“Dont interfere in my family,” my son said before blocking my number.
“Mum, for goodness sake! Im a grown man!” Tom tugged at his hoodie string, standing in the hallway with a bag in hand.
“Where on earth are you going in this weather? Its pouring out there!” Margaret glanced out the window, where fat raindrops streaked down the glass. “And Ive made dinneryour favourite shepherds pie. Cant it wait?”
“Mum, Im thirty! Thirty! And you still track my every move like Im fifteen.”
Margaret sighed, clutching a tea towel to her chest. He was right, of course. But letting go of himher only, much-longed-for childwas harder than shed ever imagined. Especially after David left them, walking out without a backward glance.
“I just worry about you. You havent been yourself since the divorce with Lucy. Youve closed off. I thought maybe we could talk?”
“Talk about what?” Tom zipped up his jacket. “Im fine. Just heading to Jakes to watch the match. You know Jakeweve been mates since school.”
“I know Jake. Lovely lad. Remember when you two built that treehouse in the garden?” Margaret smiled at the memory. “Id bring you lemonade and sandwiches…”
“Mum, Im going to be late.”
Tom reached for the door, but she caught his sleeve.
“Wait! What if Sophies there? Jakes got a girlfriend nowthey might invite friends. You wouldnt mind meeting someone nice, would you?”
“Oh, for” Tom groaned. “Mum, enough! Ill sort out my own love life.”
“Im not being horrible! I just want you happy. A proper family, maybe kids…”
She trailed off as his face darkened. Kids were still a sore subject after the divorce.
Tom yanked the door open and slammed it behind him. Margaret stood frozen in the hall, tea towel pressed to her chest.
She wandered into the kitchen and turned off the oven. No point eating alone. Shed reheat it laterif he even came home tonight.
Margaret sank onto a stool, staring at the empty kitchen. It used to be so full of lifeDavid reading the paper, Tom doing homework at the table, her bustling by the stove. Now, just silence, broken only by rain tapping the windowsill.
The phone rang. She snatched it up.
“Hello?”
“Margie, its me, Susan. How you holding up, love? Not brooding, are you?”
Susan was her oldest friend, the only one whod stuck by her since college.
“Just had another row with Tom. Dont know how to talk to him anymore. Everything I says wrong.”
“What set it off this time?”
“The usual. Asked where he was going, and he bit my head off. Like Im some sort of villain.”
“Margie, ever think maybe hes struggling? A thirty-year-old bloke living with his mum…”
“But where else would he go? Rents sky-high, and his salarys not enough to buy a place alone. You know how it is.”
“I do. But Margie, maybe hes not trying because its too easy at home? You still cook, clean, do his laundrylike hes a kid.”
Margaret opened her mouth to argue, then stopped. Susan was right. She was still treating him like he was ten.
“But Im his mother! How can I not care?”
“Caring and smothering arent the same, love. My Charlie moved to Leeds at twenty-five. Miss him like mad, but youve got to let them go.”
After hanging up, Margaret sat for ages, thinking. Maybe Susan had a point. Maybe shed gone too far.
Tom came home late, near midnight. Went straight to his room without a word. She heard him rustling about, pulling things from the wardrobe.
Breakfast was silent. Tom scrolled through his phone while she piled eggs and bacon onto his plate.
“Tom, remember that trip to the zoo with your dad? You adored the elephants,” she ventured.
“Yeah,” he muttered, not looking up.
“And your first day of schoolso serious with that little backpack…”
“Mum, why bring this up now?”
“Just… time flies. Feels like yesterday you were small.”
Tom finally met her eyes, exhausted. “If you know Im grown, why treat me like a kid?”
“I dont”
“You rang Jake last night to check if I was really there. Think I didnt notice?”
Margaret flushed. She had called. Just wanted to be sure he was safe.
“I was worried”
“Mum, Im thirty! I was married. We planned kids. Im not some teenager!”
“But”
“But what? Because I live here, you think you own me?”
Tears pricked her eyes. She only ever wanted the best for him.
“I just want you happy.”
“Yeah. But your idea of happy is suffocating me. I cant do this anymore.”
Tom drained his coffee and stood.
“Dont wait up. Staying at Jakes tonight.”
“What about dinner? I thought Id do your favourite roast”
“Skip it.” He grabbed his jacket.
“Tom, wait!” She chased him to the door. “Why are we fighting? Ill back off, I promise”
“Mum, its not about that. I need space. My own life.”
“But Ill be alone!” The words burst out. “Dad left, now youwhat am I supposed to do?”
“Dunno. But I cant be your whole world. Its not right.”
The door slammed. Margaret numbly cleared his half-eaten eggs.
She spent the day in a fog. Called Susan, ranting, but her friend shocked her by siding with Tom.
“Margie, think how he feels. All his mates have their own places, families. Hes stuck with Mum. Must be humiliating.”
“But I never forced him!”
“You never made it easy to leave, either. Made sure hed feel guilty if he tried.”
Margaret wanted to argue, but the fight drained out of her. She had clung to him, terrified of being left.
Three days passed with no word. On the fourth, she cracked and called.
“The number you have dialed is no longer in service.”
Odd. Tom never turned his phone off. Battery dead? Or worse?
She dug out Jakes number.
“Jake, its Margaret. Is Tom there?”
“Nah, Mrs. H. Moved out three days ago. Got his own flat.”
“What? Why didnt he tell me?”
“Dunno. Guess he wanted to tell you himself…”
Her hands shook as she hung up. His own flat! Without a word! What if he got ill? Whod look after him?
She redialed Toms number. This time: “This number is not recognized.”
Her stomach dropped. Changed his number? Didnt even give her the new one?
She rushed to Susans.
“Hes gone! Changed his number! Like Im some enemy!”
“Margie, breathe. Sit. Have tea.”
“Tea? Susan, hell fall apart without me! Wholl cook? Wholl do his laundry? What if hes sick?”
“Margie, hes thirty. Not a baby.”
“But”
“No buts. You pushed him to this. Smothered him.”
“I wanted whats best!”
“Wanted. But you strangled him with it.” Susan poured the tea. “Loves meant to set free, Margie. Not chain down.”
“What was I supposed to do? After David left, Tom was all I had!”
“And thats the problem. Kids arent meant to be our whole world. You need your own life.”
“What life? Im fifty-five!”
“So? Lifes over? Look at Carol from down the roadsixty-two and in a bloody salsa class! Living her best life!”
“Shes got no husband, no kids”
“Neither have you now. Whatll you dosit waiting for them to come back?”
Susan was right, but admitting it felt like drowning. Had everything shed done been wrong? Had love ruined him?
A week dragged by in a haze. Work, meals no one ate, telly blurring before her eyes.
Then, Saturday morning, the doorbell. Her heart leaptTom!
A stranger stood there. Mid-twenties, blonde, warm-eyed.
“Hello. Margaret?”
“Yes”
“Im Emily. Tom and I were together. Can we talk?”
Margaret stepped aside, pulse hammering.
“Kitchens through there. Tea?”
“Thanks.”
They sat opposite each other, Margaret stealing glances. Pretty. Polished. But why had Tom hidden her?
“Margaret, I came because Tom wont. Were getting married.”
Her chest tightened.
“Married He never said”
“Hes scared of your reaction. Told me how you were with Lucy. How you control his life.”
“I dont control”
“You love him. But your love” Emily hesitated. “Its choking him.”
“Youre not his mother!”
“No. But I love him, and I see how torn he isbetween being a good son and living his life.”
Margaret stayed silent, seething. This girl, barely met, lecturing her on loving her own son!
“What do you want?”
“For you to let go. Really let go. No daily calls, no drop-ins, no unsolicited advice.”
“And what do I get?”
“A son who visits because he wants to. Not out of guilt. A daughter-in-law who doesnt see you as competition. Maybe grandchildren.”
“Grandchildren” Hope flickered.
“Yes. But only if you let us live our way.”
Emily stood, adjusting her bag.
“Think about it, Margaret. Tom loves you. But he cant stay your little boy forever.”
After Emily left, Margaret sat for hours, thoughts warring. Anger at Emilyhow dare she! Fear for Tomhad she lost him?
Then, hours later, scrubbing floors, shuffling photos, cryingsomething shifted. A quiet click inside.
*If I love him, I have to let go.*
Next day, she dialed the number Emily left.
“Hello?” Toms voice, wary.
“Tom Its me. I wont interfere. Just know the doors always open. I love you. And if Emilys willing, Id like to meet her properly.”
Silence. Then, softly:
“Thanks, Mum. That means a lot.”
And in that moment, Margaret understood: she wasnt losing him. She was giving himand herselfa chance to be happy.
