A sudden visit and the blow of a forbidden truth
I showed up at my daughter’s place unannounced and uncovered something I never wanted to learn.
Sometimes we think happiness lives in our children’s health and stability. I felt fortunate: a loving husband, an adult daughter, adorable grandchildren. We werent wealthy, but our home overflowed with harmony. What more could we ask for?
Élodie married young, at twentyone, to a thirtyfiveyearold man. We didnt object: he had a steady job, an apartment in Paris, a calm demeanor. Not a carefree student, but a rock. He covered everythingthe dress, the honeymoon trip to Provence, lavish gifts. The family whispered, Élodie has found her prince.
The early years seemed perfect. Lucas was born, then Chloé, we moved into a house in Versailles, weekends together as a family Gradually, however, Élodie began to shut down. Her smiles faded, her answers grew vague. Everythings fine, she said, her voice hollow. My maternal instinct sensed otherwise.
One morning, fed up, I called her. Silence. I sent a textread, no reply. I jumped on a TER to Versailles. Surprise, I told her, though it was a lie.
She leapt when she opened the door. No joy, only awkwardness. She retreated to the kitchen. I played with the grandchildren, helped with dinner, stayed the night. That evening her husband came home late, a blond strand stuck to his jacket, a foreign scent. He kissed her automatically. She averted her gaze.
Later, I got up for a drink. On the balcony I heard him murmur into his phone, Soon, my love She knows nothing. My glass trembled in my hand, nausea washed over me.
At breakfast I confronted her: Do you know? She lowered her eyes. Mom, drop it. Everythings fine. I recounted what I had seen and heard. She repeated, like a mantra, Hes a good father. He provides everything. Love it fades.
I locked myself in the bathroom and wept. My daughter had become a complicit shadow, trading her dignity for Louis Vuitton bags and vacations in SaintTropez.
That night I faced her husband. He shrugged, Im not leaving her. I pay the bills. Shed rather ignore it. Mind your own business.
What if I tell her everything?
She already knows. She just closes her eyes.
The shock hit me on the return TER; I felt suffocated. My own husband begged, Dont push, youll lose her. But she was already gone. She dimmed day by day, living with a man who hoarded mistresses.
I pray that one morning, looking into her mirror, she remembers she deserves more. That honor outweighs money. That she will take the children and walk away.
Me? Ill stay put, even if she pushes me away. A mother never gives up, even when the pain tears her heart out.
