Gillian, have you lost your mind?Its your only sons wedding and youre just sipping tea!
Mrs. Lydia Victoria stood in the doorway of the kitchen, hands on her hips, her eyes blazing with righteous anger. Gillian didnt even look up from her mug.
Sit down, dear, the kettles hot.
What tea? Lydia crossed the kitchen, flopping into the chair opposite. Its half past twelve. In an hour Arthur will walk down the aisle and youre still here
Im not going anywhere, Gillian said, taking a sip and staring out the window. And dont try to convince me.
Lydia fell silent, studying her friends face. They had been friends for forty years, since school, and Lydia knew Gillian like the back of her hand. This, however, was unexpected.
Whats happened? she asked softly. You both seemed to have patched things up after that argument.
Gillian gave a bitter smile.
He called two days ago and said, Come, Mum, if you want to. As if I were heading to a market stall, not my own childs wedding.
Maybe he was just being casual?
Lydia, Gillian turned to her and tears glimmered in her eyes Im fortynine. I raised him alone, no husband. I juggled two jobs so he never wanted for anything. I taught him, nursed him, stayed up when he was ill. And now Im a burden, an extra.
Lydia reached out, covering Gillians hand.
Tell me everything, from the start.
Gillian poured tea for her friend, fetched a tin of biscuits and sighed heavily.
It all began six months ago. Arthur introduced me to Charlotte. Tall, slim, striking. I was thrilled at firstfinally my son was in a serious relationship, at twentyseven. I said, Come over, lets get to know each other, Ill cook dinner.
And Charlotte?
She walked in, glanced around, and you could tell she wasnt impressed. Our flat is a modest twobedroom council houseold furniture, wallpaper long overdue for a change, but clean and tidy. I spent the whole day cleaning, baked some scones.
Gillian remembered the evening: the best blouse she owned, her hair done, the fine china set out.
She perched on the edge of a chair as if afraid to soil herself. She smiled, but her eyes were cold. I asked, What do you do, Charlotte? She replied, I work in marketing, running projects, and added, Your Arthur is talented; its a shame hes still in a regular job.
How presumptuous, Lydia snorted.
At first I didnt get it, then I realised she was implying I hadnt helped him reach his potential. And what could I do? Im a nurse earning a pittance, while Arthur has a degree in computer science, works as a programmer, earns a good salary, rents a flat in a new development. Im proud of him.
Of course you are, Lydia nodded. What happened next?
We sat down for dinner. Charlotte talked endlessly about herselfher successes, the projects she led, her earnings. Then she asked, MrsGilliam, have you ever thought of moving into a care home? They have good facilities and youd be with people your own age.
Lydia gasped.
Are you serious?
She swore it was an honest suggestion. I was stunned. Arthur stared at his plate. I said, Im fortyeight, not ready for a care home. Im healthy, I work. She smiled, Just thinking ahead, so I dont become a burden to you.
Arthur remained silent. The spring sun streamed through the kitchen window, bright May day. Somewhere, Arthur was getting his suit ready, nerves fluttering. And I was still here.
After that dinner they left. Arthur hugged me goodbye and said, Dont mind her, Mum, Charlotte is just practical.
And you kept quiet?
I called him later, told him everything on my mind. He got angry, accused me of being jealous, told me to learn to let go because hes an adult who decides who to live with.
Lydia shook her head.
Children can be cruel, they dont understand.
We fought. He didnt call for a month. I thought Id lost him forever. Then he came back, begged forgiveness, said Id always be the most important person in his life. I believed him.
Gillian returned to the table, the tea long cold, but she finished it.
A month later he announced an engagement. He called, thrilled, Mum, were getting married! I congratulated him, asked when. He said, Soon, weve booked a restaurant. Come Saturday, well discuss details.
Did you go?
I did. Their flat was spacious, bright, freshly renovated, brandnew furniture. Charlotte greeted me coldly, like an healthinspector. She led me to the sitting room, offered no tea.
Lydia clicked her tongue.
Rude.
They showed me the guest listseventy people, none of my friends. I asked, Can my friend Lydia be invited? Arthur and Charlotte exchanged a glance and said, Mum, the venue is limited to close friends and colleagues. I fell silent. Then they described the banquet hall, the menuexpensive, elegant. I thought, Where is my place in all this?
A flock of sparrows swooped past the window, settling on an old poplar. When Arthur was a boy he used to feed them crumbs from the kitchen table.
Then Charlotte said, MrsGilliam, weve been thinkingmaybe youd consider taking out a loan for the wedding? Well chip in, but extra money would help.
What? Lydia leapt up. She asked you to get a loan for their wedding?
Exactly. I thought I misheard. Youre serious? I asked. My salary is £30,000; a bank would never lend me anything. And you both earn well enough. She replied, Were saving for a bigger flat in the centre, and traditionally parents cover the wedding.
Lydias face flushed with outrage.
I looked at Arthur; he avoided my gaze. It hit mehed agreed with her, expecting me to foot the bill for a wedding that barely invited me.
I refused, Gillian said, voice trembling. Youre adults, you earn your own money. Ill help where I can, but I wont take a loan. Charlotte pursed her lips. How selfish of you to put your sons happiness aside.
How selfish? Lydia interjected. Ive spent thirty years living on leftovers, sleepless nights, just so he could have everything.
What does Arthur think?
He stood, walked me to the door, said, Mum, dont be angry. Charlottes used to her parents paying everything. I asked, And you? He hesitated, then said, Wed love a grand wedding but we lack funds. I could accept help.
Both women poured more tea, the silence heavy. Such stories happen often when children marry, but when its yours, silence is impossible.
I left that night, walked the streets crying. My neighbour, Aunt Vera from the flat above, called, Gillian, whats wrong with you? I told her everything. She said, You know Charlottes been telling the neighbours youre a hindering mother, that youre holding them back.
No way!
She swore she overheard Charlotte on the lift, complaining about a poor, outdated mother and that after the wedding shed see me less.
Gillian covered her face with her hands, the memory painful.
I didnt call Arthur right away. I waited, hoping hed come and explain. Weeks passed, then a message: Mum, wedding is Saturday. Invitation to follow.
Did he send it?
An email, no warm words, just a link to the restaurant and the address. I realised he no longer saw me as his mother, but as an obligation to be removed.
Lydia sighed.
Maybe Charlottes influence is that strong?
Hes twentyseven, a grown man. If he wanted to, he would have defended me. He chose silence, so it must be convenient for him.
A radio played in the next room, neighbours televisions flickered. Gillian glanced at the clockhalf past two. Guests were probably gathering by now. Charlotte, in a white dress, was getting ready, Arthur nervous. And I was still not there.
Did you ever tell him you wouldnt attend?
I called yesterday. Arthur, I wont come to the wedding. He was silent, then asked why. I said, Because Im not wanted, Im a burden. He tried to reassure, We do want you, Mum, youre always welcome. I asked plainly, Does Charlotte want me there? He hesitated, then said, Come if you wish.
If you wish, Lydia repeated. How empty that sounds.
Exactly. I realised I didnt want to sit among strangers feeling like an unwelcome guest.
Gillian rose, opened the fridge, took out the pork pies shed baked the night before. Here, have a pie, Lydia, she said, offering the savoury pastry.
Are you sorry you didnt go? Lydia asked.
Of course. Id love to see my son walk down the aisle, to hug him, to wish the couple a long life. But it would have been far more painful to be there just to be tolerated.
Youve spent thirty years on him, little sleep, skimped meals, hoping hed be grateful, love you, care for you. And now he sees you as a hindrance, as someone who belongs in a care home. Let him live without you if thats what he thinks is right.
Are you angry at him?
No, just hurt. I feel Ive lost my son, you know? Hes alive, healthy, but the boy I raised seems gone, replaced by a stranger.
Lydia stood and embraced her friend. Tears finally slipped free, quiet sobs for broken hopes and unspoken thanks.
Maybe things can still change, Lydia whispered, rubbing her back. He may come to his senses.
He wont, Gillian said, wiping her eyes. Charlotte will keep pulling him away. I know shell keep him at arms length, wont let me in, wont let me be his mother. Im not blind.
They sat in the kitchen, sipping the nowlukewarm tea in silence until Lydia left, promising to check back later. Gillian was alone in the empty flat, turned the TV on but couldnt focus. Memories of Arthur as a child flooded backhow hed bring dandelions from the garden, draw little cards for Mothers Day, whisper, Mum, I love you more than anyone.
Where is that boy now?
The phone rang. It was Arthur. Gillian stared at his name, then let it go to voicemail. A text followed: Mum, why arent you answering? The weddings already under way, everyones asking where you are.
She set the phone down, typed back: Wishing you happiness. Take care of yourself.
Another call came, she ignored it. She lay down on the couch, the quiet pressing in her ears. Was she right to stay away? Could she have gone, out of duty? Shed spent a lifetime living for othersher son, her work, everyones expectations. It was time to live for herself.
That evening Lydia phoned again. How are you holding up?
Fine, Gillian replied. Just need some space. She hung up, tried to sleep, but the night was filled with distant car horns and a dog barking. She wondered what the future heldwould Arthur ever truly see her as his mother again?
At dawn a knock sounded. She opened the door to find Arthur, suit rumpled, eyes red from a sleepless night.
May I come in? he asked softly.
Gillian stepped aside. He entered, sat in the same chair where Lydia had been. She set the kettle on, poured tea, placed a cup before him.
You didnt come, he said finally.
I didnt.
Why?
She looked at the son shed raised, now a man who felt both distant and familiar.
Because I wasnt welcome, she replied simply. Because I realised I was no longer needed.
Arthur, thats not true, he whispered. I chose Charlotte because I was dazzled by the picture, the status, the fuss. I let her voice drown yours.
Yes, Gillian agreed. I let her have my place.
Arthurs shoulders slumped. Im sorry, Mum. I was an idiot. I let a pretty façade and ambition hurt the only person who ever gave me everything.
He took her hand across the table, his grip earnest.
I told Charlotte that if she never learns to respect you, Ill leave her. I said it at the ceremonyshe ran to the restroom, shouted that I was blaming his mother. She came back, apologized, said shed try to change. I dont know how sincere she is, but I promise you this: you are sacred to me. No one may ever treat you that way again.
Gillian felt a warm tide rise in her chest. Her son was back, if only for a moment, and he was defending her.
I love you too, she whispered. It hurt deeply, but hearing this helps mend the wound.
He smiled, tears glistening. Ill do everything to make things right, to bring you back into my life.
She squeezed his hand. It will take time. Trust is fragile, but we can rebuild.
Arthur asked, Charlotte wants to speak with you. Should I let her in?
Gillian hesitated. She didnt want to see her again, but if reconciliation was possible, she would try.
Let her in, she said. Well see.
Arthur rose, embraced her tightly, his head resting on her shoulder. The boy shed known was there, raw and remorseful, ready to protect his mother.
Later, sitting by the window, Gillian watched the street bustle. She felt lighter, as if a weight had shifted. Whether Charlotte would truly change she did not know, but she now understood that she no longer had to sacrifice herself to be loved.
Her phone buzzed with a message from Lydia: How are you?
Gillian typed back: Arthur stopped by. It looks like things might get better.
Life is unpredictablepainful one day, hopeful the next. The key is never to lose hope and to remember that even in the darkest moments there is a way forward, if only you have the courage to say no to what harms you and to claim your own worth.
