Andrew chose a wealthy fiancée and seemed to forget his mother altogether
Andrew, youve forgotten to call me back again! I waited the whole evening!
Margaret Hartley stood in the kitchen, phone pressed to her ear, her throat tightening with hurt. He had promised to ring yesterday, yet the line stayed silent.
Sorry, Mum, work was a nightmare. No time for calls.
Mum, you could at least have sent a text! Im worrying!
Andrew, Im thirtytwo. Im not a child who must report every minute!
Margaret fell quiet. Shed never heard him speak so sharply before; hed always been thoughtful, visiting on weekends, helping around the house.
Alright, she whispered, Im sorry for bothering you.
Everythings fine. Listen, I wanted to tell youSaturday Ill be coming, but not alone.
Who with? she asked, her nerves prickling.
With a girl. Ill introduce you. Her name is Emily.
A girl? Andrew, is this serious?
Yes, Mum, very serious. Weve been seeing each other for six months.
Margaret sank onto a chair. Six months, and hed never mentioned a person. Before, hed shared everything; now he kept secrets.
Why didnt you say earlier? she asked, bewildered.
I wanted to be sure it was real. Now I am. Expect us around lunch on Saturday.
Okay, Ill be waiting.
When he hung up, Margaret clutched the handset, feeling a strange mix of pride and dread. Finally, her son had found someone. She had waited for this moment for years.
Margaret lived alone in a twobed flat on the edge of Manchester. Her husband had died fifteen years ago of a heart attack. She raised Andrew by herself, working double shifts, skimping on everything so he could have a decent life. He grew up clever and diligent, graduated with top honors, landed a programmers job at a major firm, and moved into a sleek flat in the city centre. She swelled with pride.
On Saturday she rose before dawn, scrubbing the flat until it gleamed, polishing every pan, washing the curtains. Then she went to the market, buying meat, veg, fruitAndrew loved her shepherds pie with mash, and she baked his favourite apple crumble. By one oclock everything was ready: the table dressed in a white linen, the finest china set out. She slipped into her best dress, brushed her hair, even applied a dash of lipstick.
The doorbell rang precisely at two. She wiped her hands on her apron, smoothed her hair, and opened it.
Andrew stood in an immaculate suit, flanked by a tall, slender woman in a fashionable dress and high heels, her hair sculpted, makeup flawless.
Hi, Mum! he embraced her. Meet Emily.
Hello, the girl said, her fingers glinting with jeweled rings.
Come in, come in.
They stepped inside. Margaret fussed, offering seats and a chance to remove shoes. Emilys gaze swept over the faded furniture, the peeling wallpaper, the threadbare carpet.
What acozy little flat, she said, forcing a smile.
Thanks, dear. Were modest but tidy.
They all sat. Margaret ladled out the food, describing each dish. Andrew ate heartily, praising everything. Emily poked at her shepherds pie, taking delicate bites.
Delicious? Margaret asked.
Fine, though I usually avoid fried foodI watch my figure.
My dear, youre already slender!
Its a personal trainer, five sessions a week.
Margaret nodded, feeling the sting of her own tight budget.
What do you do, Emily? she asked.
Im not employed, Emily replied, setting down her fork. I run a chain of hair salonsthree branches around town.
Impressive!
Not entirely on my own, she corrected, adjusting a strand. My father helped open the first, then I built the rest.
Your parents? Margaret pressed.
My father owns a construction firm, my mother does charity work.
Margaret sensed Emily came from a world of money, success, and endless possibilitiesfar from her modest pension and aging flat.
Mom, how are you? Andrew asked. Your health okay?
Mostly, though my blood pressure spikes now and then, but I take the tablets.
Yes, wellEmily and I wanted to tell you something. Weve decided to get married.
Margaret froze, tea cup trembling.
Marry? When?
In three months. Well have the reception at a restaurant for onehundredfifty guests.
Onehundredfifty? Andrew, thats a fortune!
Dont worry, Mum. Emilys parents are footing the bill. They have connections, theyll handle everything.
Will I be able to help at all? she asked, hopeful.
No need, weve hired a professional catering team.
Maybe I could bake some extra pies?
Emily sniffed politely. Well have the restaurants chefs, thank you.
Or I could help with decorations?
Just be here and enjoy, Mum. Thats enough.
Margaret nodded, her throat tight, but she smiled.
After lunch Emily excused herself to the restroom. When she returned, her face was a mask of displeasure.
Its time, Andrew. I have a meeting with a designer in an hour.
Already? We just arrived!
I said I wouldnt linger.
Andrew cast an apologetic look at his mother.
Sorry, Mum. We really must be off.
Of course, thank you both for coming.
When they left, Margaret stared at the untouched dishes, feeling the sting of having prepared a feast for strangers who ate only a little and fled.
Her phone rang. It was her friend Vera Thompson.
Margaret, how are you? Did your son come?
He did. He introduced his fiancée.
How is she?
Beautiful, rich, from another world.
How did she take you?
She seemed a bituncomfortable with the flat.
Ah, the rich never understand us simple folk.
I think Andrew likes her. He says theyll marry.
Good for him.
I just want him happy.
A week passed without a call from Andrew. Margaret called, but he was always busymeetings, trips, Emily. Finally, after another week, his voice came through.
Hi, Mum. How are you?
Fine, Andrew. You?
Great. We just visited Emilys parents at their country estatean entire manor. They welcomed us warmly.
Im glad, Margaret said, clutching the phone tighter.
Got to run, love. Talk later.
Andrew, could you come this weekend? Ill make your favourite borscht.
Cant, were picking out wedding rings.
May I join?
A pause.
Mom, this is private. Well manage ourselves.
Alright, good luck then.
When the call ended, Margaret stared out at the grey courtyard, feeling Andrew slipping into a life where there was no room for the old mother in her faded dress.
Later that evening Vera dropped by with scones.
You look thin, Margaret.
Thanks, Vera.
They sat with tea.
You seem sadbecause of your son?
Hes forgotten me. He used to call daily, now weeks pass without a word.
Love makes people act foolish. It will pass.
What if it doesnt? What if shes turning him against me?
Dont think like that. Andrews clever.
Clever, but not a boy any more. Not mine.
Vera hugged her.
Dont speak like that. Blood is blood.
I wish I could believe that.
Months slipped by. The wedding approached, and Andrew delivered an invitation.
Here, Mumwedding invitation. Ceremony at three, then the banquet.
Margaret traced the embossed gold letters, the address of the restaurant.
What should I wear? she asked.
Anything you like.
I thought of buying something new, to look presentable.
Andrew shrugged.
Buy it if you want. It wont matter.
What do you mean wont matter? Im the grooms mother!
It wont matter. No one will notice.
She lowered her gaze.
Where will I sit? Which table?
I dont knowEmily is handling the seating. Shell call you.
Emily never called. Margarets attempts to reach Andrew went unanswered; he always claimed work.
A week before the wedding, Emily finally phoned.
Mrs. Hartley, good afternoon. This is Emily.
Hello, dear. How are you?
Weve assigned you to table twelve.
Twelve? Where is that?
In the far corner, with distant relatives and friends of Andrew.
Why not at the head table? Im the mother of the groom!
Emily was silent.
The head table is for us, my parents, and our closest family.
But I am his mother! I raised him!
Please, Mrs. Hartley, dont cause a scene. The seating is set.
The line clicked. Margaret felt the room inside her boil. She dialed Andrew.
Mum, Im in a meeting, cant talk.
Emily said Ill be at table twelve, in the corner, like a stranger!
What does it matter which table?
It matters. Im his mother! I should be by his side!
Andrew, the parents of Emily are paying for everything. They decide.
What about me? Am I nothing?
Dont be dramatic, Mum. Im stressed enough.
Andrew
Its over, I have to go.
He hung up. Margaret slumped onto a chair, the number twelve echoing in the dimly lit hall.
Vera visited later, finding Margaret in tears.
What happened?
Margaret recounted the seating.
Ridiculous! How can they treat you like that? Vera exclaimed.
Theyll. And Andrew supports them.
What will you do?
Do what? Argue? Then hell stop coming altogether.
Maybe you shouldnt go to the wedding at all?
How could I not? Hes my son!
A son who disrespects his own mother.
Margaret wiped her eyes.
Ill still go. Maybe something will change.
The wedding day was bright. Margaret rose early, dressed in the best dress she ownedan old frock bought five years ago, but it was all she had. Vera escorted her to a taxi, urging, Hold your head high, Tom.
The restaurant was opulent: crystal chandeliers, white linens, flowers everywhere. Margaret felt like a grey mouse among swans. She found table twelve, indeed tucked in a far corner, already occupied by a few strangersAndrews university friends and a distant aunt of Emily.
What are you? the aunt asked.
Im the grooms mother.
Really? Why are you here? Usually parents sit at the head.
I just followed the seating.
The couple entered, music swelling. Andrew in a crisp white suit, Emily in a glittering gown, surrounded by applause and flashing cameras. Margaret watched her son, proud and handsome, but felt invisible.
Andrew never glanced her way; he was busy greeting guests, laughing with Emily, and chatting with her affluent relatives. Margaret gathered courage and approached the head table.
Congratulations, Andrew! she said, handing him a small wrapped box.
Thanks, Mum, he said without opening it, placing it among the other gifts.
Emily, you look stunning!
Thank you, she replied, glancing at Margaret briefly before returning to her husband.
Can we take a photo together? Margaret asked.
Later, Mum, Im busy.
Emily brushed a hand over Andrews shoulder. We have to greet everyone.
Margaret returned to her corner, where the aunt offered sympathy.
Dont worry, dear. Weddings are stressful. Hes just caught up.
Margaret nodded, but inside she knew her son had shamed her, hiding her in the shadows of a lavish banquet.
When the evening ended, Margaret slipped away unnoticed, the restaurant lights dimming behind her. At home Vera waited with tea.
How was it?
Beautiful, rich. I felt like an extra.
Do you think hell call?
Probably not.
Weeks passed without a call. Finally, one afternoon Andrews voice crackled through the line.
Hi, Mum.
Andrew! Finally! Ive been waiting all night!
Sorry, were on our honeymoon in the Maldives.
The Maldives? That sounds amazing! How was it?
Great. Listen, Mum, I wanted to tell youweve moved. Emilys parents gave us a threebed flat in a new development.
Wow! Where is it? Ill come see.
Andrew hesitated.
Maybe later. Were still sorting the renovation.
I can helpclean the windows, mop the floors!
No need, we have a cleaning service.
Just the address, please.
He gave a vague reply and hung up. Margaret stared at the silent phone, heart tightening.
Months later, Andrews calls became fortnightly, brief and formal. He mentioned work, asked how she was, but never invited her over.
One day, determined, Margaret packed a tin of her famous apple crumble and walked to the office where Andrew worked. She found a sleek glass building in the city centre, took the lift to the seventh floor, and approached the reception.
Hello, Im here to see Andrew Hartley.
The manager is in a meeting, cant see you now.
But Im his mother! the receptionist said, eyes softening.
Sorry, hes occupied. Nothing can be done.
Margaret left the building, clutching the empty tin, tears gathering in the lift.
Back home she discarded the crumble, lay on the sofa, and stared at the ceiling. What had she done wrong?
Vera arrived that evening, her eyes widening at Margarets disheveled state.
He wont see me, Vera. My own son turned his back.
Vera brewed strong tea and listened.
Thats terrible! How could he do that?
I told him the truthI’m tired of being humiliated.
And his reaction?
He was angry, left.
Do you regret speaking up?
No. Im done waiting for his calls.
Weeks turned into months. Margaret stopped calling, stopped writing. She settled into a quiet routine: watching Sunday soaps, tending to the garden on her balcony, meeting friends for tea. The first week was painful, the urge to dial his number constant. By the second week the ache softened; by the third she felt a strange relief.
Six months passed without a word from Andrew. Margaret took a parttime job looking after the neighbours grandson, earning a modest sum that made her smile. She joined a senior yoga class, made new acquaintances.
One afternoon, as she was strolling down the high street, a familiar voice called her name. She turnedEmily stood there, pale, a tiny hand resting on her swollen belly.
Mrs. Hartley? Emily asked. Congratulations, youre expecting?
Yes, my fifth month.
Thank you, Emily whispered, eyes glistening. Can we talk?
They slipped into a nearby café, ordered tea.
Whats happened? Margaret asked.
Weve been having problems. Andrew is distant, stays out late, says little. I tried to talk, he brushes me off.
Why tell me? Emily said, shoulders shaking. I think Im to blame. I tried to push him away from you because I thought you didnt fit our world.
Im just a simple woman, Margaret replied. Not rich, not highsociety.
Emilys tears fell. I was foolish, believing money could buy happiness. Now Andrew is unhappy, and Ive cut his bond with you.
Will you call him? Ask him to speak?
I tried, but he says hell only talk when hes ready.
Then Ill wait, if he wants.
Emily left, and Margaret returned home, looking out the window at the grey sky. She imagined a grandson shed never meet.
Months later, Vera brought news. Emily had given birth to a boynamed Daniel.
Congratulations, Grandma! Vera exclaimed, hugging Margaret.
Thank you, Margaret said, a tear slipping down. A grandson, but Ive never seen him.
Andrew? Vera asked.
He never called.
Maybe you could call him, wish him well?
No, Vera. I promised myself not to make the first move.
She kept that promise, living her days in quiet contentment, the dream of a sons love fading into a gentle, surreal haze.
