«No! I said no! Cant you hear me? Were not changing a thing. Dad built that patio with his own handshammered every nail himself.»
«Christopher, please understandits completely rotten!» Emily sighed, pressing the phone so hard against her ear it ached. «The floorboards are giving way, the roof leaks. Its dangerous! Victor says we could carefully take it apart and»
«Victor! That Victor of yours again!» Her sons voice turned harsh. «Whats it to him? Hed tear everything down and start freshno respect for whats not his. Mum, that patio isnt just woodits memories!»
«Chris, what kind of memory is it if its about to collapse?» Her voice trembled. «Were doing this for youso you and Emma can visit, so your future children»
«There wont be any children on your new patio!» he snapped. «I wont set foot in that house again if you touch so much as a plank. Ive got to go.»
The dial tone felt like a verdict. Emily slowly lowered the phone onto the kitchen table. The hollow ache in her chest, familiar these past six months, tightened around her ribs. Outside, the yellowing leaves of the oak tree mirrored her own washed-out mood.
Victor peered into the kitchentall, silver-haired, reading glasses perched on his nose, an open book in hand. One look at her face told him everything.
«Again?» he asked quietly, setting the book on the windowsill.
She nodded, words stuck in her throat. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and the warmth of him, the faint scent of his aftershave mixed with something uniquely his, finally loosened her tears. Silent, relentless, soaking into his checked flannel shirt.
«Em, love, dont» He stroked her hair. «You shouldnt have called. You know how it ends.»
«But the cottage» she hiccuped. «Hell never forgive us if we change it. But we *have* toits falling apart.»
«Blast the cottage. Well sort it. *You* matter. Look what youre doing to yourself.»
Theyd met two years ago at a school reunion. Emily had gone reluctantly, dragged by her friend Olivia. Ten years had passed since losing James, her first husband, and in all that time, shed lived only for Christopher. School runs, university tours, his first jobshe hadnt noticed the wrinkles deepening or her boy becoming a man.
Then he moved out. Found a flat with his girlfriend Emma, and the house turned deafeningly quiet. Shed tried yoga, knitting, rereading every book on the shelf, but the loneliness clung.
That night, *hed* approached her. Victor, her quiet classmate whod sat at the back. Now a confident maths professor, also widowed. Theyd talked all eveningdiscovered shared loves for old films, autumn walks, and the ache of missing simple warmth.
Their romance unfolded slowly: theatre dates, long talks in cafés by the park. She felt herself thawing, relearning joy.
When things grew serious, shed told Christopher. To her surprise, hed seemed fine.
«Mum, youre a grown woman,» hed said, stirring sugar into his tea. «If he makes you happy, Im glad.»
A year later, she and Victor married quietlyjust close friends, Olivia, Victors sister, and of course, Christopher and Emma.
Thats when it began. Christopher spent the reception glowering, ignoring Victor. During toasts, he raised his glass and muttered, «To Dad. A real man. The best father. No one replaces him.»
The room froze. Emma tugged his sleeve, but he shook her off. Emilys cheeks burned until Victor squeezed her hand under the table.
After the wedding, Christopher stopped calling. When she rang, conversations were clipped. *»How are you?» «Fine.» «Come for Sunday roast?» «Busy.»* Then, he stopped answering altogether. Her birthday was the final blowa courier-delivered bouquet with a generic card. No note.
That night, she confessed her pain to Victor.
«I dont understand,» she whispered on the sofa. «He *said* he was happy for me.»
«Hes grieving, Em,» Victor said gently. «Grieving the past. He thinks Im erasing his dad.»
«But thats mad! James was your fatherI loved him! But hes *gone.* Dont I deserve happiness?»
«You do,» Victor said firmly. «He just cant see it yet.»
But time didnt help. The silence between them hardened.
The cottage argument was another wound. James had built it himself. After he died, she and Christopher spent every summer there. Now, Victors suggestion to repair the crumbling patio felt like sacrilege.
«Should I go to him?» she asked Victor.
«Not now. Hes too raw.»
She obeyed, but the hurt festered. Days later, Olivia called.
«Chris is being selfish,» Olivia huffed. «Ten years you waited! Victors a saintmost men wouldnt tolerate this.»
Emily tried Emma next.
«Anna,» Emma admitted hesitantly, «he thinks youve betrayed Dads memory. That you moved on too fast.»
«*Fast?*» Emily choked.
Emma sighed. «Hes stuck. His desk has your old photoshe just stares. Ive tried reasoning with him.»
Christophers birthday was her next attempt. She baked his favorite honey cake, bought the jumper hed once admired.
«Are you sure?» Victor asked as she packed the cake.
«Im his mother.»
At his flat, no one answered the door. Then she heard his phone buzz inside. He was thereignoring her. She pressed her forehead to the door.
«Chris please. I brought cake.»
Silence.
Victor found her sobbing on their doorstep later. «Enough,» he said, pulling her close. «Youve done all you can.»
She tried to move on. But every ringtone spiked her pulse.
Winter came. Before Christmas, she called Emma.
«Were spending the holidays with my parents,» Emma said.
Later, a call from an unknown number. Emmas voice, cracked with tears.
«Weve split up. Hes unbearable. Angry, shut down. Today I left. He didnt stop me.»
Emilys heart lurched. «Where will you go?»
«A friends. I called because its not you. Its *him.* Hes drowning in the past. Until he faces it, hell never be happy.»
Victor muted the TV. «Go to him. Now.»
The next day, she stood at Christophers door with a thermos of soup. The chain slid back.
He looked wreckedunshaven, shadows under his eyes.
«Mum?»
«Let me in.»
The flat reeked of takeout and loneliness. She set the soup down.
«Emma called.»
He flinched. «So youre here to gloat?»
«No. Im here because I love you.» She stepped closer. «Chris, *ten years* I grieved. I raised you. I kept living. Is that a crime?»
«And Dad?» His voice broke. «You justreplaced him.»
«*No one* replaced him!» she cried. «Hell always be your father! But I love Victor. He saved me from being *alone.* Cant you want that for me?»
«I *cant!*» he shouted. «When I see you two laughing, holding handsall I see is *him* in the ground! That cottage was *his!* Now some *stranger*»
«Hes not a stranger! Hes my *husband!*»
They stood panting, tears streaming. Then Christopher whispered, «I thought after Dad died, it was just us. But you found someone else. And Im alone.»
*Oh.* It wasnt angerit was fear. Fear of being left behind.
She hugged him fiercely. «My silly boy. No one could *ever* take your place.»
His shoulders shook. He buried his face in her shoulder and sobbed.
They talked for hours. She told him about the silence after hed moved out, how Victor had brought light back. He listened, ate the soup.
At the door, he finally said, «Mum Im sorry.»
«Me too, love.»
She knew it wasnt over. Acceptance would take time. But the wall between them had crumbled. Her son was speaking to her again.
