Didnt you go to your own sons wedding? Gillian, have you lost your mind? Its your only childs wedding and youre sitting here sipping tea!
Lydia Victor stood in the doorway of the kitchen, arms folded, eyes alight with righteous fury. Gillian didnt even look up from her mug.
Sit down, youre here now. The kettles on.
What tea? Lydia slipped into the chair opposite, the clock ticking halfpast two. In an hour Thomas will walk down the aisle, and youre still
Im not going anywhere, Gillian said, sipping and staring out the window. Dont try to persuade me.
Lydia fell silent, studying the face of a friend of forty years, one shed known since school, one shed seen stripped down to the bone. She hadnt expected this.
What happened? she asked softly. You two seemed to have patched things up after that argument.
Gillians lips curled.
We patched up. He called two days ago, said, Come, Mum, if you want. As if I were going to a market fair, not my own childs wedding.
Maybe he just meant it in a roundabout way?
No, Lydia, Gillian turned, tears glistening. Im fortynine. I raised him alone, no husband, two jobs just to keep him fed. I taught him, nursed him, stayed up when he was sick. And now Im a burden, an extra weight.
Lydia reached out, covering Gillians hand.
Tell me everything, from the beginning.
Gillian poured tea, fetched biscuits, inhaled a heavy sigh.
It started six months ago. Thomas brought home Emily tall, slim, striking. I was thrilled at first; finally my son was serious. I said, Come in, lets get to know each other, Ill make dinner.
What was she like?
She walked in, eyes flickering with something that wasnt joy. Our flat is a modest twobedroom council house, old furniture, faded wallpaper, but clean. I spent the whole day tidying, baking scones.
Gillian remembered the evening: the best blouse, hair brushed, the polished china set out.
Emily perched on the edge of the chair as if afraid to soil herself. She smiled, but her eyes were cold. I asked what she did. I work in marketing, running campaigns, she said, adding, Your Thomas is very talented, a shame hes still in a ordinary job.
Sharp, Lydia murmured.
It hit me then she was implying I hadnt helped my son grow. Im a nurse earning pennies, while Thomas has a degree, works as a programmer, earns a good salary, lives in a new development. Im proud of him, of course.
Lydia nodded. And then?
We ate, she talked about herself successful projects, big earnings. Then she asked, Gillian, have you ever thought of moving into a care home? They have good care and people your age.
Lydias mouth fell open.
Youre serious?
I was stunned. Thomas stared at his plate. I said, Im fortyeight, a care home? I work, Im healthy. She smiled, Just thinking ahead, so I dont become a burden.
Gillian rose, went to the window. The sun shone bright, May in full bloom, a perfect English spring day. Somewhere Thomas was prepping his suit, nerves fluttering, while she sat alone.
After that dinner they left. Thomas hugged me, Dont mind, Mum, Emily is just practical. Practical, as if she were a sofa to be discarded.
Did you say anything?
I called him later, asked whose opinion that was. He got angry, said I was jealous, that I should learn to let go, that hes an adult and will decide who he lives with.
Lydia shook her head. Children can be cruel, they dont understand.
We fought. He didnt call for a month. I feared Id lost him forever. Then he came back, begged forgiveness, said Id always be his most important person. I believed him.
Gillian returned to the table, finished the cold tea.
A month later they announced the engagement. Thomas called, Mum, were getting married! I asked when. He said, Soon, weve booked a restaurant. Come Saturday, well go over the details.
And you went?
I went. Their flat was spacious, bright, freshly renovated, new furniture. Emily greeted me cold, like an inspector from the health board, led me to the lounge, didnt even offer tea.
Lydia clicked her tongue. Rude.
They showed me a guest list seventy names, none of mine. I asked, What about my friend Lydia? Thomas and Emily exchanged a look, Mum, we have limited seats, only close friends and colleagues. I fell silent. They described the banquet hall, the expensive menu. I watched, wondering where I fit in this picture.
A flock of sparrows swooped past the window, settling on an old poplar branch. As a child Thomas used to toss crumbs at them from the sill, laughing as they swarmed.
Then Emily said, Gillian, we need to discuss a matter. Could you take a loan for the wedding? Well pay part, but extra money would help.
What? Lydia sprang up. She asked you to borrow for their wedding?
Yes. I thought I misheard. I said, Seriously? My salary is thirtythousand pounds a year; no bank would lend me. And why should I, when you both earn well? She said they were saving for a bigger flat in the city centre, and that parents usually foot the bill.
Lydias face flushed. Ive never seen such entitlement.
Thomas stared at the floor, and I realised hed agreed with her. He expected me to pay for a wedding I wasnt even invited to.
Gillian paced the kitchen, legs trembling, heart clenched. How had her beloved son become a stranger?
I refused. I told them they were adults, they could afford it. Id help what I could, but I wouldnt take a loan. Emily pursed her lips, Its selfish of you to deprive us of happiness.
Id spent three decades buying everything for him, now Im called selfish?
Thomas got up, walked me to the door, said, Mum, dont be angry. Emily is used to her parents paying everything. I asked, And you? What do you think? He mumbled, then said they wanted a lavish wedding but lacked funds, and I could help.
Lydia poured more tea for both of them. They sat in a heavy silence. Such stories happen often when children marry, but when its yours, the pain is harder to bear.
I left that night, walking the street, crying. My neighbour, Aunt Val on the fifth floor, called. Gillian, why are you so upset? I told her everything. She said, Emily tells everyone how youre a hindrance, that youre holding the family back.
What?
Val swore she heard Emily on the lift, complaining to a friend that the brides mother was backward and expensive, that after the wedding shed see her less.
Gillian covered her face with her hands, the memory sharp.
I didnt call Thomas right away. I waited, hoping hed come to me. Weeks passed, silence. Then a message: Mum, the weddings on Saturday. Invitation coming.
And he sent it?
Yes, an electronic invite, a link and the venue address. No warm words, no phone call. I realized he was no longer my son; he was her husband, and I was a duty to be shed.
Lydia sighed. Maybe shes the influence? Maybe hes not like that?
Hes twentyseven, a grown man. If he wanted to protect you, hed have. He stayed silent, went along with her.
Outside, music drifted, neighbours switched on the telly. The clock read halfpast two; guests were surely gathering. Emily in a white dress, Thomas nervous, and she was nowhere to be seen.
Did you ever tell him you wouldnt go?
I called yesterday. Thomas, I wont attend. He was silent, then asked why. I said, Because Im not wanted, Im a burden. He tried to reassure, We do want you, Mum. I pressed, Is that what Emily wants? He paused, then said, Come if you wish.
Lydia repeated, If you wish. The words hung like fog.
Exactly. Dont come, Mum, Id be happy. But I dont want to be there as a stranger.
Gillian stood, opened the fridge, took out the scones shed baked the night before, as if she might feed Thomas before the ceremony. He never came.
Eat one, she offered Lydia. Cabbage, your favourite.
Lydia took the scone but placed it on the plate, eyeing Gillian.
Do you regret not going? Its a onceinalifetime thing.
Gillian hesitated. Yes. I wanted to be there, to watch my boy walk the aisle, to weep with joy, to hug him. But it would have hurt more to sit there, tolerated like a guest of honour.
Thirty years Ive given my life to him. I ate little, slept little, never left him a moment alone. I thought hed be grateful, love me, care for me. Instead he sees me as a weight, suggests a care home. Let him live without me then.
Are you angry at him?
No, just hurt. I lost my son, you know? Hes alive, healthy, nearby, but to me hes gone. The boy I raised vanished, replaced by a stranger.
Lydia rose, embraced her friend. Gillian clung to her shoulder, tears finally spilling, quiet sobs for broken hopes, for the gratitude that would never come.
Maybe it will get better, Lydia whispered, running a hand along Gillians back. Maybe hell realise.
It wont, Gillian said, wiping her eyes. Emily will keep pushing him away. Shell keep him from me. I know that now. Im not blind.
They sat long, sipping the cooled tea, silence filling the kitchen. Lydia promised to check back later. Gillian remained alone in the empty flat, turned the television on but could not watch. Memories of Thomas as a child flooded backbringing her dandelions, drawing cards for Mothers Day, saying, Mum, I love you more than anything.
Where was that boy now?
The phone rang abruptly. It was Thomas. She stared at the screen, then let it ring. A text followed: Mum, why arent you answering? The wedding has started, everyones asking where you are.
She read it, placed the phone down, typed a short reply: Wishing you happiness. Take care of yourself.
More messages buzzed, but she ignored them. She walked to the bedroom, lay on the bed, the silence pressing on her ears. Had she done the right thing? Should she have gone, for proprietys sake?
No. She had spent a lifetime living for othersThomas, work, everyones expectations. It was time to live for herself.
Later that evening Lydia called. How are you? Gillian said, Leave me be, I need solitude. She went to sleep, but the darkness was thick, the distant hum of traffic and a distant dogs bark filling the room, thoughts of the future swirling.
At dawn a knock sounded. Thomas stood on the doorstep, suit rumpled, eyes red from sleeplessness.
May I come in? he asked softly.
Gillian stepped aside. He entered, sat on the same chair Lydia had occupied yesterday. She set the kettle, poured tea, both silent.
You didnt come, Thomas finally said.
I didnt.
Why?
Gillian looked at the boy she had raised, now a man who seemed both grown and alien.
Because I wasnt wanted, she replied simply. Because I realised Im no longer needed.
Mum, thats not true
Dont. You know its true. You chose Emily; thats your right. But dont pretend Im still needed if you dont feel it.
Thomas covered his face with his hands. Im ashamed ashamed of myself.
She placed the cup before him. Yesterday I stood at the altar and thought, where is my mother? I saw the guests, but you werent there. I realised Id let you be silent while Emily belittled me. I put her wishes above yours.
Yes, Gillian agreed. You did that.
Forgive me, Thomas whispered, tears tracing his cheeks. I was a fool, chasing a picture, status, empty ceremony, and I hurt the most important person.
Gillian listened, wondering whether to trust his words or see them as a fleeting apology.
I told Emily that if she didnt learn to respect you, Id leave her, Thomas said, wiping his eyes. We argued. She asked where you were. I said you werent coming because she behaved horrifically. She burst into tears, fled to the restroom, then returned, apologised, promised to change. I dont know if shes sincere, but I made it clear: a mother is sacred, no one may insult her.
Warmth spread through Gillians chest. Her son had returned, if only for a moment. He recognised her.
I want to fix everything, Thomas reached across the table, gripping her hand. I want you in my life, to see you, to hear that I love you, always have, always will.
Gillian squeezed his hand. I love you too. It hurt, thats all.
Ill make sure it never hurts again, he promised.
They sat, hands clasped, the old hurt slowly ebbing. Scars would remain, trust would need rebuilding, but the fact that he now understood mattered.
Emily wants to talk to you, Thomas said. She wants to apologise. Should she come?
Gillian hesitated. She didnt want to see Emily, but if a genuine reconciliation was possible
Let her in, she said quietly. Well see.
Thomas smiled, the first genuine smile in weeks, rose, and embraced his mother tightly, burying his face in her shoulder. Her son, her blood, had finally found the courage to own his mistake, and that was priceless.
She returned to the window, watching the street below. A lighter feeling settled in her chest. Maybe things would improve, maybe not. But now she knew she wasnt alone. She had a son who loved her and would fight for her.
Her phone buzzed: a message from Lydia, Hows it going?
Gillian typed back, Thomas stopped by. Looks hopeful.
Life, she thought, is unpredictable. One day pain, the next joy. The key is to keep hope alive and remember that even in the darkest moments there is a way out, though sometimes you must look beyond the familiar path.
She moved to the kitchen, fetched flour, eggs, sugar, and began to bake a cake. Soon Thomas and Emily would arrive for the evening, and she needed something to offer. The wounds werent healed, but the first step toward peace was taken. From here, time would tell.
She had not betrayed herself by attending a wedding she didnt want to attend. She had defended her dignity. Sometimes saying no to those closest is the only way to teach them you are a person with feelings, not a piece of furniture in their lives. If Thomas learns from this, then she knows she did the right thing.
