Im Anne, sixty years old, living in Tours. I never imagined that, after everything Id endured, the past would resurface with such audacity and bitternesstwenty years after a complete silence. The most painful part is that the one who sparked this return is my own son.
When I was twentyfive, I was headoverheels in love. Philippetall, charming, cheerfulwas my dream come to life. We married quickly, and a year later our son Paul was born. The early years felt like a fairytale. We lived in a tiny flat, dreaming together and building plans. I taught school, he worked as an engineer. Nothing seemed able to shatter our happiness.
But with time Philippe changed. He started coming home later and later, lying, drifting away. I tried to ignore the rumors, to turn a blind eye to his tardy returns and the scent of foreign perfume. Eventually the truth became undeniable: he was cheating on me, repeatedly. Friends, neighbors, even my parents all knew. Yet I stubbornly tried to keep the family togetherfor Pauls sake. I endured far too long, hoping hed see reason. One night I woke to find he hadnt come home, and I realized I could no longer bear it.
I gathered my things, took fiveyearold Paul by the hand, and went to my mothers house. Philippe didnt even attempt to stop us. A month later he left for abroadclaiming work. He soon found another woman and acted as if we had never existed. No letters, no calls. Total indifference. I was alone. My mother passed away, 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 no time. He was everything to me.
When Paul entered the University of Lyon, I supported him as best I couldsending parcels, money, emotional backing. Buying a flat, however, was beyond my means; finances fell short. He never complained, saying hed manage. I was proud of him.
Last month he came to me with news: he had decided to get married. The happiness was brief. He seemed nervous, avoided my eyes, then said:
Mom I need your help. Its about Dad.
I froze. He told me hed recently reconnected with Philippe. His father had returned to France and was offering the keys to a tworoom apartment his grandmother had left him. But there was a condition: I had to marry him again and let him move into my flat.
My breath caught. I stared 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. 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 wont accept.
Paul erupted. He shouted, accusing me of always thinking only of myself, blaming me for his lack of a father, claiming I was now ruining his life again. I stayed silent, because every word tore at my heart. He didnt know how many sleepless, exhausted nights I endured. How I sold my wedding ring to buy him a winter coat. How I deprived myself so he could eat meat, not me.
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 himselfjust as I once did. But I cannot trade my dignity for a few square meters. The price is too high.
Maybe hell understand one day. Maybe not soon. But Ill wait for him, because I love him. A true, unconditional lovewithout apartments, without ifs. I gave him life out of love, and raised him with love. I will not let that love be turned into a commodity.
As for my exhusband let him stay in the past. His place is there.
