My name is Victor, Im thirtyseven, and despite having everything I ever wanted, I was still missing one thing a family of my own. Six years ago my father passed away, and since then Ive been sharing a twobedroom flat in Manchester with my mother. I never wanted to disappoint her, so I finished a respectable degree, landed a solid job, and lived up to the expectations shed set for me. She was always eager to hear the day Id tell her Id found a partner, so she could start doting on her future grandchildren.
Eventually I met Sophie, a girl from a small village in Yorkshire who was still a university student at the time. Her family wasnt welloff, but that didnt matter to me. My mum, however, wasnt thrilled with the match; she kept saying Sophie wasnt suitable for me. For the first time I followed my heart and began dating her. After a few months I brought her home and announced that we were moving in together and that she was carrying my child. My mother thought Sophie was only staying in the city under false pretences.
Even though Mum disapproved, Sophie moved in with us, and my mother begrudgingly accepted her. At first she wasnt keen on Sophie, but over time she grew more tolerant. Sophie turned out to be a wonderful housekeeper, and Mum seemed to settle down, though she still hoped to stir up trouble between us.
A while later our daughter was born, and we named her Emily. Mum asked for a paternity test; we agreed, even though I never doubted that Emily was my child. The test, which cost a few hundred pounds, confirmed I was the father, yet Mum still refused to welcome Sophie into our family. She even suggested I should split up with Sophie and give Emily back to her.
I was furious, so I left Mums house with Sophie and little Emily. Since then I keep contact with my mother to a minimum, because I see her as selfish and uncaring of my feelings. Its a shame she never managed to accept Sophie as part of our family, but Im not going to put up with her behaviour any longer.
