A Mother’s Worry
A mother isn’t to blame when her grown son’s life goes awry, yet no one else will come to his aid. Only a mother prays for her son, waiting for him always. Waiting and loving.
Margaret Wilson raised three sons alone. Fate had denied her happiness, taking her husband John far too soon. They’d shared just fourteen years before his heart gave out.
She bore her grief quietly, never letting others see the sorrow buried deep in her heart. She knew better.
«I can’t show weakness to my boys,» she thought at night, sometimes weeping before dawn. «Even if they try to help, I must stay strong. I’ll endure it all.»
The elder two, William and Thomas, were just a year apart. When John passed, they were thirteen and twelve, while little Edward was only three.
One evening, William caught Margaret wiping tears in secret. He hugged her tight.
«Mum, don’t cry. I know it’s hard without Dad, but Tom and I will help. Just tell us what to do.»
«Oh, love, you’re so grown-up and kind. Thank you, dear. We’ll manage. When you’re older, things will get easier.»
The brothers always stuck together. They walked to and from school side by side, defending one another if anyone picked a fight. No one dared challenge them alone—everyone knew the two would stand united. Margaret never had trouble with them. They studied well, helped at home, and lived in their sturdy house in a quiet village. John had built it for their future, though fate had other plans.
Time passed. William and Thomas left home one after the other, served in the military, married, and blessed their mother with grandchildren. They visited often, caring for her—she was their only parent.
«Mum, if you need firewood, just say the word. I’ll sort it,» William would insist whenever he visited.
As the eldest, he kept an eye on Thomas, who’d also married well. Margaret adored her daughters-in-law. From the first meeting, they’d been warm and kind, so when her neighbour Rosemary complained about her own daughter-in-law, Margaret just smiled.
«Oh, Rosie, my boys chose well. Both girls are lovely, always bringing treats—even if it’s just sweets or groceries. Come over for tea; I’ve got some new biscuits they brought.»
«Alright, I’ll pop by after lunch,» Rosemary sighed, though Margaret knew the conversation would circle back to Rosemary’s difficult daughter-in-law.
«Every family has its shadows,» she thought, brushing it off. «Best focus on my own—especially Edward.»
Edward had arrived when William was ten. Frail and often ill, he spent months in hospital as a child. After John’s death, Margaret shielded him even more.
«Will, Tom, watch your brother while I’m at work,» she’d say. «Make sure he’s bundled up—he’ll catch cold otherwise.»
Tom sometimes grumbled, «Ed’s a handful. I tell him not to do something, and he does it anyway. Just because he’s the baby doesn’t mean he gets away with everything.»
«Let him be, love. He’s just young. He’ll learn,» Margaret would soothe.
William took his role as head of the brothers seriously, helping his mother, scolding the younger two, and making sure Edward did his homework.
«Don’t embarrass us, Ed. Tom and I did well in school—you’d better too,» he’d warn, flexing a fist playfully.
Edward’s freedom came when his brothers left for the military, married, and moved out. They visited, but it wasn’t the same.
Raised alone with Margaret’s doting, Edward grew up sheltered. After school, he left for the nearby town to study mechanics.
A year and a half later, he returned for the holidays with news.
«I’m bringing someone next time. Her name’s Stacey.»
«Son, you’re not thinking of marrying her, are you?» Margaret fretted.
«Not yet. We’ll just live together. Everyone does it now, Mum. You’re so old-fashioned, stuck out here in the village.»
His tone stung, but she swallowed her hurt. He was her son, after all.
On his last break before graduation, Edward brought Stacey to meet her.
«Mum, this is Stacey. We’ll marry after college. Be nice to her—she’s never lived in a house like ours.»
«Hiya, Mrs. Wilson,» Stacey chirped, all smiles and energy.
Margaret clasped her hands. «Of course, dears! Come inside—I’ll put the kettle on.»
She hid her unease, stealing glances at the girl. Stacey’s hair was an odd tangle of pink and purple streaks, her jeans ripped and skin-tight.
Over dinner, Stacey asked, «How much is this house worth per square foot? It’s massive.»
«Edward’s father built it,» Margaret said firmly. «He was the best carpenter in the county—respected by everyone. We spent our youth making this home. Its value isn’t just in money.»
«But if it’s this big, he must’ve left a fortune. Especially being such a skilled craftsman,» Stacey pressed.
Margaret’s reply was cool. «The house is the inheritance. That’s all.»
She saw Stacey’s disappointed glance at Edward and knew—her son had chosen wrong.
«She’s sizing him up like a shop purchase. It’s all about money,» Margaret thought, watching Stacey’s sharp eyes dart around. «This house isn’t cheap, and there’s plenty of heirlooms. Antique dealers have offered fortunes for the china, but I keep it for family. There’s even an ancient icon of St. Nicholas, priceless and passed down for generations. But those belong to my sons.»
While the pair stayed, Margaret cooked, shoveled snow—but they lounged, laughing, never lifting a finger. Her peace shattered. She tried warning Edward alone.
«Son, she’s not the one. Think carefully—marriage is forever.»
«Not your business. I’ll decide if she’s right for me. You’re stuck in the past. Stay out of it. My life, my rules. Got it?» he snapped.
She hid her tears.
The next morning, Edward and Stacey left on the early train—then vanished. He ignored her calls. Desperate, she rang William.
«Will, I don’t know where Ed is. He was here with that girl… I don’t even want to say it, but he’s changed. He snapped at me, then left. Won’t answer my calls. Try him, love—maybe Thomas knows something.»
But his brothers heard nothing either.
Margaret went to his dorm. The warden said, «He’s moved out—renting a flat with Stacey somewhere. No idea where.»
She returned home, weak with worry. Even her blood pressure spiked. The brothers considered calling the police—Edward had gone silent.
Then, a call.
«Stop looking for me. I’ve got my own life—leave me alone,» Edward said coldly, hanging up before she could reply.
Her heart sank further. Where was her baby? What was that girl doing to him?
Two months passed. Then, another call.
«Mum, hi. I’m coming home today. Alone.»
Her boy’s voice broke her trance. She wept—this time with relief.
By evening, Edward stood at the doorstep, shamefaced. He hugged her tight.
«Mum, I’m sorry. I didn’t see it before. Stacey messed with my head. I chose wrong.»
She stroked his hair. «It’s alright, love. You thought it through—that’s what matters. You’ll find happiness. I know it. I pray for you every day.»