Maggie Thompson stood in the kitchen, phone clenched in her hand, voice trembling with annoyance. Her son, Andrew, had promised to call the night before and never did.
Andrew, youve forgotten to call again! Ive been waiting all evening! she snapped.
Sorry, Mum, Ive been swamped at work. No time for calls, Andrew replied, his tone flat.
Mum, you could have at least sent a text! Im worrying!
Im thirtytwo, not a child you have to check up on every minute, he added.
Maggie fell silent. Andrew had never spoken to her like that before. Hed always been caring, calling daily, visiting on weekends, helping around the house.
Fine, she whispered. Sorry for bothering you.
Everythings OK. Listen, Im coming Saturday, but Im not alone.
Who with? Maggies heart tightened.
With a girl. Youll meet her. Her names Imogen.
A girl? Andrew, is this serious?
Very serious, Mum. Weve been together half a year.
Maggie sank onto a chair. Half a year and hed never mentioned her. Hed always shared everything. Now he kept it hidden.
Why didnt you tell me earlier?
I wanted to be sure it was real. Now I am. Expect us Saturday at lunchtime.
Alright, Ill be waiting.
When Andrew hung up, Maggie stared at the phone, feeling a mix of pride and sorrow. Finally, he had found someone. She had waited for this moment for years.
Maggie lived alone in a modest twobedroom flat on the outskirts of York. Her husband had died fifteen years ago of a heart attack. She raised Andrew singlehanded, juggling two parttime jobs, sleeping little, and scrimping so her son could have a decent life.
Andrew had grown into a bright, diligent young man. He graduated with top honours from university and landed a programmers job at a large tech firm in Leeds. He earned a good salary, rented a flat in the city centre, and made his mother proud.
On Saturday, Maggie rose early. She cleaned the flat until it sparkled, polished every pot, washed the curtains, then headed to the market in Harrogate. She bought meat, vegetables, fruit, and apples for a crumbleAndrews favourite. By one oclock everything was ready: the table laid with a crisp white cloth, the best china set out. Maggie donned her nicest dress, tidied her hair, and even applied a touch of lipstick.
The doorbell rang exactly at two. She wiped her hands on her apron, smoothed her hair, and opened the door.
Andrew stood in an expensive suit, a tall, slender woman beside him. Imogen wore a fashionable dress, high heels, her hair in an intricate style, makeup flawless. She was strikingly beautiful.
Hello, Mum! Andrew hugged her. Mum, this is Imogen.
Hello, Imogen said, extending a gloved hand. Her fingers bore sparkling rings.
Welcome, dear, Maggie said, ushering them inside.
Maggie fussed, offering seats and asking them to remove their shoes. Imogen glanced around, her eyes flicking over the faded wallpaper, the worn carpet, the modest furnishings.
Itscosy, Imogen said with a strained smile.
Thank you, dear. Its modest but tidy, Maggie replied.
They sat down. Maggie began serving the food, describing each dish. Andrew ate heartily, complimenting everything. Imogen picked at a meatball, taking small bites.
Is it tasty? Maggie asked.
Its fine. I usually avoid fried foods; Im watching my figure, Imogen replied.
Oh, love, youre already slender! Maggie chortled.
Its the result of training. I have a personal trainer five days a week, Imogen said.
Maggie nodded, thinking of how tight her own budget was.
What do you do, Imogen? Maggie asked.
Im not employed at the moment. I run a chain of beauty salonsthree branches across the city, Imogen replied.
Impressive! Maggie exclaimed.
It wasnt all me, Imogen corrected, adjusting a strand of hair. My father helped open the first salon; Ive built the rest.
What about your parents? Maggie inquired.
My dad owns a construction firm. My mother is involved in charities, Imogen answered.
Maggie realized Imogen came from a world of money, success, and opportunityfar removed from her modest pension and ageing flat.
Mom, how are you doing? Any health issues? Andrew asked.
Im alright, though my blood pressure spikes now and then. I take the pills, Maggie said.
Andrew smiled. Actually, Imogen and I wanted to tell you something. Were getting married.
Maggies cup froze midsip.
Married? When?
In three months. Well have a reception at a restaurant for about one hundred and fifty guests.
One hundred and fifty? Thatsvery expensive! Maggie gasped.
Dont worry. Imogens parents will cover everything. They have the connections to organise it all.
Yes, Imogen nodded. My father booked the citys top restaurant. Therell be a host, performers, even fireworks.
Maggie stared at her son, barely recognizing the confident man in the costly suit, speaking of a lavish wedding that seemed beyond her world.
Can I help in any way? she asked.
Nothing needed, Mum. Just be there and enjoy it, Andrew said, placing his hand over hers.
Maybe I could bake a few pies for the guests? Maggie offered.
Well have professional catering, Imogen replied politely.
Or I could help with decorations? Maggie tried again.
No, thank you. Just come and be happy, Andrew said gently.
Maggie nodded, swallowing the sting of humiliation, forcing a smile.
After lunch, Imogen excused herself to the bathroom. When she returned, her face was a mask of annoyance.
Andrew, we must go, she said. I have a meeting with a designer in an hour.
Already? We just arrived! Andrew protested.
I told you we wouldnt stay long, Imogen replied.
Andrew gave Maggie a guilty look. Sorry, Mum. We really have to leave.
Mum, thank you for coming, he said as they departed.
Maggie sat at the table, staring at the untouched dishes. She had prepared a feast, yet they barely ate and were already gone.
The phone rang. It was her friend Molly Hughes.
Maggie, how are you? Did your son come?
He did. He introduced his fiancée.
Hows she?
Beautiful, rich, from another world.
How did she treat you?
Polite, but she seemed to think our flat wasunpleasant.
Maggie, the rich never understand us simple folk.
Exactly. But Andrew likes her. He says theyre getting married.
Good for him. May he be happy.
Yes, may he be happy, Maggie echoed. Just as long as hes happy.
A week passed with no calls from Andrew. Maggie called, but he was always busy in meetings, traveling, or with Imogen.
Two weeks later, Andrew finally called.
Hey, Mum. How are you?
Fine, love. And you?
Great. We visited Imogens parents at their country estate. Its a huge manor. They welcomed us warmly, he said.
Maggie clenched the phone. Im glad for you.
Alright, I have to run. Talk later.
Mum, wait! Come over for a roast tomorrow. Ill make your favourite stew.
Cant, love. Were choosing wedding rings.
Can I come?
There was a pause. Mum, thats personal. Well manage ourselves.
Okay, good luck then.
When the call ended, Maggie stared out the grey courtyard, feeling that Andrew was slipping into a life where there was no room for his old, threadbaredressed mother.
That evening, Molly dropped by with scones.
You look thin, Maggie, Molly observed.
Thanks, dear, Maggie replied, sipping tea.
Whats troubling you? Molly asked.
My son forgets me. He used to call every day, now weeks go by without a word. He even refused to let me choose his rings.
Hes in love, thats all. Itll pass.
What if it doesnt? Maggie wondered.
Then hes just a foolish boy, Molly said.
Maggie wiped a tear. Hes not a boy anymore. Hes not even mine.
Molly hugged her. Dont say that. Blood is blood.
Would like to believe that.
A month later, the wedding drew near. Andrew brought home an invitation.
Heres the card, Mum. Ceremony at three, then the banquet.
Maggie examined the embossed invitation, the names in gold, the address of the upscale restaurant in Leeds.
Lovely, she said. What should I wear?
Whatever you like, Andrew shrugged.
I thought maybe I should buy something new, to look proper.
Its up to you, he replied. I dont think it matters.
Doesnt matter? Im the grooms mother!
Dont worry, Mum, there will be so many guests you wont be noticed.
Maggie lowered her eyes. No one will notice me, the mother of the groom.
Where will I sit? she asked.
Im not sure. Imogen is handling the seating. Shell call you.
Imogen never called. Maggie phoned Andrew repeatedly, but he was always busy with work and wedding plans.
A week before the wedding, Imogen finally rang.
This is Imogen. Youll be at table twelve.
Table twelve? Where is that?
Down the far side, with distant relatives and Andrews friends.
Why not at the head table? Im his mother!
Imogen was silent. The head table is for us, my parents, and close family. Weve already finalised the chart.
Maggie felt a surge of anger. She dialed Andrew.
Mum, Im in a meeting, cant talk.
Imogen said Ill be at table twelve, in the corner, like a stranger! Maggie snapped.
It doesnt matter which table, Mum, he replied.
It matters! Im his mother! I should be by his side!
Your sons inlaws are paying for everything. They decide.
What about me? Am I nothing?
Please, dont make a scene. Im already stressed enough.
Andrew?
He ended the call. Maggie sat, the thought of table twelve crushing her spirit.
Molly visited later, finding Maggie on the brink of tears.
What a outrage! Molly exclaimed. How can they treat you like that?
What can I do? Argue? Theyll stop inviting me altogether.
Maybe you shouldnt go at all?
Cant. Hes my son.
Might be better to step back. He doesnt respect you, he lets his fiancée belittle you.
Maggie wiped her eyes. Ill still go. Its his wedding, after all.
On the wedding day, sunshine bathed the town. Maggie rose early, did her hair, and wore the best dress she owneda faded but tidy number bought five years ago.
Molly drove her to a black cab.
Hold your head high, Maggie. You raised a son on your own; you deserve respect.
The restaurant was magnificent: crystal chandeliers, white tablecloths, flowers everywhere. Maggie felt like a mouse in a palace.
She located table twelve in the far corner, already occupied by a few strangersAndrews university mates and a distant aunt of Imogen.
What are you? the aunt asked.
Im the grooms mother, Maggie replied.
Really? Usually parents sit at the head, the aunt noted.
Were told to sit here, Maggie said briefly.
Andrew and Imogen arrived, handinhand, in a crisp white suit and an elegant gown. Guests applauded, photographers snapped.
Andrew sat at the head table with Imogens parentsan affluent couple glittering in diamonds. No place was left for Maggie.
The banquet began. Performers sang, a magician performed tricks, and the room buzzed with chatter. Maggie sat quietly, feeling invisible at her own sons celebration.
She tried to approach the head table, offering a small gifta neatly wrapped box.
Thanks, Mum, Andrew took it without opening, sliding it onto the side.
Imogen, lovely dress, Maggie said.
Thanks, Mum, Imogen replied, glancing at her husband.
Can we take a photo together? Maggie asked.
Later, Mum, Im busy, he said, moving away.
Imogen placed a hand on her husbands shoulder. We have guests to greet.
Maggie remained at her corner, watching her son ignore her, absorbed in the glittering world he now inhabited.
When the evening ended, Maggie slipped out unnoticed. Back home, Molly waited with tea.
How did it go? she asked.
It was beautiful, expensive but I felt like an extra, Maggie confessed.
Did you cry? Molly asked.
No, just tired, Maggie whispered.
Weeks passed. Andrews calls became rare, then stopped. Maggie stopped calling, focusing on her own life. She joined a seniors yoga class, looked after the neighbours grandson a few days a week, and enjoyed simple pleasures.
One afternoon, as she tended her balcony roses, a familiar voice called her name.
Its Imogen, the woman said, visibly pregnant.
Congratulations, Maggie replied.
May I speak with you? Imogen asked.
They sat in a nearby café. Imogen confessed that Andrew had become distant, that she had unintentionally pushed him away, fearing Maggies modest background.
I thought money would make everything perfect, Imogen admitted, tears in her eyes. Now I see Ive hurt the man I love.
Maggie listened, feeling a pang of sympathy for the young woman who had tried so hard to fit in.
I cant fix it, Maggie said gently. Its between you and your husband.
Imogen begged, Could you at least call him? Tell him Im sorry?
I told him once that Id wait for him to reach out, Maggie replied. If he never does, I wont force it.
Imogen left, hopeful for a future child she carried. Maggie returned home, looking out the window at the quiet street. She imagined a grandson she might never meet, yet she felt no bitterness.
Months later, Molly announced, Imogen has given birth to a boyDavid.
Congratulations, Grandma! Molly cheered, hugging Maggie.
Thank you, Maggie said, a tear slipping down her cheek. I never saw him, but Ill always be his grandmother in spirit.
Andrew never called again. Maggie kept her promise not to chase him, and in doing so she reclaimed her peace. She learned that love cannot be demanded, and that dignity comes from accepting what cannot be changed while still living fully.
In the end, Maggie understood that a mothers worth isnt measured by the size of a wedding or the wealth of a son, but by the quiet strength to let go and still find joy in the simple moments of everyday life.
