**Diary Entry**
*Saturday, 19th March*
“Stay out of my family,” my son said before blocking my number.
“Mum, for heavens sake! Im a grown man!” Oliver tugged at the drawstring of his hoodie, standing in the hallway with his bag slung over his shoulder.
“Where on earth are you going in this weather? Its pouring outside!” I glanced out the kitchen window, where fat raindrops rolled down the glass. “And Ive made dinneryour favourite, shepherds pie. Cant it wait?”
“Im thirty, Mum. Thirty! And you still track my every move as if Im fifteen.”
I sighed, clutching the tea towel to my chest. He wasnt wrong, of course. But letting goof my only child, my late-in-life miraclewas agony. Especially after Graham left, leaving just the two of us.
“Im only worried about you. You havent been yourself since the divorce with Emily. Youve gone quiet. I thought maybe we could talk?”
“About what?” Oliver zipped up his jacket. “Im fine. Just going to Bens to watch the match. You know himweve been mates since school.”
“Yes, yes, Ben. Lovely lad. Remember when you two built that den in the garden out of old planks?” I smiled at the memory. “I used to bring you lemonade and sandwiches…”
“Mum, Im going to be late.”
He reached for the door, but I caught his sleeve.
“Wait! What if Sophies there? Bens got a wife nowthey might invite friends. You wouldnt mind meeting someone nice, would you?”
“For Gods sake” He groaned, shaking his head. “Mum, enough! Ill sort my own love life.”
“Im only thinking of you! I want you happy, settled, with a family…”
I stopped when I saw his face darken. Childrenstill a sore subject after the divorce.
Oliver slammed the door behind him. I stood frozen in the hallway, the tea towel pressed to my chest.
In the kitchen, I turned off the oven. No appetite. Id reheat it laterif he came home tonight.
I sank onto a stool, staring at the empty room. It used to be so lively hereGraham with his evening paper, Oliver doing homework at this very table, me bustling at the hob. Now, just silence, broken only by rain tapping the windowsill.
The phone rang. I snatched it up.
“Hello?”
“Val? Its me, Margaret. How are you, love? Not moping, I hope?”
Margaret had been my closest friend since college.
“Oh, just another row with Oliver. I dont know how to talk to him anymore. Everything I say is wrong.”
“What was it this time?”
“The usual. Asked where he was going, and he bit my head off. As if Im some villain.”
“Val, have you considered that maybe he *is* struggling? A thirty-year-old man living with his mum…”
“But where else would he go? He cant afford rent on his salary, and buying a place aloneyou know how impossible that is.”
“I do. But Val, maybe hes not trying because its too easy at home? You still cook, clean, do his laundrylike hes a boy.”
I opened my mouth to argue, then stopped. She was right. I *was* still treating him like he was ten.
“But Im his mother! How can I *not* care?”
“Caring and smothering arent the same, love. My Daniel moved to Manchester at twenty-five. I miss him, but I had to let go.”
After hanging up, I sat for hours, turning it over. Was she right? Had I gone too far?
Oliver came home near midnight, slipping straight to his room without a word. I listened to him rummaging in his wardrobe.
Breakfast was silent. He scrolled through his phone while I slid scrambled eggs onto his plate.
“Ollie, remember when Dad took you to the zoo? You adored the elephants,” I ventured.
“Yeah,” he muttered, not looking up.
“And your first day of schoolso serious with your little satchel…”
“Mum, why are you dredging this up?”
“Its just… time flies. One minute youre tiny, the next, a grown man.”
He finally met my eyes, weary.
“If you *know* Im grown, why treat me like a child?”
“I dont”
“You rang me yesterday to ask when Id be back. Then you called *Ben* to check I was really there. Think I didnt notice?”
My face burned. I *had* called. Just needed to know he was safe.
“I was worried”
“Im *thirty*, Mum. Ive been married. We planned kids. Im not some teenager!”
“But”
“But what? You think because I live here, you own every minute of my life?”
Tears pricked my throat. I *hadnt* meant to harm him. Just to keep him safe, like always.
“I only want whats best”
“I know. But your best is suffocating me. I cant do this anymore.”
He drained his coffee and stood.
“Dont wait up. Im staying at Bens.”
“What about dinner? Ill make your favourite roast”
“Skip it.” He grabbed his coat.
“Oliver, wait!” I chased him to the door. “Must we fight? Ill try harder”
“Mum, its not about that. I need *space*. My own life.”
“But Im *alone*!” The words burst out. “Dad left, now youwhat am I supposed to do?”
“I dont know. But I cant be your whole world. Its not fair.”
The door slammed. I stared at his half-eaten eggs, clearing the table mechanically.
Three days passed without a word. On the fourth, his phone went straight to voicemail. Oddhe never turned it off. Battery dead? Or?
I found Bens number.
“Ben? Its Val. Is Oliver there?”
“No, Mrs H. He moved out three days ago. Got a flat.”
“*Moved out*? Why didnt he tell me?”
“Dunno. Reckon he wanted to say it himself…”
I hung up, hands shaking. A *flat*? Without a word? What if he fell ill? Whod look after him?
I redialled Olivers number. This time: “The number you have called is not available.”
My stomach dropped. Had he *changed his number*? Without telling me?
I rushed to Margarets.
“Hes *gone*! Changed his number! As if Im some enemy!”
“Val, breathe. Sit. Have tea.”
“Tea? Hell *starve* without me! Wholl cook? Wholl wash his clothes? What if?”
“Val. Hes *thirty*. Not a toddler.”
“But”
“No buts. You pushed him to this. Smothered him.”
“I only wanted whats best!”
“You did. And it backfired.” Margaret poured the tea. “Love can be holding onor letting go. You chose wrong.”
“What was I supposed to do? After Graham left, Oliver was all I had!”
“And *thats* the problem. A child shouldnt be your whole life. You need your *own*.”
“My own? At fifty-five?”
“Why not? Look at Eileen down the roadsixty-two, does line dancing, joined a book club. Shes *living*.”
“Shes got no family!”
“And you *do*? Your husbands gone. Your sons left. Will you sit here waiting?”
She was right, but admitting it terrified me. Had I loved Oliver*wrong*?
A week of agony followed. I moved through work like a ghost, cooked meals no one ate, stared blankly at the telly.
Then, on Saturday morninga knock.
A pretty blonde girl stood there, maybe twenty-five, with kind eyes.
“Hello. Youre Valerie, yes?”
“Y-yes…”
“Im Charlotte. Oliver and I… were together. May I come in?”
Silently, I stepped aside. My pulse thundered in my ears.
We sat at the table.
“Valerie, I came to talk. Oliver hasnt told you much…”
“No. Hes not speaking to me.”
“I know why. We… we want to marry.”
My chest tightened.
“Marry? He never said”
“Hes afraid of your reaction. He told me how you were with Emily. How you control his life.”
“I *dont* control!”
“You *care*. But your care… *chokes* him.”
“How would *you* know? Youre not his mother!”
“No. But I love him, and I see how he suffers. Torn between being a good son and living his life.”
I clenched my fists. This *stranger*, lecturing me on loving my own child!
“What do you want from me?”
“To let him go. Truly. No daily calls. No unannounced visits. No unsought advice.”
“And in return?”
“A son who visits because he *wants* tonot out of guilt. A daughter-in-law who doesnt see you as a rival. Maybe grandchildren.”
“Grandchildren…” The word tasted like hope.
“Yes. But only if you let us live as *we* choose.”
She stood.
“Think on it, Valerie. Oliver loves you. But he cant stay your little boy. Hes a man who needs his own family.”
After she left, I sat for hours, cycling through anger, grief, andfinallyrelief. Something *clicked*.
*If I love him, I must let go.*
The next day, I dialled the number shed left.
“Hello?” Olivers voice, tense.
“Its me. I wont interfere. Just know… the doors always open. I love you. And… if Charlotte agrees, Id love to meet her properly.”
Silence. Then, softly:
“Thanks, Mum. That… means a lot.”
And I realised: I wasnt *losing* him. I was giving himand myselfa chance to be happy.
