**Diary Entry 15th November**
“Stay out of my family,” my son said before blocking my number.
“Mum, for Gods sake! Im a grown man!” Tom fidgeted with his hoodie strings, standing in the hallway with a bag slung over his shoulder.
“Where are you off to in this weather? Its pouring out there!” Margaret glanced out the window at the heavy rain streaking the glass. “And Ive made dinneryour favourite shepherds pie. Cant it wait?”
“Mum, Im thirty years old! Thirty! And you still track my every move like Im fifteen.”
Margaret sighed, clutching a tea towel to her chest. He was right, of course. But letting go wasnt easynot after David left, not after raising Tom on her own.
“I just worry about you. Youve been different since the divorce with Lucy. Closed off. Maybe we could talk?”
“About what?” Tom zipped up his jacket. “Im fine. Just heading to Jamess to watch the match. You remember himweve been mates since school.”
“Of course I remember James. Good lad. Dyou remember when you two built that treehouse in the garden?” A faint smile touched her lips. “I used to bring you lemonade and sandwiches…”
“Mum, Im already late.”
Tom reached for the door, but she caught his sleeve.
“Wait! What if Sarahs there? James has a girlfriendthey mightve invited friends. Maybe you could meet someone nice?”
“Christ” He groaned, shaking his head. “Mum, enough! Ill sort my own love life.”
“I only want you happy! A proper family, children…”
She stopped short as his face darkened. Children were still a sore subject after the divorce.
Tom wrenched the door open and slammed it behind him. Margaret stood frozen in the hallway, the tea towel crumpled in her hands.
Later, she turned off the oven. No appetite. Shed reheat it when he came homeif he came home.
The kitchen felt hollow. Once, it had been livelyDavid reading the evening paper, Tom doing homework at the table, her bustling at the stove. Now, only the rain tapping the sill.
The phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Margie, its Linda. Howre you holding up, love?”
Lindaher oldest friend since college.
“Just had another row with Tom. Dont know how to talk to him anymore. Everything I say is wrong.”
“What about this time?”
“The usual. Asked where he was going, and he bit my head off. Like Im some sort of villain.”
“Margie have you considered he might actually *need* space? A thirty-year-old shouldnt be living with his mum.”
“And wheres he to go? Rents are sky-high, and his salary wont cover a mortgage. You know how it is.”
“I do. But maybe hes not trying because its easy at home. You still cook, clean, fuss over him like hes ten.”
Margaret opened her mouth to arguethen shut it. Linda was right.
“But Im his mother! How can I *not* care?”
“Caring and smothering arent the same. My Ben moved to Manchester at twenty-five. I miss him, but he *needed* to go.”
After hanging up, Margaret sat for a long time. Maybe Linda had a point.
Tom returned near midnight, slipping straight to his room. At breakfast, silence hung between them. He scrolled through his phone while she dished out eggs and toast.
“Tom remember when Dad took you to the zoo? You adored the elephants.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, not looking up.
“And your first day of schoolso serious with that little satchel…”
“Mum, why dyou keep bringing this up?”
“Time flies, love. Feels like yesterday you were small.”
He finally met her eyes, weary. “If you know Im grown, why treat me like a kid?”
“I dont”
“You rang James last night to check if I was really there. Think I didnt notice?”
Her cheeks burned. She *had* called. Just to be sure.
“I was worried”
“Worried? Im *thirty*, Mum! Ive been married! We were trying for a babyIm not some teenager!”
“But”
“No. You think because I live here, you own every minute of my life?”
Tears pricked her eyes. She only ever wanted to protect him.
“I just want whats best”
“Your best is suffocating me.” He stood. “Dont wait up. Staying at Jamess.”
“But Ive made your favourite roast”
“Not hungry.”
As the door slammed, she whispered, “Im alone now”
Three days passed. No word. On the fourth, his number went straight to voicemail. She dialled James.
“Tom? He moved out, Aunt Margie. Got a flat.”
Her hands trembled. *Moved out? Without telling me?*
She redialled Toms number. *”The number you have called is no longer in service.”*
Her heart lurched. Hed changed his number.
She rushed to Lindas.
“Hes *gone*! Changed his number! Like Im some stranger!”
“Margie, breathe. Hes thirty, not three.”
“But wholl look after him?”
“Youve *got* to let go. Youre choking him.”
A week later, a knock. Margaret flung the door openhoping for Tom.
A young woman stood there, blonde, kind-eyed.
“Margaret? Im Emily. Tom and I were together. May I come in?”
Over tea, Emily said quietly, “Were getting married. Hes terrified of your reactionafter how things were with Lucy.”
Margaret stiffened. “I only cared”
“Too much. Hes torn between being a good son and living his life.”
“And what dyou want from me?”
“Let him go. No unannounced visits, no advice he doesnt ask for. In return, youll have a son who visits *because he wants to* and grandchildren, maybe.”
*Grandchildren.* The word ached.
After Emily left, Margaret sat for hours. Anger, grief, thenfinallyclarity.
*If I love him, I must let go.*
The next day, she dialled the number Emily left.
“Tom? Its me. I wont interfere. Just know the doors always open. I love you. And if Emilys willing, Id like to meet her properly.”
A pause. Then, softly: “Thanks, Mum. That means a lot.”
For the first time in years, she breathed freely. She wasnt losing himshe was setting him free.
**Lesson learned:** Love isnt ownership. Sometimes the deepest love is letting go.
