“Mother, you dont need to come over today, alright?” My daughters voice was calm, almost indifferent, as she slipped on her trainers by the door. “Im grateful for everything, really, but just not right now. Stay home. Rest.”
I was already holding my bag, buttoning my coatready, as usual, to look after my granddaughter while she went to her yoga class. Normally, it was all so routine: Id arrive, tend to the little one, then return to my modest studio flat. But todaysomething was wrong. Her words froze me in place, sharp as a slap.
What had I done? Had I put the baby down wrong? Picked the wrong onesie? Fed her at the wrong time? Or was it simplerhad they just looked at me differently?
The truth was worse. It was her in-laws. Wealthy, well-connected people whod decided to visit their granddaughter daily. They arrived with solemn airs, unpacking gift boxes, settling into the living roomat the table theyd bought. The house itself was their gift to the young couple.
The furniture was theirs. The tea was theirssome premium blend theyd brought, claiming space with quiet confidence. And now, it seemed, the granddaughter was theirs too. And me? I was excess.
A railway worker with thirty years of service, a plain womanno degrees, no jewels, no expensive hairstyles or fashionable coats.
“Mother, look at yourself,” my daughter said. “Youve put on weight. Your hairs gone grey. You look untidy. Those coatsso drab. And you smell like the Tube. Do you understand?”
I said nothing. What could I say?
After she left, I stood before the mirror. Yesthere she was. A woman with tired eyes, wrinkles at her mouth, a shapeless coat, cheeks flushed with shame. The self-loathing hit like a sudden storm. I stepped outside just to breathe, and thenthe tightening throat, the sting in my eyes. Hot, bitter tears spilled over.
I returned to my tiny flatmy quiet studio in a sleepy neighbourhood. Sat on the sofa, picked up my old phone, still full of photos. Here was my daughterso small. Here, with a ribbon on her first day of school. Graduation. Her wedding. And here, my granddaughtersmiling in her cot.
My whole life, in these pictures. Everything Id lived for. Everything Id given. And if I was no longer neededthen so be it. My time had passed. Id played my part. The least I could do now was not be a burden. Not ruin their lives with my shabby appearance. If they needed metheyd call. Maybe.
Then, the phone rang.
“Mother” Her voice was tense. “Could you come? The nannys left. The in-lawstheyve shown their true colours. And Andrews gone off with his mates, and Im completely alone.”
I paused. Then, softly:
“Sorry, love. Not today. I need to sort myself out. Make myself presentable, as you said. When I canthen maybe.”
I hung up. And for the first time in yearsI smiled. Sad. But proud.
