My youngest son suggested I move to the cottage. I said no—but offered money instead.
I’m a mother of two grown sons. The eldest has been married for years, lives in another city, and visits twice a year. But my youngest, Oliver, has always been my pride and care. I’ve spent my life helping him—dragging him through university, supporting him financially while he “found himself,” and finally celebrating when things fell into place. At twenty-seven, Oliver landed a good job in IT with a decent salary, and my two-bedroom flat in Manchester suited us just fine.
Then he brought home Emily, his girlfriend. I didn’t mind—she seemed sweet, quiet even. But when, a few months later, he announced they were getting married, a knot formed in my stomach. Not because I disliked her, but because Oliver, to me, still hadn’t fully grown up. He wasn’t used to fighting for comfort, couldn’t tolerate hardship. He wanted everything quick and easy.
They married. At first, they rented—I kept my distance, only dropping off meals or helping when asked. Then, six months in, Oliver turned up with a grave expression.
“Mum, we’ve been thinking… We need to save faster for a mortgage deposit. Half our wages go to rent. Maybe you could stay at the cottage for a while, and we’ll live here? It’s all set up—central heating, plumbing. We won’t overstay—once we’ve saved enough, you’ll move back.”
I froze. The cottage—a damp, unheated shoebox an hour and a half from town by train. I teach at a primary school—getting up at five just to catch the first bus, battling icy winds in winter. But worse—I knew, if I gave in, none of it would go as planned.
I know my son. Comfort settles into his bones like warmth from a fire. Once he and Emily sank into my cosy flat, thoughts of mortgages would drift away. Even if they swore it was temporary, time would stretch into years. Comfort is a trap. And if he stopped pushing, stopped growing—who’d answer for that?
No, I won’t live at the cottage. And I won’t indulge laziness, even for my boy. I fought for every bit of comfort I have—no one handed it to me. Why should I sacrifice my health and time now for someone else’s ease?
The next day, I told him firmly:
“No. I won’t move. But I’ll help you—I’ll pay part of your rent so you can save. But this is my home.”
He was livid. He and Emily stopped calling. No visits, no invitations. The silence stings, but I don’t regret it—I didn’t make his life harder. I kept him from running from it. And that matters more than temporary harmony.
One day, he’ll see. I didn’t refuse—I protected him. Protected us. Real love isn’t just yielding. Sometimes, it’s standing firm when they want the easy way out.