“A Cross for Life”
“If youre asking questions like that, maybe you shouldnt have kids. And dont listen to anyone else. I did, back in the day…” Mum sighed. “All those people giving advice vanish when it matters, and youre left carrying the weight forever.”
Sounded like solid advice, but it made Emilys insides turn to ice. A lump rose in her throat, her eyes stung. If she didnt end the call right then, shed be sobbing down the line. The worst part? Mum probably wouldnt even realise why.
“Got it. Thanks, Mum. Ill think about it… Well talk later,” Emily said, hanging up.
She pulled a cushion into her lap, hugged it tight, and hunched over. This wasnt just adviceit was a careless confession. Emily could *feel* it, like a door swinging open in her past, everything slotting into place.
…MumLouisehad been… diligent. Punctual. Shed always made sure Emily ate well, even if it meant skipping meals herself. Emily had toys, clothes, extracurricularsmusic lessons, dance classes. Raised by a single mum, but she wanted for nothing.
Except love.
Louise never said “I love you.” No hugs, no heart-to-hearts, no praise. Hell, she didnt even *tell her off*. Just… indifference.
Emily remembered once, when she and her desk mate, Sophie, failed a maths test. Sophie was devastated.
“Lucky you. You wont get yelled at. Im *done* for… If I dont text by tonight, assume my phones confiscated,” Sophie groaned.
“*Youre* the lucky one. At least they care enough to yell…” Emily muttered.
Sophie gaped at her. Who in their right mind *wanted* a shouting match?
“You off your head? Fine, you can listen to my mums lectures for me,” Sophie snorted. “Be my guest.”
Emily just looked away. Shed have *gladly* traded. But Mum never checked her schoolbook. Why bother? Emily was a straight-A student. Until she wasnt.
At first, she thought if she was *good enough*top marks, perfect recitalsMum would *notice*. Maybe even beam with pride. But no. Mums reaction was always the same: a nod, like it was expected.
So Emily faked being ill. Said her stomach hurt. Wanted Mum to fuss, to *care*. Yeah, it was rottenbut how else could she get her attention?
It half-worked. Mum *did* pay more notice. Just not the way Emily hoped. Louise dragged her to GP appointments until they diagnosed mild gastritis. Then it was strict meal plans, medicine on the dot. No cuddles, no “poor love.” Just clinical efficiency.
So Emily went nuclear. Skipped school, flunked tests, quit dance and music, refused chores. Even mouthed off.
Nothing.
“Fine. Your education, your problem,” Mum said flatly one day. “Ill feed you till youre eighteen. After that, youre on your own. But good luck finding work if you drop out. These days, even shop assistants need GCSEs.”
About the chores? “No clean floors, no going out.” Emily tried a full-blown tantrum. Mum just pointed to the door.
“Save the theatrics for your room,” she said, shutting her own bedroom door.
No more tantrums after that. Emily cried half the night, feeling hollow. Like she was a doll Mum dressed and put to bed, not a person with feelings.
She pushed further. Once, she slept at a friends without telling Mum. Wondered if Louise would panicor just *forget* she had a daughter. Maybe even *relief*…
Nope. Louise rang everyone, tracked her down, drove her home. Still no shouting.
“Keep this up, youll end up with social services. They wont coddle you,” Mum said coolly.
Emily almost wished shed smashed plates, screamed, *anything*.
Years passed. She didnt accept itjust got used to it. Moving in with her fiancé, James, helped. They rushed things, married within a year. Starved for affection, Emily fell hard.
Luckily, James was decent. Steady, ambitious.
“What about kids?” hed asked long before the wedding.
Emily froze. Kids were the *logical* next step. But the thought of having her own? *Terrifying*. What if she messed up? What if her child felt as unloved as she had?
“Dont think Im ready,” she admitted.
But life had other plans. Emily got pregnant. Bad timingno house, bills rising faster than wages.
“Loads of people manage. Mortgages, rentalsthey make it work,” her mate said when Emily fretted.
James was all in, too.
“Your call, but were married, stable… Id love to be a dad.”
But the more she heard it, the more she doubted. So she asked Mumand got the answer that changed everything. Turns out, *she* hadnt been wanted either.
And Louise said it so *matter-of-factly*. Brutal honesty cuts deepest…
Emily shut down for days. Went through the motionswork, dinners, TV with Jamesbut mechanically. Kept circling the same questions: Would Mum *ever* say “I love you”? And what about *her* baby?
Finally, she went to her mother-in-law, Margaret. Strict but warmeverything Louise wasnt. Yeah, Margaret grumbled about “kids these days” or dust on the shelves. But at least she *noticed*.
“Emily? No call, no text?” Margaret frowned, opening the door.
“Just… needed to see you,” Emily said, voice wobbling.
Margaret didnt pry. Made tea, set out jam and bread.
“Got a beef stew if youre hungry. You and James arent fighting?”
“No. Its… Mum.”
And the floodgates opened. The lonely childhood, the indifference, the failed tests no one cared about, the crushing fear of being unlovable.
Margaret listened, brow furrowed. When Emily finished, she exhaled sharply. Emily braced for judgment.
“Listen, love,” Margaret said at last. “I knew you two werent close, but *this*… Dont hate her, alright? Dont think she *meant* to be cold. Some people… life hardens them. Or theyve got no instinct for it. Couldve been worse. Louise is a bad mum, but not a bad person.”
“*Good* people dont *not love* their kids!”
“They can. Its awful, but it happens. Sometimes they dont even love *themselves*…” Margaret sighed. “About the baby? Follow your heart.”
“What if Im like *her*?”
“You wont,” Margaret huffed. “James told me how you nursed that stray cat. People who cant love dont do that.”
“A babys not a *cat*. What if Im rubbish at it?”
“Think any mum gets it right first go? Secret: *Good* mums are the ones who *worry* about being bad. We *all* mess upme, your mum, you will too. Its not the end of the world. Wanting to love them? Thats what counts. Ha! Told you not to listen to anyone, and here I am lecturing…” She smiled.
Emily smiled backsmall, but real. The fear didnt vanish, but it eased. Talking to Margaret felt *warm*, not like the usual chill. That alone helped.
She kept the baby. Pregnancy was roughmorning sickness, mood swings, panic. But James fetched midnight cravings, rubbed her back, never complained. Margaret helped toodoctor visits, baby-care tips.
Mum rang sporadically. Just “Need anything?” After the birth, she brought a bag of baby clothes. That was it.
Years flew. Emilys daughter grewcurious, loud, stubborn. There were tantrums, broken toys, exhaustion. But when she was ill, Emily stroked her hair, read stories, fought back tears.
She was ashamed to admit it: she was giving her daughter what shed *ached* for herself.
Things with Mum didnt thaw, but they stayed civil. Emily stopped expecting the impossible. She helped Louise nowgroceries, money, checking in. Louise wasnt a good mum or gran. But she *tried*, in her way. And sometimes, thats enough.
