Thank You for the Journey I Shared in Marriage with Your Son. I’m Bringing Him Back Home to You.

15March2025

Dear Diary,

Im writing this for the only person who will ever hear the full truth of what happened between me, Emily, and my mother, Margaret. I wish I could have called her Mum the way I imagined it when Emily first proposed. My close friends have been married for years, and I watched them with a mixture of envy and admiration as they built lives together, caring for one another with respect and love. I dreamed of a household where my husband would always be at my side, where we could raise children together and share the responsibilities and joys of parenthood.

When I first saw how Margaret treated Emily, I thought, Thats the sort of upbringing that has produced a man worth keeping. Before the wedding, Margaret said something that has haunted me ever since: My son is used to looking after just one woman. I probably didnt give those words the weight they deserved then, and I regret that now.

James Whitaker never refused to dash to the chemist for Margarets tablets, even though the shop is just a stones throw from her cottage in Surrey. When the front door squeaked, James would rush to oil the hinges, never worrying about something so serious. The various creaks in our flatwhether from the kitchen cupboard or the bedroom wardrobenever seemed to bother him.

When James drove me home from work, instead of taking Margaret for a stroll through Hyde Park, she made a scene, accusing me of laziness and of preferring a life of comfort. She claimed it was easier to travel by car than to catch the tube, and that lugging around heavy suitcases was absurd. Yet she insisted on a breath of fresh air, as if the mere act of walking would solve everything.

James is a devoted son. One night, when Margaret couldnt sleep and confided in him about feeling unwell, he didnt think about the early shift at the factory the next day. He hurried to flag a taxi, knowing hed had a bit too much ale at the pub and didnt want to risk driving. Instead of thanking him, Margaret reminded him that theres nothing wrong with abstaining from a drink when his mother might need help. She insisted he could give up everything, not just alcohol, because he is her son, and I am just his wife.

I commend Margaret for not giving me any ground to stand on in my relationship with James; after all, its absurd to share a man. She wants no one else to have a claim on him. Thank heaven we have no childrenotherwise they would instantly crave their fathers attention, and Grandmother would always be first. James never offered me the support I truly needed during my darkest moments; it was Emily who stepped in, understanding that depression would do me no good. I had hoped for a few words of comfort from James, but instead he turned his attention back to his mother, once again.

I admit defeat. I could never become the woman Margaret expected me to be, despite all my efforts. Its a shame that my attempts went unnoticed by James. He is truly devoted to one womanMargaret. The declarations of love he whispered to me were merely formalities, a rehearsal for the wedding.

I want to be needed by a man, not a pictureperfect, polished husband who arranges everything in strict order like James does. Id rather have a bloke who sometimes comes home after a pint with his mates, who worries about my failures, and who celebrates my successes.

Im relieved to realize James will never be that kind of man. We never had children, because the emotional intensity I craved was missing; James conserved his heart for his mother alone. That very economy drove me to consider pregnancy on my own. Now Im expecting a little boy in three months, a child who will grow up under my care alone.

I promise to raise this boy to be a decent man, but not in the way Margaret defines it. Thank you, Margaret, for the experience I gained while married to your son. I return James to youstill caring, still attentive. I hope you both find happiness.

Lesson learned: love cannot be forced into a mould designed by others; it must be nurtured on its own terms, even if that means walking away and forging a new path on your own.