Emily and I aren’t exactly close friends; we just work together. Our team is large, the work is demanding, so most of our interactions happen during lunch breaks at a nearby café.
I’d noticed for a while that my colleague seemed gloomy, as if she was constantly lost in thought. That’s why I sat down next to her today.
— What’s wrong, friend? — I asked her directly. — What’s happened? You’ve looked so down lately.
With a heavy sigh, Emily began to share her story.
— Life turned out in such a way that I’m raising two sons on my own. They’re twins, Jack and Sam. Their father left us when they were three and a half years old. One day, my ex-husband announced he was leaving. He packed his things, and we never saw him again. People say he moved out of town.
For over ten years, we’ve heard nothing from him. He hasn’t even bothered to check on how his sons are growing up or whether we have enough money.
— What, he doesn’t even pay child support? — I exclaimed, throwing my hands up.
— Child support? What are you talking about? — Emily waved her hand dismissively. — I was young and foolish. We weren’t even married. In the boys’ birth certificates, the father’s name is just a blank space. He insisted on it.
— This way, Emily, — he said, — you’ll get benefits as a single mother. And once we’re back on our feet, I’ll give the kids my name.
— I was so naive, — Emily repeated. — I loved him, trusted him.
Things got really tough after that.
— It was only thanks to my mom’s help that I managed to raise the boys. She took care of them, practically becoming both parents to them.
As for me, I had to work long hours to provide a decent life for my kids. Because of that, they were never any different from other children — always fed, well-dressed, and neat.
I wanted to spend more time with my boys, but work consumed everything. On top of my main job, I always had side gigs. By the time I got home, the kids were already asleep.
In the mornings, Jack and Sam would cling to me, crying, not wanting to let me go to work. Every time, I had to pry them off and hand them to my mom, because there was no one else to help. Playing or going for walks with them was out of the question.
Time passed, and the boys grew up. They’re fifteen now.
— They’ve grown into handsome, smart young men, — Emily continued her story. — They do well in school and are always together. They stand up for each other like a solid wall.
— But about a year ago, I suddenly realized they don’t need me, — a tear rolled down Emily’s cheek. — I understood that they don’t love me. They adore their grandmother, who raised and nurtured them.
We don’t have fights or conflicts, but there’s no warmth or understanding in our relationship either. I’ve offered several times to help with their homework or suggested going to the movies or just taking a walk together.
— Mom, — they’d say, — don’t stress yourself. We’re grown up now. Why do you care? You’ve never been interested in our lives before.
— So much resentment in those words, — Emily broke down in tears. — In the evenings, I go to their room to talk or just to say goodnight, and they respond:
— It’s too late, Mom. You should’ve been involved in our lives earlier, shown your feelings back then.
Emily was sobbing uncontrollably now.
I did my best to comfort her.
— How can they not see that I wanted them to grow up just as well as other kids? I put all my strength into that. Why do my sons care more about their grandmother than their own mother? When they were growing up, I had to work double, at two jobs, to provide for the family since they had no father.
But they refuse to understand me.
— I so badly want our family to be filled with love, warmth, and understanding, — Emily said, wiping her tears. — I hope when the boys grow up, they’ll understand and forgive me.
I didn’t know how to respond to her story.
Lunch was almost over.
— Everything will be okay, — my friend said, trying to smile. — Sorry for unloading all this on you. I got it off my chest, and I feel a bit lighter already. Thanks for listening. — And with that, she headed toward the exit.
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