“I won’t live with some old woman who’s no relation to me,” said Daniel, staring straight into his mother’s eyes.
“Mum, tell him yourself! I’m tired of explaining!” Rebecca nervously twisted the edge of the tablecloth, unable to meet her son’s gaze.
“What’s there to explain?” Daniel set his teacup down with a clink and sat opposite her. “I’ve made myself clearI’m moving out next week. Found a flat, paid the deposit.”
“But Daniel, how will we manage here…?” Rebecca began, but he cut her off with a sharp gesture.
“Mum, I’m twenty-seven! Don’t you think it’s time I lived on my own?”
From the next room came a muffled cough, followed by the sound of something falling and irritated muttering.
“There, you see?” Rebecca sighed. “She’s dropped something again. I should check on her.”
“Don’t,” Daniel placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “Let her sort it out herself. Youre not her carer.”
“Dan, shes elderly…”
“Mum, stop!” His voice hardened. “Shes nothing to you. Nothing! Just Dads mother, who never had a kind word for you in all these years.”
Rebecca flinched as though struck. It was trueMargaret had never accepted her. Twenty-eight years ago, when she and Simon married, his mother had greeted her with icy disdain. Shed told neighbours her son couldve done better, that Rebecca was from the wrong sort of family, that she had a sharp tongue. And when Daniel was born, shed declared shed raise the boy herselfhis mother was too foolish to manage.
“Remember what she called you?” Daniel pressed, seeing his words land. “That wife of yours. Not even by your namejust that wife. And when Dad died”
“Stop,” Rebecca whispered. “Dont bring that up.”
But he wouldnt relent. Three years had passed since Simons funeral, yet the memories still stung. Margaret had announcedcoldlythat the house had been her sons, so now it was hers. That Rebecca and Daniel should look for somewhere else. That shed endured enough from outsiders.
“And who picked her up when she had that stroke?” Daniel demanded. “Who called the ambulance? Who sat by her hospital bed?”
“Thats enough,” Rebecca stood, gathering the teacups.
“No, it isnt! You know what shes doingbanging pots at night, turning the telly up just to keep you awake. And those digs about the food, the medicine…”
“Rebecca!” Margarets voice crackled from the bedroom. “Come here!”
Rebecca moved automatically toward the door, but Daniel grabbed her wrist.
“Dont. If she needs something, she can get up.”
“Dan, shes ill”
“Ill? Shes fitter than both of us! She just likes giving orders. Dad waited on her hand and footnow youre doing it.”
“Rebecca!” The voice sharpened. “Are you deaf?”
She pulled free and went. Margaret lay in bed, blankets drawn to her chin, a fallen newspaper on the floor.
“Pick that up,” she nodded at it. “I want to read.”
“Margaret, do you have your glasses?”
“Of course I do. Think Im blind?” The old woman fumbled them onto her nose. “And fetch tea. Properly hotnot that lukewarm swill you brought yesterday.”
Silently, Rebecca retrieved the paper and left. Daniel was still at the table, jaw set.
“Running errands again?”
“Dont start,” she sighed.
“Mum, listen.” He pulled his chair closer. “Im moving. And youre coming with me.”
Rebecca froze, the kettle in her hand.
“What?”
“Its simple. Two-bedroom flat, plenty of space. Youll have peaceno more rows, no more demands.”
“And her?”
“She can manage. People reap what they sow.”
“Daniel, I cant… Shell be alone.”
“Good. Maybe then shell appreciate everything youve done.”
Rebecca set the kettle down, gripping the counter. Guilt and relief warred in her chest.
“Mum, remember what she said after Dads funeral?” Daniels voice softened. “Best start packingthe house is mine now. Remember?”
She nodded. That moment was branded in her memory. Theyd returned from the cemetery, changed out of black, sat down with teaand Margaret, silent all day, had calmly announced they were no longer welcome.
“And who refused to leave?” Daniel pressed. “Who swore theyd care for her anyway?”
“I did,” Rebecca admitted. “But it was different then. Shed just lost her son…”
“Mum, its been three years! Three years cooking, cleaning, doctors visitsand has she ever thanked you?”
Rebecca thought. Not once. Only complaintsthe soup too salty, the laundry not done right, the wrong pills bought. And last week, Margaret had told Mrs. Wilkins from next door that she lived among strangers just waiting for her to die.
“Rebecca! Wheres my tea?”
“Coming!” she called, but Daniel blocked her path.
“No. Sit down.”
“Dan”
“Please.” He took her hands. “We need to talk.”
Reluctantly, she obeyed.
“Mum,” he said, holding her gaze, “I wont live with a woman whos never treated us like family. And neither should you. Youre fifty-twoyouve got years ahead. Why waste them on someone who despises you?”
“Shes not someone. Shes your grandmother.”
“Grandmother?” He laughed bitterly. “She never loved me. Said I took after youbad temper, no good. When I got into uni, she said it was a waste of money.”
Rebecca said nothing. She remembered each slight, each cruel remarkand Simon begging her to ignore it, insisting his mother was harsh but fair underneath.
“Rebecca!” Margarets shout was furious now.
Daniel strode into her room. Rebecca heard him say, “Gran, Mums busy. If you want tea, make it yourself.”
“How dare you speak to me like that? Fetch your mother!”
“I wont. And just so you knowwere moving out next week.”
Silence. Then Margarets disbelieving croak: “And me?”
“Youll stay. Alone. Like you always wanted.”
“Daniel!” Rebecca called, but he was already back, satisfied.
“Done. Let her think on that.”
“You shouldnt havewe shouldve discussed it”
“Discuss what? Youve said a hundred times you cant take much more.”
True. She had complainedespecially after Margaret called her a freeloader in front of guests.
“But shes old, shes frail…”
“Shes seventy-five, not ancient. And no frailer than anyone her ageshe just plays it up.”
A sob came from the bedroom. Rebecca stood, but Daniel shook his head.
“Dont. Its an act. Watchshell switch to guilt next.”
“Dan, what if shes really upset?”
“Upset?” He scoffed. “Where were her tears when she threw us out? Where was her pity then?”
Rebecca rememberedMargaret had been dry-eyed, almost triumphant.
“And then what happened?” Daniel continued. “Her stroke. And who saved her? Who called the ambulance, sat in A&E, ran for prescriptions?”
“Me,” she whispered.
“Right. And as soon as she recoveredback to the snide remarks, the complaints.”
The crying stopped abruptly.
“See?” Daniel nodded toward the room. “No audience, no performance.”
Rebecca drank some water, thoughts churning. He was right. Margaret had never loved her, never valued her. Yet leaving a sick old woman alone felt monstrous.
“Mum, I know its hard,” Daniel said gently. “Youre kind. You care. But think of yourself. Dont you want to live?”
She did. Desperately. Without the tension, the blame, the dread of each new day.
“Remember how it was when Dad was alive?” he asked. “We talked. We went to the cinema. When was the last time you did anything for yourself?”
She couldnt recall. Work, chores, Margarets appointmentsthat was her life. Her friend Sarah had invited her out, but shed always refusedcouldnt leave Margaret.
“Mum, lets try,” Daniel urged. “A month or two in the new place. If she truly cant cope, well decide then.”
“And if something happens?”
“Shes got a phone. Neighbors. We could hire a carerif shell pay.”
Footsteps shuffled toward them. Margaret appeared in the doorway, leaning heavily.
“So,” she rasped, “youre abandoning me?”
“Gran, no ones abandoning you,” Daniel said calmly. “Were just moving out.”
“And what am I supposed to do? Im sick, Im weak”
“Youre not as weak as you pretend,” he countered. “Besides, you were ready to kick us out three years ago. Remember?”
Margaret blinked, wrong-footed.
“That was different…”
“How?” Daniel stepped closer. “Same house, same people. Whats changed?”
“Im ill now! I need help!”
“Then maybe you shouldve thought of that before,” his voice turned hard. “Before you drove away the person whos cared for you these three years.”
Margaret turned to Rebecca.
“You wont leave me, will you? You understandIm helpless…”
Rebecca said nothing, torn between duty and resentment.
“Mum,” Daniel said quietly, “tell her the truth. Tell her youre tired of being treated like a stranger in your own home.”
“I never said that!” Margaret snapped.
“No? What did you tell Mrs. Wilkins? That you lived with outsiders waiting for you to die?”
The old woman faltered.
“I… didnt mean it like that…”
“Then how?” Daniel pressed. “Mums been in this family thirty years. Thirty years of your spite. And you still call her an outsider?”
Rebecca moved to the window, her chest tight.
“Margaret,” she said without turning, “do you remember what you said to me three years ago?”
“Rebecca, I was grieving”
“You said, Pack your thingsthe house is mine now. Remember?”
Silence.
“And that youd had enough of outsiders. Remember that too?”
Margaret sank into a chair, suddenly frail.
“But Im ill… I need help…”
“You do,” Rebecca agreed, facing her at last. “But why should it come from people youve spent a lifetime pushing away?”
Margaret twisted her dressing gown in her hands.
“Rebecca,” she said weakly, “youve always known your place wasnt here. Why stay now that I need you?”
“Because thats how it should be,” Margaret muttered.
“For who?” Daniel cut in. “You? What about us? Are we just meant to endure your cruelty?”
Margaret looked up, tears in her eyes.
“Daniel, youre my grandson…”
“A grandson you never loved. A grandson you said would never amount to anything.”
“I… didnt think youd remember…”
“I remember. And so does Mum. We remember everything.”
Something in Rebecca snappeda tension held too long, finally broken.
“Margaret,” she said quietly, firmly, “we are leaving. Next week.”
The old woman flinched.
“Rebecca”
“Not Rebecca. Mrs. Harrow. And yes, were going. Youll have the housejust as you wanted.”
“But how will I?”
“How were we supposed to manage?” Rebecca sat opposite her. “When you threw us out three years ago? Wed have coped, wouldnt we?”
Margaret bowed her head.
“I was… grieving…”
“So were we,” Rebecca said. “But we didnt cast you out.”
The silence stretched. Daniel stood by the window; Rebecca at the table; Margaret hunched, suddenly ancient.
“Perhaps we could… reconsider…” she whispered at last.
“Reconsider what?” Daniel asked.
“I may have… been unkind…”
Rebecca shook her head.
“Its too late, Margaret. Weve made our decision.”
And she had. In that moment, watching the woman whod made her life miserable for decades shrink before her, she chosefor the first timeherself. A life without fear. A home without scorn. A future unchained from the past.
“Mum,” Daniel squeezed her shoulder, “Im proud of you.”
Rebecca noddedand smiled, truly, for the first time in years.
