**Diary Entry – 12th March**
I raised my son alone. From the moment he was born, he became my entire world. I lived for him—no fancy dresses, no days off, barely a full night’s rest in years. I worked endless shifts—at the post office, as a cleaner, washing dishes in a café. When people asked why I pushed myself so hard, I’d say, “I want my boy to have everything I never did.”
I believed he’d stand by me when I grew old. That he’d never abandon me. He used to promise, “Mum, when I’m grown, I’ll buy you a house and a car!” And I believed him. Because he was my boy.
Then *she* came along. The moment I met Emily, I knew she’d bring no good. Her smile was cold, her words clipped. Never “Mum,” never “Mrs. Wilkins”—just *you*. She whispered in his ear that I was “holding him back.” Shamed him for helping me. “Why give her money? If she’s hungry, let her work,” she’d say. “You’ve got your own family now.”
She spun tales, convinced him to stay away. Told their friends I was “manipulative” when all I did was call to ask if he’d eaten. Once, I brought him a shepherd’s pie—she shoved it back at me. “Wash your hands before you bring food into *my* kitchen,” she sneered.
Bit by bit, he grew colder. Then one morning, he said, “Mum, I’m taking you somewhere. You’ll stay there a while. Get some rest.” No warmth in his voice. I knew where this was going. But I went. Because he was my son.
We drove for hours, farther from London, until the roads turned empty. Just fields and wind. Then he stopped. “Get out,” he said.
I did. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. Just shut the car door and left me there, standing in the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t scream. Couldn’t cry. Just silence and a pain so deep it felt like my chest had been ripped open.
A distant cousin found me—Tom, a quiet man who lived alone in the countryside. Took me in. I didn’t call my son. Didn’t want to hear his voice.
A month later, he turned up on Tom’s doorstep. Fell to his knees, sobbing like a child. Emily had cheated on him—with his best mate, no less. Cleared out their joint account, left him drowning in debt and shame. “I thought I was doing right,” he wept. “Building a new life. But I threw away the only person who ever loved me.”
He begged for forgiveness, kissed my hands. “Mum, please… I forgot who really cared.”
I looked at him and thought: *Do I even want to hear this apology?*
**Lesson learned:** Blood doesn’t always mean loyalty. And sometimes, the people who claim to love you are the ones who leave you broken by the roadside.