Youve never done anything worthwhile, Rodney kept saying, as if hed never heard the truth that the new topdog at his firm was actually my son from my previous marriage.
White shirt! Get it! Cant you guess what I need?
Rodneys voice sliced through the earlymorning hush in our kitchen.
He was standing in the middle of the room, twisting the knot on the most expensive tie he owned, looking at me like I were some mindless servant.
Today theyre unveiling the new director. I have to look like a million pounds, he muttered.
Without a word, I handed him a hanger with a crisp, freshly ironed white shirt. He snatched it as if Id stolen his precious time. Rodney was on edge, turning into a lump of bile and passive aggression in an instant.
He unleashed his anger on me, the only person in his world who, as far as he thought, would never push back.
This new guy what a flash. A lad, already a director. They say his surname is Vernon, Rodney bragged.
My fingers froze on the handle of the coffee pot for just a heartbeat. Vernon. The last name of my first husband. The surname of my son.
Youll never understand, Rodney snapped, staring at his reflection in the mirrored wardrobe doors. Youre just a housewife, stuck in your cosy little pond. Youve never wanted to achieve anything.
He smoothed his tie, a smug grin curling his lips. The grimace was aimed not at me but at the successful man in the mirror hed built up over the years.
And then I was back in another morning, years ago. Me, swollen with tears, cradling baby Arlo, and my first husband Stanley mumbling that he had nothing to offer, that he couldnt provide for us.
In that cramped rented flat with a dripping tap, I vowed that my son would have everything.
I took on two, sometimes three jobs. When Arlo was in nursery, then school, I fell asleep over his worksheets, later over university notes. I sold the only thing I owned my motherinlaws flat so he could head off to a placement in Cambridges tech hub.
He was my main project, my most precious startup.
They say hes the son of some poor engineer, Rodney droned, savoring the gossip like a fine wine. From the mud to the manor. Those sorts are usually the toughest.
He remembered the night at a company party when, halfdrunk, hed publicly humiliated Stanley. Stanley had just joined their firm with a project, and Rodney called him a dreamer with empty pockets and laughed loudly.
He loved those moments; they fed his swollen ego.
Hand me the shoe brush, and the cream. Quickly. I fetched everything he demanded. My hands didnt shake. Inside, there was a complete, deafening quiet.
Rodney had no idea that his new boss wasnt just any Vernon. He didnt realise that this young lad was a cofounder of the IT firm his holding company had just bought for a fortune, making him the director of an entire division. He also didnt know that this flash remembered the man who made his mother weep into her pillow.
He stalked out, slamming the door behind him as usual.
I was left alone, walked to the window and watched his car pull away.
That day Rodney thought he was heading to the most important meeting of his life, oblivious that he was walking straight onto his own scaffold.
That evening, the front door burst open as if kicked in. Rodney stormed into the hallway, face flushed, his tie hanging like a wilted badge.
I hate this! he snarled, flinging his briefcase into the corner. Can you believe this little pup thinks he can tell me what to do?!
I stepped out of the kitchen, watching him pace like a tiger in a cage.
He talked to me like I was a fresh graduate on placement! With the head of a key department! he ranted, breaking down my quarterly report point by point, even asking if Id bought a diploma on the street corner.
In his tirade I heard no mockery, only a twisted kind of professionalism. It was my son, Arlo, drilling into every detail, never missing a beat.
Do you know what he said last? Rodney halted, panic flickering in his eyes. Mr Rodney, Im genuinely surprised that with those numbers you still hold this post. I hope its just an unfortunate misunderstanding and you wont disappoint me further. Thats a threat aimed at me!
He expected sympathy, advice, support. I said nothing, just stared at the broken, angry man and felt absolutely nothing.
Why are you silent? he exploded. Do you not care? Do you not mind that the man who feeds, clothes, and supports you is being trampled?
Then a brilliant idea, born of pure fear, lit his eyes.
I know what to do! Ill fix everything. Ill invite Vernon to dinner. At our place.
I met his gaze.
Yes, yes! In an informal setting people let their guard down. Hell see my house, my status. And you he glared at me. Youll make sure I have a solid backing, a perfect wife and a spotless home. Thats your only chance to be useful.
He thought the plan was clever, a way to use me as a backdrop.
And then something clicked inside me. I saw the whole picture the perfect storm hed created with his own hands and realised it was my chance too.
Fine, I said calmly, and he didnt see the trap. Ill arrange the dinner.
The doorbell rang at exactly seven. Sharp as a signal.
Rodney, who had been darting around the flat for half an hour, sprang to the hallway, plastering the warmest of fake smiles on his face.
I followed, prepared all his favourite dishes, crafting the illusion of the perfect picture he so craved the perfect trap.
The door swung open. Standing on the threshold was Arlo.
Tall, in an immaculate suit, he looked older than his twentysix years. His gaze was steady, confident. He extended his hand to Rodney.
Arlo Vernon. Thanks for the invitation, he said.
Rodney shook his hand vigorously, his grip much firmer than his own.
Rodney Hargreaves! Delighted! Make yourself at home! he announced.
Arlo stepped inside, his eyes immediately finding me. He didnt smile, just stared long, serious. In that look lay the whole of our shared history.
This is my wife, Poppy, Rodney introduced, a little too proudly. My rock, my hope.
We know each other, Arlo replied, never breaking eye contact.
Rodney froze. His smile trembled.
Know each other? From where?
All evening Rodney tried to claw back control, bragging about his successes, spouting illtimed jokes. Arlo listened politely, but kept his distance. The atmosphere at the table grew thick, sticky, like tar. Rodney downed glass after glass of wine, feeling his plan slip.
Then he decided to strike at the most painful point me.
Mr Arlo Vernon, youre so young yet already at the top. Thats because you have the right bearings. As for my Poppy shes had a rough go, Rodney sneered. Her first husband was lets say a dreamer. An engineer with not a penny. He lived on dreams and couldnt feed a family. So she found happiness with me, because she never achieved anything herself.
That was the same line hed used before. The final straw, spoken in front of my son, the son of that very engineerdreamer.
Enough.
I lifted my head.
Youre right, Rodney. I truly havent achieved anything. No career, no millions, I said, pausing to watch his expression shift. I had only one project. One single thing. My son.
I turned to Arlo.
I poured everything into him my whole life, all my strength, all my faith so he could grow up and never let people like you trample himself or his loved ones.
I looked back at Rodney. His face lengthened, animal fear flashing in his eyes as the truth finally settled in.
So meet him, Rodney. This is Arlo Vernon, son of that engineerdreamer. My most successful project.
The room felt like it could be cut with a knife. Rodneys smug grin melted away.
Arlo stood.
Mr Hargreaves, his voice was calm, metallic under the surface, thank you for dinner. It was educational.
My own father had truly been a dreamer. He imagined a world where professionalism mattered more than brownnosing. A shame there was no room for that in your department.
Mr Arlo Vernon I I didnt know This is a misunderstanding! Rodney stammered.
The fact youre an incompetent manager, Arlo said, the fact youve belittled my mother for years both facts. Ill be submitting my resignation tomorrow at nine. Dont make me audit your projects. Youll find something.
Rodney slumped, looking at me with a pleading stare.
I stood as well.
Go, Rodney.
My go was quiet, devoid of anger, just a period.
He croaked, trying to justify himself.
Poppy you cant this house
The only thing you ever gave me was this house. And now its mine, I replied evenly. Pack up. Everything that fits in one suitcase.
At last he understood. The game was over.
He turned and left. The click of the closing door was the final full stop to a sentence far too long.
I was left in the living room. Arlo came over and took my hand.
Mum, how are you?
I looked at him my greatest achievement.
Now Im finally alright.
Did I really achieve nothing? Maybe. I never became a CEO or amassed a fortune. I just raised a man. And that turned out to be enough to get my life back.
Six months later, the first thing I did after he left was remodel. I ripped out heavy wallpaper, got rid of the massive furniture that screamed status. The house stopped being a showcase of someone elses success; it became mine.
I opened a tiny flower shop with a workshop attached. Id always loved plants, though Rodney called it a hobby for simpletons. Turns out my hobby could bring both joy and a modest income.
Its Saturday now. Arlo dropped by.
Dad called, he says, sent his regards. Hes just landed a huge grant for his waterpurification system ands heading to the tech cluster at Oxford. He said you were right: dreaming does help.
I smile. Weve long forgiven each others old wounds.
And you know what I thought about? Arlo asks, serious. That Rodney was right about something.
I raise an eyebrow.
You really did nothing, in the way he measured success. But you did so much more. You kept yourself, you raised me. Thats not a project, Mum. Thats a life. And youve lived it well.
I watch my grownup son, his eyes now free of childhood pain, only calm strength.
What will you do next? he asks.
Ive signed up for language classes, I answer, surprised at how natural it sounds.
He nods, his face full of warmth and pride. I need nothing else.
I didnt achieve the things he bragged about, but I finally started living for myself. And thats the biggest achievement of all.
