered, adjusting my glasses that kept sliding down my nose.
Lucy rolled her eyes. Honestly, youre sixtytwo! You should be thinking about yourself for once! I laughed, a hollow sound. Its easy to say, but what am I supposed to live on? My pension is a joke, barely enough for a loaf of bread. Thats why I stay here from dawn till dusk, just to bring in something, anything.
Dont worry, love. Ill be off in half an hour and head home, Lucy sighed, waving a quick goodbye before disappearing down the narrow hallway that smelled of cardboard and stale coffee. The last customers were still at the till, their receipts rustling, then the shop door slammed shut, sealing me in the quiet backroom.
I finished the last entry, stacked the papers, and stretched, feeling the ache in my back from a day spent on my feetreceiving deliveries, restocking shelves. My legs throbbed, swollen in my worn shoes. I slipped into my old coat, the cuffs frayed but still sturdy, and stepped out into the November chill. The wind ripped at my scarf, and the damp air wrapped around me as I walked to the bus stop.
The minibus was cramped, its windows fogged with breath. I squeezed between a chatty aunt clutching five shopping bags and a teenager with headphones blaring. I stared out at the streetlights, shop windows, and hurried pedestrians, thinking about the dinner Id have to prepare at home. James would be home soon, probably starving. Or perhaps nothed mentioned he was having dinner with his fiancée, Emily, tonight.
Emily had appeared in Jamess life six months agoa striking, auburnhaired woman with glossy nails and a voice that filled any room. At first, I sensed she was more of an intruder than a daughterinlaw. James, however, was smitten, glowing like a light bulb. He kept reassuring me, Mum, dont worry. Emilys lovely; we just havent gotten to know each other properly yet.
And indeed, over those months I learned enough to realise she treated our flat like a hotel lobbylolling on the sofa, ordering tea, demanding coffee, and speaking to me as if I were the housekeeper. Helen, could you please wash the teapot more carefully? There are still streaks! shed snap, or, Would you mind keeping your feet down? My head hurts! James pretended not to hear, following Emily around like a lovesick puppy while I kept my mouth shut, unwilling to tarnish his happiness.
My thoughts drifted to the day I raised James alone. His father, Colin, left when he was three, running off with a younger, more attractive woman. I was left with a toddler in my arms, no roof over our heads, and a cramped room in my sisterinlaws house. I bounced from one tiny flat to another, working two jobsby day at the library, by night scrubbing floors in officesto keep James clothed, fed, and educated. I refused to buy myself anything, mending the same dress over and over, yet I splurged on new boots and coats for him.
When James entered the technical college, I felt a surge of pride. He later landed a decent job at the factory, earning a steady wage. All those years of pennypinching finally allowed me to purchase a onebedroom council flat on the outskirts of town. It was old, but it was ours. I put the title in Jamess name, thinking it would be easier for him, for his future. He embraced me, his eyes shining, Mum, youre the best. Ill never leave you. I believed him, heart full.
Then Emily arrived, and everything shifted. James started staying out later, and eventually Emily began sleeping over. I found myself relegated to a foldout couch in the kitchen while the young couple occupied the bedroom. It was uncomfortable, but the house was theirs now, I told myself. Emily hinted that the flat was too small, that perhaps I should move elsewhere. James, how can we all live here three? No privacy! she whined. James brushed it off, Emily, thats my mum. Shell stay for now.
Those words froze in my chest. Was my own son really planning to push me out? I tried not to think of it, convincing myself he was being nudged by Emily.
The minibus halted, and I stepped off, trudging the three blocks to our flat. My legs felt like lead, my mind exhausted. I climbed the stairs to the third floor, unlocked the door with my battered key, and entered the dim hallway. The lights flickered on; voices drifted from the living room. I slipped off my coat and shoes, intending to head to the kitchen, when James emerged, his face pale and tense, Emily standing behind him with a smug grin.
Mum, wait, James blocked my path.
Whats wrong, love? I asked, my voice trembling. Are you ill? You look pale.
No, Im fine. We need to talk, he said, cutting me off. Dont worry about dinner.
Dont I started, but he snapped, Weve decided we need the flat for ourselves. Were getting married, so we need space. You earn a small pension, you could rent a room somewhere else.
My heart hammered. What what do you mean for ourselves?
Exactly. The flat is now in my name, legally speaking. So I think you should move out, he declared, his tone sharp.
I stared at him, at Emily, at the life Id built with my own two hands. But I bought this place! I saved every penny for it! I cried, clutching the hallway banister.
Jamess eyes hardened. Mum, you have to understand. I need to build my own life. Youre always under my feet. Emilys right; we need our own space.
Emily crossed her arms, smirking. So, you finally see the truth, dont you, James?
The words cut deep. I felt my world tilt. James, think about me! Im sixtytwo! I have no savings, my pension is tiny. I cant afford a flat of my own! I pleaded, voice cracking.
Dont be dramatic, James muttered, turning away. Youll sort something out. Maybe a student hall, or a room with a flatmate.
A hall? At my age? I whispered, disbelief flooding me. This is madness!
Enough! Im done, James shouted, his face red. Leave the keys and disappear!
Silence fell. The words echoed in the empty hallway. My son, the boy Id raised from a diaper, had just told me to leave.
I shuffled to the hall table, hands shaking, and pulled out the small ring of keys. I placed them on the shelf, the metal clinking softly. Alright, I whispered to the empty room, If thats what you want.
I pulled my coat back on, slipped my shoes on, and stepped out into the stairwell. The door slammed shut behind me. I stood in the cold hallway, tears hot on my cheeks, wondering where to go, what to do. My feet carried me down the stairs and out onto the street, the November rain soaking my coat, each drop a reminder of my loss.
I wandered aimlessly until I found myself at the familiar blue door of my old friend, Clare, who lives two streets over. Clares twobedroom flat has been empty since her husband passed and the children moved away. I pressed the buzzer, leaned against the door, and after what felt like an eternity, she opened it, eyes widening at my disheveled state.
Helen? What on earth happened? she gasped, pulling me inside.
I collapsed onto her sofa, sobbing until she wrapped me in a tight embrace, guiding me to the kitchen and a steaming mug of tea. Tell me everything, she urged.
I told her the whole storyEmily, James, the flat, the cruel ultimatum. Clare listened, shaking her head, her hand tapping the table rhythmically.
This is absolute nonsense! He has no right to do that to his own mother, she scolded. Stay here as long as you need. Ive got a spare room.
Grateful, I clung to her kindness, feeling a sliver of hope return. That night, lying on the foldout couch, sleep eluded me. My mind replayed the days events, each memory a painful knot.
The next morning, Clare brewed strong tea and spread a slice of toast. Youll go back to work today, then well sort out the next steps, she said. I nodded, and trudged back to the shop, the familiar hum of the register a small comfort. Lucy asked how I was, but I gave a quick smile and kept my head down.
Later, Clare mentioned an old acquaintance, Margaret, who had recently become a widow and lived alone in a modest terraced house. She might take you in for a modest rent, Clare suggested. It wasnt a student hall, but at least it was a roof.
Within a week I moved into Margarets cosy little room. The house was tidy, the owner strict but fair: Im an early sleeper, no loud music after nine, we share the kitchen in shifts, and please turn off lights you dont need. I agreed, grateful for any stability. My belongings, still left in Jamess flat, were inaccessible; he never answered my calls.
Life settled into a new rhythm. I rose early, caught the bus to the shop, worked the day, returned to Margarets for a modest supper, then lay on the narrow bed and stared at the plaster ceiling, thoughts drifting back to James. Why had he turned so cold? Had love truly faded, or had Emilys influence twisted him?
I recalled his childhoodhow hed hand me crayon drawings from preschool, proudly saying, Mum, this is for you! How hed ride his bike, fall, scrape his knee, and declare, Im a man, I dont cry! How hed stand up for a bullied classmate and come home with a bruise, smiling, Mum, I couldnt let them get away with it. Hed always been kind, just, a good boy. Where had that boy gone?
A month later, Margaret fretted over my thin frame, Helen, you need to eat properly. You look so pale. I whispered, No appetite, and she pressed me to take a soup, insisting.
One evening, a stranger knocked on my door. Are you Mrs. Coles, Jamess mother? she asked. Yes, thats me. Im Irene, I live upstairs. I need to speak with you about something concerning James and Emily. I invited her in, and over tea she confessed shed heard rumours of latenight parties, loud music, and unfamiliar men entering the flat. Neighbors have complained, and Ive seen packages being delivered at odd hours, she said, voice trembling. I thought you should know.
The words hit me like a punch. Could James be involved in something illegal? My mind raced, fear and shame intertwining.
The next day, I took a halfday off and walked to Jamess flat. The hallway smelled of stale pizza and cheap perfume. I rang the bell; after a long pause, the door swung open to reveal a dishevelled Emily, eyes red from crying.
What do you want? she snapped.
I need James, I said, voice shaking.
Hes not here, she replied curtly. He left.
I pressed, Neighbors are complaining, the police might be called.
She sneered, Youre not welcome here any more. Get out!
The door slammed. I stood on the landing, heart pounding, feeling utterly powerless. I sank onto the stairwell bench, staring at the faint glow from the flats windows, shadows moving inside.
Suddenly, James appeared, his hair unkempt, his clothes rumpled. He seemed gaunt, eyes hollow.
Mum he whispered, stopping a few steps away.
James, whats happening? Are you are you ill? I asked, fear breaking through my composure.
He looked away. Im fine, he muttered, then snarled, Youre in my way! I cant I cant stay here no more!
I tried to hold onto his sleeve, Dont push me, James, please. I dont want this. He shoved me hard; I fell onto the cold concrete, the breath leaving me in a gasp. For a moment, his face softened, shame flickering across his features.
I didnt mean to I… Im sorry, he stammered, helping me to my feet. I brushed the dust from my coat, eyes brimming.
James, look at yourself. You were once a bright, caring boy. What has happened to you? I whispered.
He stared at his hands, shaking. Emily shes she dragged me into… things I dont understand. I cant say no. Im scared of being alone.
Say no, I urged. Leave her. You still have a future, even if its not the one you imagined.
He hesitated, then, quietly, I see it now. Im a fool. Ive lost my way.
We stood there, the rain ticking on the street, the world around us muted. I pulled him into a hug, feeling his shoulders rigid at first, then relaxing as he rested his head against my chest.
Youre not alone, James, I murmured. Im here, always.
He sobbed, clinging to me. Im sorry, Mum. Ive been a terrible son.
Youre not a terrible son, I replied, wiping his cheek. You made mistakes, but you can fix them.
He promised to end things with Emily. We would call the local council, perhaps involve the police if needed, and sort out the tenancy. He would move back into the flat and ask Emily to leave. He would stay away from the shady crowds that had pulled him in.
In the days that followed, James confronted Emily, telling her their relationship was over. She threw a fit, shouted, threatened, but James stood firm, even calling the community officer who intervened and asked her to vacate.
When I finally returned to the flat a week later, James greeted me at the door with a bouquet of fresh daisies. Welcome home, Mum, he said, voice soft.
We cleaned together, scrubbing the floors, washing the curtains, laughing at the mess left from Emilys parties. It feels like the old days, I said, smiling.
Yes, James agreed. Ive learned what truly mattersfamily, not fleeting romances. Youre my one constant, Mum, and Ill never betray you again.
We sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea while rain pattered against the windowpane, the house warm and cozy. I thought about how close I had come to losing everything, how a single harsh command could have driven me out into the cold. Yet here we were, rebuilding.
Months passed. James found a new job, started arriving home on time. I continued working at the shop but now did so with a lighter heart, knowing I had a place to return to. He introduced a new partner, Kate, a gentle and sensible woman who helped around the house and shared long conversations over tea. I welcomed her warmly, Shes a good match for you, James. Hold onto her.
One evening, as I watched the sunset from my kitchen window, I reflected on that terrifying night when he told me to leave the keys and disappear. The pain still lingered, but it was softened by the love that reclaimed our family.
Sometimes one must fall to truly appreciate what matters. James fell, but he rose again, and I was there to catch him. Because Im his mother, and a mother never abandons her child.
HelenAnd as the house finally fell quiet, I felt a steady certainty that, together, we would weather whatever storms lay ahead.
