“No! I said no! Do you hear me? We’re not changing a thing. Dad built that porch with his own hands, hammered every nail himself.”
“Daniel, please, it’s completely rotted!” Emma Wilson closed her eyes wearily, pressing the phone to her ear so hard her lobe ached. “The floorboards are giving way, the roof leaks. It’s dangerous! James says we could carefully take it apart and”
“James! That James again!” Her sons voice turned sharp as gravel. “Whats it to him? Hed tear everything down and start freshsomeone elses memories dont matter to him. Mum, its not just a porch. Its Dad.”
“Danny, how is it preserving Dad if its about to collapse?” Her voice trembled. “Were doing this for youso you and Sophie can visit, so your children will have somewhere safe when they come”
“There wont be any children on your new porch,” he snapped. “I wont set foot in that house again if you touch so much as a plank. Ive got to go.”
The dial tone hit like a verdict. Emma lowered the phone slowly onto the kitchen table. The hollow ache in her chest, familiar after six months of this, tightened around her ribs. Outside, the yellowing leaves of the oak tree swayed, and the world looked as grey and lifeless as she felt.
James stepped into the kitchen. Tall, silver-haired, reading glasses perched on his nose, he held an open book. One look at her face and he understood.
“Again?” he asked quietly, setting the book on the windowsill.
She nodded, words failing her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and the warmth of him, the familiar scent of aftershave and something uniquely his, finally loosened the tears. Silent, steady, soaking into his checked flannel shirt.
“Emma, love, dont” He smoothed her hair. “You shouldnt have called. You know how it ends.”
“But the cottage” she hiccuped. “Hell never forgive us if we change it. But we have toits falling apart.”
“Blast the cottage. Well manage. Youre what matters. Look what this is doing to you.”
Theyd met two years ago at a school reunion. Emma had gone reluctantly, prodded by her friend Claire. Ten years had passed since losing Michael, her first husband, and all that time, shed lived only for Daniel. School, university, his first jobshe hadnt noticed the years slipping by, the lines deepening, her awkward boy becoming a man.
Then he moved out. Found a flat with Sophie, and the house fell silent. Evenings pressed on her ears like weights. She filled the void with yoga, embroidery, rereading every book on the shelf. But the loneliness remained.
Then James had approached her. Her quiet classmate, the one whod sat at the back. Now a confident man, a maths professor at the local university. Also widowed. They talked all evening. Shared favourite films, autumn walks, the desperate need for warmth.
Their romance grew slowly. Walks, theatre dates, long conversations in a café by the park. She felt herself thawing, relearning how to live.
She told Daniel when it grew serious. Hed surprised her with his calm response.
“Mum, youre an adult. If he makes you happy, Im glad.”
Shed been overjoyed. A year later, she and James married quietlyjust Claire and her husband, Jamess sister, and Daniel with Sophie.
Thats when it began. Daniel spent the reception scowling, ignoring James. When the toasts came, he raised his glass and stared at the wall.
“To Dad. A real man. The best father. No one replaces him. Ever.”
The room froze. Sophie tugged his sleeve, whispering, but he shook her off. Emmas face burned. James squeezed her hand under the tablethe only thing stopping her from crying.
After the wedding, Daniel stopped calling. Entirely. At first, she told herself he was busy. Her calls went unanswered. Texts unread. The final blow was her birthday. She cooked his favourite meal, waited like she had when he was a boy. He never came. Never even called. Just sent a courier with chrysanthemums and a generic card.
That night, she finally confessed her pain to James.
“I dont understand what I did wrong,” she whispered on the sofa. “He said he was happy for me. What changed?”
“Emma, hes jealous,” James said softly, watching the electric fireplace. “Of your new life. Of me. He thinks Im trying to take his fathers place.”
“Thats ridiculous! No one could replace Michael! I loved himhe was Daniels father! But its been ten years. Dont I deserve happiness?”
“You do,” James said firmly. “He just doesnt see it yet. Hes still a boy in some ways. He needs time.”
But time didnt help. The wall between them grew thicker. Emma lost weight, barely slept. Every ring of the phone sent her heart leapingbut it was never him.
The cottage argument was the latest blow. Michael had built it himself. After his death, she and Daniel spent every summer there. To him, it was sacred. And Jamess suggestion to repair the crumbling porch felt like desecration.
“Should I go to him?” she asked, pulling away from James. “Talk face-to-face.”
“I dont think thats wise,” he said. “Hes too raw. Give him space.”
She obeyed, but the ache remained. Days later, Claire called.
“Emma! Whyve you gone quiet? Everything alright?”
“Not really,” she sighed.
“Daniel again?”
She recounted the latest. Claire clicked her tongue.
“Selfish boy, thats what he is. Grown but not grown-up. Youre happy, and he sulks. Tch!”
“Claire, dont. Hes not selfish. He justhe adored his father.”
“So did everyone! But life goes on! You raised him alone for ten years, sacrificed everything. Now youve finally got someone, and he throws tantrums? James is a saint! Most men wouldve said, Sort your son out yourself.”
“James would never. He understands.”
“Understanding wont fix this,” Claire huffed. “Have you talked to Sophie? Maybe she can get through to him.”
It was a good idea. Sophie had always been kind. Emma found her number, hands shaking as she dialled.
“Hello, Emma? Hi!” Sophies voice was bright but wary.
“Sophie, love, sorry to bother you. Do you have a minute?”
“Of course. Is everything okay?”
“I I wanted to ask. How is Daniel?”
Silence. Then a careful, “Were fine. Works busy.”
“Ive calledhe doesnt answer. Is he angry with me?”
Another pause. Sophie exhaled.
“Emma hes not angry. Hes hurting.”
“Hurting? Why?”
“He thinks youve betrayed his dads memory,” Sophie blurted, then backtracked. “I meanhe feels replaced. Like you moved on too fast.”
“Fast?” Emmas breath caught. “Ten years is fast? Sophie, I didnt bury myself with him! Im allowed to live!”
“I know! I tell him the same! We argue constantly. I say you deserve happiness, that James is good for you, but he wont listen. You dont understandyour dads alive. Hes stuck. Keeps Dads photo on his desk. Stares at it sometimes. Hes eating himself alive.”
“Oh God” Emma whispered. “What do I do?”
“I dont know,” Sophie admitted. “Ive tried everything. Maybe time will help? He has to work through it himself.”
The call brought no relief. Now she knew her son wasnt just sulkinghe was suffering. And shed caused it. That night, she stared at a framed photo on the dresser: Michael, young and smiling, arm around her, little Daniel beside him with a fishing rod. A lifetime ago.
“Michael,” she whispered to the empty room, “talk to him. Youre his father. Make him see.”
Daniels birthday approachedtwenty-eight. She baked his favourite honey cake, bought the expensive jumper hed once mentioned.
“Are you sure about this?” James asked as she packed the cake.
“I have to try,” she said.
She went alone. His flat was on the third floor. Her heart pounded as she rang the bell. Silence. She knocked. Nothing. The door was locked.
She stood there ten minutes, then called his phone. The ringtone echoed faintly through the door. He was home. Just wouldnt open.
Tears spilled as she pressed her forehead to the cold wood.
“Danny please. I just want to wish you happy birthday. I made your cake”
Still nothing.
She descended the stairs in a daze. The cake box weighed a ton. On a bench outside, she wept, uncaring of passersby. Humiliated. Shattered.
James met her at the door. He took the box, led her inside, and wrapped her in a blanket.
“Enough,” he said firmly. “No more begging. If he wont, thats his choice. Youve done all you can. Live for yourself now. For us.”
She tried. Stopped calling. Stopped waiting. She and James took trips, saw friends. She laughed, but every phone ring still stole her breath.
Winter came. Before New Years, she cracked and called Sophie.
“Sophie, love. Sorry to bother you. Any plans for New Years? Fancy popping round?”
“Hi, Emma,” Sophie sounded exhausted. “Thanks, but were at my parents.”
“Oh. Hows Daniel?”
“Fine. Working.”
“Tell him I Never mind. Happy New Year.”
She hung up. James, listening, hugged her.
“Lets go to the cottage. Light the fire, decorate the tree. Just us.”
“And the porch?”
“Itll hold till spring.”
The cottage was freezing, but James soon had the fire roaring. They decorated, made dinner, toasted at midnight. Emma made one wish: *Let my son forgive me.*
Life settled. She learned to carry the pain.
Then one evening, an unknown number called.
“Hello?”
“Emma? Its Sophie.” Her voice was strained.
“Sophie? Whats wrong?”
“Weve split up.”
“What? Why?”
“I cant do it anymore,” Sophie sobbed. “Hes unbearable. Angry, shut down. I triedGod, I triedbut he pushes me away. Tonight, I packed my things. He didnt even stop me.”
“Sophie, where will you go?”
“A friends. Emma I called because you should know. Its not you. Its him. Hes drowning in the past. Until he faces it, hell never be happy. Im sorry.”
The line went dead. Emma sat stunned. Heartbroken for Sophie. Terrified for her son. Alone in his shell of grief.
“What happened?” James muted the TV.
She told him. He was silent a long moment.
“You need to go to him,” he said finally.
“Buthe wont answer.”
“He will now,” James said firmly. “Hes hit bottom. He needs his mother. Not as judge or jury. Just as Mum. Go. Dont leave until you talk.”
The next day, she stood at his door again. A thermos of chicken soup in her hands. She rang. Silence. Rang again.
Footsteps. The chain clicked.
The door cracked open. One bloodshot eye stared at her. He was gaunt, unshaven, dark circles bruising his face.
“Mum?” His voice was rough.
“Let me in, Danny.”
He hesitated, then unchained the door.
The flat smelled stale. She set the soup on the table.
“You need to eat.”
He leaned against the doorframe, wary.
“Why are you here?”
“Sophie called.”
He flinched.
“Right. Tattling.”
“Shes worried. So am I.”
She moved to hug him. He stiffened.
“Dont.”
“Danny, talk to me. Why do you hate me? Hate my happiness?”
“I dont hate you,” he muttered, turning to the window. “I dont understand. How you could move on. So fast.”
“Fast?” The word cut. “Ten years, Danny. Ten years of talking to his photo, raising you, keeping his memory alive. Was I supposed to stop living? Is that a crime?”
“And Dad?” His voice cracked. “You just replaced him.”
“No one replaced him! Hell always be in my heart! But I love James. He saved me from loneliness, from fading away. Cant you be glad for me?”
“I cant!” he shouted. “When I see you two laughing, holding handsit feels like betrayal. Dad built that cottage for us. Now some stranger”
“Hes not a stranger! Hes my husband!”
They stood, breathless with anger and tears. Two people who loved each other, divided by grief.
“I thought after Dad died it was just us,” he said hoarsely. “Then you found someone else. And I was alone.”
And suddenly, she understood. He wasnt jealous. He was afraid. Afraid shed forget him too.
She pulled him into a fierce hug, ignoring his resistance.
“My foolish boy,” she whispered into his unwashed hair. “How could you think Id leave you? Youre my son. No one could ever take your place.”
He stood rigid, then his shoulders shook. He buried his face in her shoulder and sobbed. She cried with himfor the pain, the relief, the love stronger than any hurt.
They talked for hours. She ladled soup, and he ate while she spoke of her loneliness, her fear of telling him about James. He listened silently.
As she left, he stopped her at the door.
“Mum Im sorry.”
“Me too, Danny.”
She knew it was only the start. Acceptance would take time. But the wall had cracked. Her son was speaking to her again.
