An apartment for my son, but on one condition: I must marry him again.
My name is Anne, Im sixty and I live in Tours. I never would have imagined that after everything Ive endured, the past would return to my life with such audacity and cynicism, twenty years after complete silence. The worst part is that the person behind this comeback is my own son.
When I was twentyfive, I was passionately in love. Philippetall, charming, jovialwas the embodiment of my dream. We married quickly, and a year later our son Paul was born. The early years felt like a fairytale. We lived in a modest flat, dreamed together and built plans. I worked as a teacher, he as an engineer. Nothing seemed able to shatter our happiness.
Over time, Philippe changed. He came home later and later, lied, drifted away. I tried to ignore the rumors, to look the other way when he returned late smelling of foreign perfume. Eventually everything became clear: he was cheating. Not just once, but repeatedly. Friends, neighbours, even my parents knew. And I stubbornly tried to save our familyfor Pauls sake. I endured far too long, hoping he would come to his senses. One night I woke up to find he hadnt returned, and I realized I couldnt go on.
I gathered my things, took fiveyearold Paul by the hand, and went 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 pretended we never existed. No letters, no calls. Total 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 would never lack anything. I had no personal lifeno time. He was everything to me.
When Paul entered the University of Lyon I helped him as best I couldsending packages, money, moral support. Buying an apartment, however, was beyond my means; the finances werent there. He never complained, saying he would manage. I was proud of him.
Last month he came to me with news: he had decided to get married. The joy was brief. He was nervous, avoided my eyes, then said:
Mom I need your help. Its about dad.
I froze. He explained that he had recently reestablished contact with Philippe. His father had returned to France and offered him the keys to a tworoom apartment that had belonged to his grandmother. But there was a condition: I had to marry him again and let him move into my flat.
My breath stopped. I stared at my son, unable to believe he was serious. He continued:
Youre alone you have nobody. Why not try once more? For me. For my future family. Dad has changed
I retreated to 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.
I went back to the living room and said calmly:
No. I will not accept.
Paul exploded. He shouted, accused me, claimed Id always thought only of myself, that it was my fault he had no father, that now I was destroying his life again. I stayed quiet, because each of his words 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 instead of 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 comfort.
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 wanted for him. But I cannot sell my dignity for a few square metres. The price is too high.
Perhaps he will understand someday. Maybe not anytime soon. I will wait for him, because I love him. With a true, unconditional loveno apartments, no 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 stay in the past. His place is there.
