A heart-wrenching story of a daughter who took drastic measures to protect her mother from a relationship with a man half her age. When love blinds, sometimes a reality check is necessary.
My mother, Eline, decided to marry someone my own age. I took matters into my own hands and hid her documents — and I don’t regret it.
Eline was just 17 when she had me, right after finishing school. Her first love didn’t lead to a fairy-tale marriage, but to diapers, sleepless nights, and the struggles of being a single mother. My father left before I could even take my first steps, and it was my grandparents who helped her get back on her feet. They helped her become a teacher, while I had a childhood that, while not perfect, was full of love.
Mum never remarried, though she had her share of admirers. She’d often laugh and say, “Maybe once you’re grown, I’ll think about myself.” We lived together as more than mother and daughter — we were like friends. We swapped jumpers, picked out outfits together, and even copied each other’s lipstick shades. When I went through my rebellious teenage phase — purple hair, nose studs, chunky boots — Mum just shrugged it off. We were in sync, or so I thought.
At 20, I was busy with school, work, and spending time with friends. I assumed Mum would miss the days when I was the center of her world. But, to my complete horror, she fell in love. Worse, she fell in love with a man nearly half her age.
It started innocently enough. Mum taught history at a secondary school. Naturally, the staffroom was all women. But soon, she began mentioning “Olivia” all the time. At first, I didn’t think much of it, but it became clear. This “Olivia,” a new IT teacher at the school, was only 21 — a year older than me. My sensible, grown-up mother began acting like a lovesick teenager. She baked him scones, helped him grade his pupils’ essays, and packed his lunch every day because “he’s on a diet and hates cafeteria food.”
I was crushed. Mum never once made me a packed lunch! Her colleagues started noticing too. They said Eline was dressing younger, dyeing her hair copper-red, and swapping her usual tweed skirts for minidresses. All because Olivia had told her she looked like “that French singer from the old films.”
Then came the bombshell: Mum suggested moving in with him. “I deserve happiness,” she said. I pleaded with her, “He’s practically a student! No proper job, shares a flat in Peckham—”
“He understands me,” she snapped. “We’re considering marriage.”
My st0mach sank. “You’re going to marry a guy who still uses his student Oyster card?!”
“Don’t you dare!” she shouted. “He’s a grown man!”
“He’s after your house, Mum! Can’t you see it?!”
For the first time, we had a real argument. Doors slammed, accusations were thrown. She called me selfish; I called her deluded.
I was on the verge of telling the headteacher, but I feared the gossip and the repercussions. So, I did something drastic: I hid her passport, National Insurance documents, and all the paperwork that would allow her to get married. No paperwork, no trip to the registry office.
Call me crazy? Fine. But it was better than picking up the pieces after she got hurt. I’m watching. If he’s genuinely in love, maybe he’ll stick around. But if he starts pushing for “urgent paperwork,” I’ll know his true intentions.
Sometimes, love needs a reality check, especially when it’s your own mother’s heart at stake.