An apartment for my son, but on one condition: I must remarry him.
My name is Anne, Im sixty and I live in Tours. I never imagined that, after all Id endured, the past would reappear in my life with such brazen cynicism after twenty years of silence. The most painful part is that the one who sparked this return is none other than my own son.
When I was twentyfive, I was head over heels. Philippetall, charming, jovialwas the very picture of a dream. We wed 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 schoolchildren; he worked as an engineer. Nothing seemed able to shatter our happiness.
But over time Philippe changed. He came home later and later, told lies, drifted away. I tried to ignore the rumors, to look past his late returns and the scent of foreign perfume. Eventually everything became clear: he was cheating, and not just once. Friends, neighbors, even my parents knew. Yet I kept fighting to preserve our familyfor Paul. 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 could no longer bear it.
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 abroad, supposedly for work. Soon he found another woman and behaved as if we had never existedno letters, no calls, total indifference. I was left alone. My mother passed away, then my father. Paul and I faced everything togetherschool, activities, illnesses, joys, graduations. I worked tirelessly so he would lack nothing. I had no personal life; there was no time. He was everything to me.
When Paul entered the University of Lyon, I helped however I couldsending parcels, giving money, offering support. Buying an apartment, however, was beyond my means; the finances just werent there. He never complained, saying hed manage. I was proud of him.
Last month he came to see me with news: he had decided to marry. The happiness was brief. He was 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 apartment that his grandmother had left him. But there was a condition: I had to marry him again and let him move into my flat.
I was left breathless. I stared at my son, unable to believe he was serious. He continued:
Youre all 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 swirled before my eyes. Twenty years of carrying everything alone. Twenty years while he never cared about us. And now he returns with a proposal.
Back in the living room I said calmly:
No. I wont accept.
Paul erupted. He shouted, accused me of thinking only of myself, blamed me for his fathers absence, claimed I was ruining his life again. I stayed silent, because each word tore at my heart. He didnt know the sleepless, exhausting nights I endured. He didnt know I sold my wedding ring to buy him a winter coat. He didnt know I sacrificed everything so he could eat meat while I went hungry.
I dont feel lonely. My life has been hard, but honest. I have work, books, a garden, friends. I dont need a man who betrayed me, who 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 high.
Perhaps he will understand someday. Maybe not anytime soon. Yet I will wait, because I love himtruly, without conditions, without apartments, without ifs. I brought him into the world 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.
A Flat for Our Son, But There’s a Twist: I Must Marry Him Again!
