I had to pick between the love of my life and my mother. I made the same choice as many men would, and now, a decade later, I’m still facing the consequences: HENRY EYRES

Nine months into our relationship, my partner Sophie was in the kitchen cooking when a key turned in the lock and the front door swung open.

Jumping with shock, she dropped the (thankfully empty) pan and it clattered to the floor. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘it’s only Mum.’

Sophie had a look of terror on her face when she glanced at my mother. She exclaimed, ‘I assumed you would knock before coming in!’ Those five words made it clear that they were off to a bad start.

Mum looked daggers at Sophie. As first meetings go, it couldn’t have been much worse. While Sophie washed the pan, I could sense Mum sizing her up and finding her lacking. Her eyes flicked from my six-year-old daughter Nora, glued to her tablet on the sofa (Mum didn’t approve of screen time), to the box of chicken nuggets on the counter (Mum always cooked from scratch).

I kicked myself for not warning Sophie that Mum sometimes let herself in. Or indeed, asking my mum to knock now I had a girlfriend. As a single father to a much-loved daughter, I’d put all my energy into carefully introducing Nora to Sophie – my first girlfriend since I’d split with Nora’s mother five years before.

Right from the start I’d told Sophie that Nora and I came as a package. But I should have had the foresight to include someone else in that package, too. Not my ex, who has very little to do with our daughter, but my mum who, it turned out, wasn’t happy to be edged out of the picture.

If that makes Mum sound interfering, well, she had pretty much raised Nora for the four years after I split from her mother. Despite this, I hadn’t considered whether my mother would get on with Sophie.

I assumed she’d want to make the relationship work for Nora’s sake. How wrong I was. Instead, she began a campaign of animosity against Sophie that intensified for five years, until the two could hardly be in the same room together. In the end, Sophie issued an ultimatum: I either had to stand up to my mother, effectively ‘putting her in her place’, or Sophie would leave. My decision may shock you. It certainly had huge ramifications, the ripples of which I still feel today.

My mum was always fiercely protective – I am one of four siblings and Mum raised us single-handedly after my dad died when I was five.

But after I first moved in with Janie when I was 24 she couldn’t have been happier for me. And when Janie became pregnant with Nora a year later, we were all over the moon.

Unfortunately, my relationship with Janie deteriorated and we split when Nora was one. At first Nora stayed with her mother, but then more problems developed and I ended up winning a two-year legal battle for full custody.

I moved back in with Mum, who lived locally to us in East Sussex. She looked after Nora during the day, allowing me to continue working in transport management. Mum potty-trained Nora, took her to toddler groups and liked to joke that she was her fifth child.

Nora was four when we finally settled in a two-bed cottage of our own. I moved to a 9-5 office job that allowed me to do school drop-offs and pick-ups every day. I’d never seen Mum cry before, but she had tears in her eyes when we moved out. I made sure we saw her several times a week and gave her a key so she could pop in easily.

It was only after a year in our new home that I allowed myself to think about dating again. I met Sophie, who like me was 29, on a rare night out with friends. I was looking most of all for someone kind, with heaps of patience and a Nora-sized place in her heart.

Sophie was the whole package: curvy, blonde with sparkling blue eyes, funny and very self-deprecating. We dated for some time before I even considered introducing her to Nora.

Even so, when I mentioned to Mum that I was seeing someone, she raised her eyebrows. She’d always told me children should come first – and that’s why she had stayed single.

I reassured her Nora would always be my priority. Then, when Sophie and I had been dating for six months, I arranged a trip to Brighton for Nora and Sophie to meet.

They clicked instantly, which was a huge relief. Over the months, we went on regular days out to the cinema, zoo or bowling. My heart melted seeing Nora slip her tiny hand into Sophie’s. Mum never asked how things were going. I honestly didn’t realise that might be an ominous silence.

Then came that first disastrous meeting in the kitchen. From then on, whenever I mentioned Sophie, Mum would sigh with despair. Looking back, I should have challenged her but I tended to avoid conflict with her at all costs, knowing she wouldn’t hesitate to respond.

By this point, I had wholeheartedly fallen for Sophie and Nora clearly loved her as well. She was delighted when Sophie moved in with us after a year and I felt so lucky to have found the love of my life – and have her love my little girl, too.

Sophie really rolled up her sleeves when it came to parenting. She was always first up to make breakfast; while I did pick-ups, she’d drop Nora at school and we’d share homework and bath times. The only fly in the ointment was Mum’s froideur. When the four of us were together, you could cut the atmosphere with a knife.

On our weekend visits, Mum would roll her eyes if Sophie brought along her own oat milk for her tea, or declined Mum’s lemon drizzle cake with a pat of her flat tummy. (I must admit I did think to myself, would it kill her to have a nibble?)

I was constantly on edge and there was the odd clanger – like the time we dropped Nora round to Mum’s before going out for the afternoon. As we walked back down the path, Sophie sighed: ‘Thank goodness that’s over…’

I could have died, because Mum was still on the doorstep. She called out, ‘see you later’ – making it very clear she had heard.

Sophie was devastated and made a real effort to improve relations. She invited Mum on trips to the pantomime with Nora, fun craft afternoons. Mum would just say she was busy.

Sophie tried sending round gifts such as flapjacks and cottage pies, but they’d all go untouched. Three years into our relationship, things had got so bad that I finally confronted Mum, saying: ‘I’m not leaving until you tell me why you haven’t bonded with Sophie.’ ‘That woman isn’t a mother,’ she said, bluntly. ‘She just isn’t good enough for my granddaughter.’ I was devastated – but fearing a big family row, I changed the subject.

Then I made a mistake I regret to this day. I told Sophie what Mum had said and she burst into tears. I did all I could to reassure her that she was a fantastic stepmother and Nora adored her, but this was a line in the sand.

From then on Sophie was reluctant to come to Mum’s. Sophie was always careful not to criticise Mum, but she would often cry about how she shut her out. Whenever I had another go at building bridges, Mum’s sighing would start again. Ironically, Sophie and Nora were becoming even closer. They would go out for shopping trips and enjoy pamper evenings together.

That’s why it was so devastating for both me and Nora when, after five years, things came to a head. Nora was ten and we were due to visit a secondary school for her – and I said I wanted Mum’s input.

Normally Sophie would have just rolled her eyes, but this time she told me she was devastated that despite how happy Nora was with her, I still consulted Mum about the big parenting decisions. ‘Why do you rely on your mum for advice more than you do me?’ she said. She wanted to be the main female figure in Nora’s life. She didn’t want to ban Mum from our lives, but wanted her to know her place, essentially.

It was an ultimatum – and there was only one way I could answer. I told Sophie if she was asking me to choose between her and Mum it would always be Mum. In tears, she sobbed: ‘So now I know. It will always be her over me.’

You might find it surprising that I put my bond with Mum first but, rightly or wrongly, I felt I had to put Nora’s relationship with her grandmother before my own happiness. ‘Mum will always, always be in Nora’s life,’ I reasoned. ‘But you will be too.’

Sophie told me that if we were to have a future, she needed some autonomy. She said: ‘Nora is going to need me more than ever as she navigates her teenage years. But I refuse to play second fiddle to that woman.’

I stuck to my guns. In response, Sophie started to pack a suitcase. She left that day without ever saying goodbye to Nora, who was at school. I felt unbelievably sad and empty. How could I have allowed things to go so wrong?

Initially I told Nora that Sophie had gone to stay with her mum for a few days. But that weekend, I sat her down and explained that Sophie and I were ‘no longer together’. There were a lot of tears and Nora even told me it was my fault. I now realise, bitterly, that she was right.

When I told Mum, she only said: ‘I told you so.’ There was no sympathy, no admission of her own part in the break-up.

While I would never accuse Mum of splitting us up, she was certainly involved. And it hurt when she said I shouldn’t have put Nora through such heartbreak by dating in the first place.

Always a practical woman, Mum gave me the briefest of hugs then focused on Nora, inviting her to stay that night, occupying her with a game of cards. I was grateful Nora had her grandmother to console her, but I was heartbroken.

 My calls to Sophie went unanswered and I learned she had blocked my number. It took Nora (and me) months to get over the split, and as Nora got older she became even closer to her gran – as well as my two sisters, who are both mothers.

Mum would accompany me to school events, talked to Nora about periods and took her to get her first bra. Mum was Nora’s substitute mum and a good one.

I have been single ever since that final confrontation with Sophie a decade ago. That’s not to say I’ve taken a total vow of celibacy, but I’ve never allowed myself more than the odd date.

I gave up on finding love, because I knew, without doubt, that I could never find anyone that Mum would deem good enough. She would have found even a saint lacking in some way.

Do I resent her? I can honestly say no, because she sacrificed so much for me when I was a child – then again for my own daughter.

Sadly, Mum died three years ago. Nora was devastated to lose her grandma and, at first, I was lost without her. At Mum’s funeral, her best friend told me how proud Mum was of how I’d raised Nora and how I’d chosen my family over my love life. It meant a lot, but it’s bittersweet.

Now in her late teens, Nora has blossomed into a beautiful, healthy woman. We never talk about Sophie, but she says she is keen for me to find love again.

A few years after our split, I bumped into Sophie arm in arm with another man and very obviously pregnant. I know that could have been us, but I’m glad Sophie got her happy-ever-after.

Now 43 and considering dating again, I wish I had been a braver man all those years ago. But when made to choose between my partner and my mother, how could I have done anything else?

Names and identifying details have been changed. As told to Samantha Brick.