**Diary Entry**
*Friday, 12th May*
“Tell Jeremy to come right away!” My daughter, Charlotte, was nearly choking on her words. “All three children are feverish and impossible. I cant get them to the doctor alonehe needs to drive us!”
I nodded, though she couldnt see me. My stomach twisted with worry for my grandchildren.
“Ill sort it, love. Dont panic,” I said, forcing calm into my voice. The last thing she needed was me making it worse.
The call ended, and I froze. My fingers fumbled through my contacts for Jeremys number. Three sick kids, Charlotte on her own, her husband stuck at workthis was dire.
Jeremy would help. I was sure of it.
The first ring. The second. Finally, he answered.
“Hi, Mum,” he said briskly.
“Jeremy, love, theres a situation” I struggled for the right phrasing. “Charlotte just rang. The kids are ill, and she needs to get them to the doctor. Her husband cant leave work. Could you take them? It wont take long.”
Silence. I could hear his breathing, the muffled noise of background chatter.
“Mum, I cant today,” he sighed. “Its Emmas birthday. We booked the restaurant weeks ago. Charlottes place is across towntraffics a nightmare. Well miss the reservation. So… no.”
My grip tightened on the phone. My palm was damp. Was he seriously refusing?
“Jeremy, are you listening? The children are *ill*. Your nieces and nephew! Charlotte cant manage alone!” I bit back a shout. “They need a doctor!”
“Mum, I get it,” he said, flat as a pancake. “But weve got plans. She can call a cab. Or you and Dad help. Whats the issue?”
I sank onto a chair, my legs giving way. I couldnt believe my ears.
“Dads at work! I cant handle three sick toddlers by myself! Are you being deliberately thick?”
“I *cant*. Sorry,” he snapped. “Not my problem. The kids are Charlottes responsibility. Shell sort it.”
I choked on my own fury. What kind of nonsense was this?
“How is it *not* your problem? Shes your sister! Your *family*! Cant you help just once?”
“I said no. Weve got to gosorry.” The line went dead.
The dial tone sliced through me. I stared at the screen, numb. My hands shook. I redialled. Nothing. Again. Silence.
Something hot and searing boiled inside me. How *dare* he? I called Emma. Maybe shed talk sense into him.
“Hello, Margaret?” she answered smoothly.
“Emma, darling,” I forced sweetness into my voice. “Could you ask Jeremy to help? His nieces and nephew are sick! Charlottes drowning! Surely you understand?”
Emma sighed. Her tone was cool, detached.
“Margaret, parents should handle their own children. Theres taxis. The NHS. The kids arent babies. Charlottes a grown womanshell cope.”
I stiffened. That stung worse than Jeremys refusal.
“Emma, do you have any idea what its like wrangling three sick toddlers in a cab? She *cant* do it alone!”
“Her children, Margaret,” Emma said, ice in her voice. “We planned this evening ages ago. Were not ruining it over someone elses drama.”
Shock gave way to white-hot rage.
“Then dont *dare* ask for help when you have kids!” I spat, slamming the phone down.
The next few days blurred. I didnt call Jeremy. He didnt call me. I tried not to dwell on it, but the bitterness gnawed at me, relentless.
Nights were the worst. Lying awake, that wretched conversation on loop. Where had I gone wrong? How had I raised someone so selfish?
My husband tried to talk about it, but I brushed him off. I needed to work it out myself. Understand how it had come to this.
By the fourth evening, I cracked. I drove to Jeremys. We had to talk face-to-face. I needed to *see* how he could betray his own family.
Emma opened the door, eyebrows lifting, but she stepped aside without a word. I marched in, still in my coat.
“Wheres Jeremy?” My voice was sharp.
“Living room,” she nodded.
I shoved the door open. Jeremy met my gazefor a second, something flickered in his eyes. Then blankness.
“Mum? Whats wrong?”
“How *could* you?” The words tore out of me, loud enough to make him flinch. Four days of fury spilled over. “Abandoning sick children? Your sister? I didnt raise you to be this selfish!”
Jeremy stood slowly. His face stayed impassive. The calm made me angrier.
“Mum, you couldve called a taxi,” he shrugged. “Gone yourself. Im not dropping everything last minute.”
He paused. Held my stare.
“Or have you forgotten how Charlotte cut us off? The rubbish shes been spreading?” His voice hardened. “Ever since we bought the flat. No calls, sneering in the streetsix months of this, and now she *needs* us?”
I faltered. Words stuck in my throat.
“Thatsthats just” I floundered. “Shes renting with three kids! You and Emma own a two-bed, no childrenof course shes upset! I didnt know she wasnt speaking to you… Whats she been saying?”
Jeremy narrowed his eyes. Emma leaned in the doorway, arms crossed.
“Plenty. About me, about Emma. And the flat? None of her business.” His tone was steel. “We worked for it. No handouts. She can solve her own problemsnot drag my family into it through *you*.”
I stepped closer, fists clenched.
“Whats *wrong* with you? Shes your *sister*! Your *blood*!”
“No, Mum.” His voice rose. “*Emmas* my family. Charlotte shouldve thought before having three kids. Im not her errand boy!”
I recoiled.
“Youre heartless! Your sisters struggling, and you wont lift a finger!”
“Help?” He barked a laugh. “Why would I help someone whos ignored me for half a year? Were *done*, Mum. How didnt you notice?”
A beat. Then, quieter:
“But why would you? Its always Charlotte. Im just background noise.”
“Youre cruel! How can you say that?” I turned away. I couldnt look at him. “I raised you better than this!”
I stormed out. On the landing, I stopped, gasping. The cold air outside burned my face, but it didnt help.
Walking to the bus stop, one thought pounded in my head. Where had I failed? How had I made him this way? Why couldnt he seefamily helps family. You dont turn your back.
But deeper, in a place I didnt want to explore, something nagged. Jeremys words about Charlotte. The flat. The things shed said. That *he* had a family now. That Id only ever cared about her.
I stopped dead on the pavement. People sidestepped around me.
What if he was right?
No. I shook my head hard. Impossible. I was his *mother*. I knew what was best.
Yet the doubt stayedsmall, sharp, growing with every step.
On the bus, I stared out the window. Life rolled on outside. But inside me, something had shattered.
Would we ever mend this? Could I forgive him? Could he forgive *me*?
The bus jolted over potholes. I closed my eyes. Maybe tomorrow would bring clarity. Maybe the right words would come. Maybe wed be a family again.
Or maybe it was already too late.
