An apartment for my son, but only if I marry him again
My name is Anne, Im sixty and I live in Tours. I never imagined that after everything Id endured, the past would return to my life with such boldness and cynicism, twenty years after a complete silence. The most painful part is that the one who initiated this comeback is none other than my own son.
When I was twentyfive, I was head over heels. Philippetall, charming, jovialwas the embodiment of my dream. We wed quickly, and a year later our son Paul was born. The early years felt like a fairytale. We lived in a modest flat, dreaming together and building plans. I taught schoolchildren, he worked as an engineer. Nothing seemed capable of shattering our happiness.
Over time, Philippe changed. He came home later and later, lied, pulled away. I tried to ignore the rumors, to turn a blind eye to his late arrivals and the scent of unfamiliar perfume. Eventually the truth became undeniable: he was cheating. Not once, but repeatedly. Friends, neighbours, even my parents all knew. I clung to the hope of saving our familyfor Pauls sake. I endured far too long, believing he might come to his senses. Then one night I woke to find he hadnt returned, and I realized I could take no more.
I gathered my things, took fiveyearold Paul by the hand, and fled to my mothers house. Philippe didnt even try to stop us. A month later he left for abroadsupposedly for work. Soon he found another woman and behaved as if we had never existed. No letters, no calls. Complete indifference. I was left alone. My mother died, then my father. Paul and I faced everything togetherschool, activities, illnesses, joys, graduations. I worked tirelessly so he never lacked anything. I had no personal life; there was simply no time. He was everything to me.
When Paul entered the University of Lyon, I supported him as best I couldshipping parcels, sending money, offering encouragement. Buying an apartment, however, was beyond my means; finances fell short. He never complained, insisting he would manage. I was proud of him.
Last month he came back with news: he had decided to get married. The happiness was brief. He seemed nervous, avoided my gaze, then said:
Mom I need your help. Its about dad.
I was stunned. He told me he had recently reestablished contact with Philippe. His father had returned to France and was offering the keys to a tworoom flat he inherited from his grandmother. But there was a condition: I had to marry him again and let him live in my apartment.
My breath caught. I looked at my son, unable to believe he was serious. He continued:
Youre alone you have no one. Why not try once more? For me. For my future family. Dad has changed
I slipped into the kitchen, silent. The kettle, the tea, my trembling hands. Everything blurred before my eyes. Twenty years of carrying everything alone. Twenty years while he never cared about us. And now he returns with a proposal.
Returning to the living room, I said calmly:
No. I will not accept.
Paul exploded. He shouted, accused me, claimed I had always thought only of myself, that it was my fault he had no father, that I was now ruining his life again. I stayed silent, because each word pierced my heart. He didnt know how I spent sleepless nights exhausted, how I sold my wedding ring to buy him a winter coat, how I deprived myself so he could eat meat while I went without.
I dont feel alone. My life has been hard but honest. I have a job, books, a garden, friends. I dont need a man who betrayed me and returns not out of love but for convenience.
My son left without saying goodbye. He hasnt called since. I know hes hurt. I understand him. He wants the best for himselfas I once wanted for him. But I cannot sell my dignity for a few square metres. The price is too steep.
Perhaps he will understand someday. Maybe not anytime soon. But I will wait for him, because I love himtruly, unconditionally, without apartments or ifs. I gave him life out of love, and raised him with love. I will not let that love become a commodity.
As for my exhusband let him remain in the past. His place is there.
A Flat for Our Son, But There’s a Catch: I Must Marry Him Again!
