“You’ve ruined my life!” screamed Emily, slamming the door behind her.
“Mum, do you remember how you used to put me to bed when I was little?” asked Sophie quietly, her fingers tracing the edges of old photographs scattered across the kitchen table.
Margaret looked up from the pot of beef stew, surprise flickering in her eyes. Sophie hadnt asked questions like this in yearsmost of their conversations these days were tense, clipped exchanges.
“Of course I remember,” Margaret smiled, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “You always begged for *The Three Little Pigs*. The same story every night. Then youd make me sit with you until you fell asleep. Said you were scared without me.”
Sophie nodded, still staring at the photos. In one, she was five, curled on her mothers lap with a book. Both of them were laughing.
“Did you ever get tired of it?”
“Tired of what, love?”
“Of me. The same routine every day. Work, then home, then my endless demands.”
Margaret pulled out a chair and sat beside her daughter. Sophie looked exhausteddark circles under her eyes, her face thinner since the divorce. Shed become sharp-tongued, quick to snap.
“Never,” Margaret murmured. “You were my whole world. Especially after your dad left.”
“Oh, Dad…” Sophies laugh was bitter. “Ran off with his secretary when I was seven. I remember hearing you cry in the kitchen at night. Thought I didnt notice.”
“I tried not to let you see.”
“I know. But I wasnt blind. I saw how hard it was for you. Working three jobs just to keep me in school, in piano lessons. I remember your darned tights, how youd skip meat at dinner, saying you werent hungrythen eating my leftovers when I wasnt looking.”
Margaret turned away, cheeks warm. It was strange, hearing these memories from her grown daughter.
“Dont, Sophie. Its what any mother would do.”
“Any mother?” Sophie set the photos down, her gaze steady. “Do you know what Lucy Bennett told me the other day? Remember Lucy from school?”
“The redhead? What about her?”
“She said she envied me. Can you believe that? Thought I had the perfect mumalways turned up to parents evening looking smart, went through my homework, spoke to my teachers. Meanwhile, her mum… Lucy said she just drank and brought men home. Never asked about school, never cared.”
“Poor girl,” Margaret sighed. “I remember her. Always looked so sad.”
“And I thought she was the lucky one,” Sophie admitted. “Because her mum didnt control her every move.”
Margaret flinched as if struck.
“Whats that supposed to mean?”
“Dont take it the wrong way, Mum. But sometimes your love felt… smothering. Remember in Year 10 when I wanted to go on that school trip to Edinburgh? You said it was too dangerous, that I might get lost. Wouldnt let me go.”
“It *was* far! And we didnt have the money.”
“Or when I wanted to go to Hannahs birthday party in Year 11? You said nice girls stayed home. That discos were for troublemakers.”
Margaret frowned. She remembered that nightSophie had screamed, accused her of treating her like a prisoner, then locked herself in her room for days.
“I was protecting your reputation! Our street was full of gossips. If theyd seen you out late”
“*You* were worried about being embarrassed,” Sophie cut in. “Not me. You always cared more about what people thought than what I wanted.”
“Sophie!” Margarets voice rose. “How can you say that? Everything I did was for you!”
“Yes. But *your* way. You decided what was good for me. Remember forcing me to take piano? I hated it, but you said it would build character. Three years of torture!”
“But you play beautifully now! You still do.”
“Because its a habit. I wanted to join the netball team, but you said sports were unladylike. That Id get hurt.”
Margaret stood, walking to the window. Her chest ached. Had Sophie been harbouring resentment all these years? And shed only ever wanted the best.
“Sophie, I just didnt want you making the mistakes I did. I wanted your life to be better than mine.”
“I know, Mum. And I get why. You were terrified Id rebel, fall in with the wrong crowd, rush into marriage. So you suffocated me instead.”
Margarets hands tightened on the sill.
“Was that so wrong?”
Sophie hesitated, then said quietly, “Remember Daniel Whitmore? From the boys school?”
“The tall blond one? Who wrote you notes?”
“Thats him. We liked each other. He asked me to the cinema, to ice skating. But you always found an excusehomework, chores, a cold I didnt have.”
“You were too young for boys!”
“I was sixteen! You treated me like a child. Daniel started seeing Grace instead. Theyre married now, did you know?”
“Well, then it wasnt meant to be.”
“Or maybe it was,” Sophie said softly. “Maybe if youd trusted me, let me make my own choices, my life wouldve been different.”
Margaret turned sharply.
“Are you blaming me for your divorce? For things not working out with James?”
“Im not blaming you. But… Mum, I didnt know how to *be* in a relationship. You raised me to think men were cheats, drunks, that being alone was safer. So when James shouted over nothing, I stayed silent. I thought it was normal. That I deserved it.”
The room was too quiet. The stew bubbled, forgotten.
“So my love ruined you?” Margaret whispered.
Sophie stood, wrapping her arms around her mothers shoulders.
“No. But you sheltered me too much. I grew up afraidof decisions, of disapproval. At work, they pile extra tasks on me because I never say no. I spent years believing I had no right to want things.”
Margarets breath hitched. “I thought I was raising you right.”
“You didby your rules. But Im learning now. Been seeing a therapist. She says Ive got to stop seeking permission to exist.”
“A therapist?”
“Six months now. She suggested I do something aloneso last week, I went to Cornwall. Just me. Can you believe it? Me, who used to panic taking the Tube alone, travelling halfway across the country!”
A spark lit Sophies eyesone Margaret hadnt seen in years.
“Werent you scared?”
“Terrified! But also… free. No one telling me what to eat, when to sleep. Just *my* choices.”
Margaret wiped at her tears. “Im proud of you.”
“I thought a lot there. About us. And I realisedI dont want to resent you anymore. You did your best. Grandma was worse, wasnt she?”
“Bloody tyrant,” Margaret huffed. “Wouldnt let me breathe without permission.”
“Exactly. You only knew what you were taught. But I know better now. And I want to *live*not just obey.”
Margaret pulled her close. “Im sorry, Sophie.”
“Dont apologise. Just… let me go. No more twenty calls a day. No interrogations. Trust me.”
“Ill try,” Margaret promised, though the words stung.
Sophie picked up the photos again, smiling.
“One more thing. In Cornwall, I realisedI want a baby.”
Margaret choked. “*What*? Butwhat about the father?”
“Ill manage. Women do it all the time now. I just want a familyon *my* terms.”
“But the neighbours”
“Since when do I care?” Sophie laughed. “Its my life, Mum. And I wont make your mistakes. My child will never doubt theyre enough.”
Margaret sank onto a chair, dazed. “Youre serious?”
“Completely. Already saw a specialist. Says Im healthy.”
A beat. Then, tentatively: “Will I… get to see them?”
“Of course! Youll be Grandma. Just no unsolicited advice. Deal?”
Margarets laugh was watery. “Deal.”
Sophie hugged her tight. “I love you, Mum. And Im gratefulfor everything. But its my turn now. Okay?”
“Okay.” Margaret held on, breathing in the scent of her daughters hair. All these years, shed thought she was building a safe world. Instead, shed built a cage.
“Stews burning,” she muttered.
Sophie grinned. “Lets order pizza. My treat. Tonights a celebrationnew beginnings.”
Margaret nodded, and for the first time in years, she felt light. “New beginnings.”
