**A Cross for Life**
“If you’re asking questions like that, maybe you shouldnt have children. And dont listen to anyone else. I did, back in my day…” her mother sighed. “All those advisors vanish into their little holes when things get tough, but the cross stays with you for life.”
It sounded like solid advice, but inside, Emily felt everything go cold and tight. A lump rose in her throat, and her eyes stung. She knew if she didnt end the call right then, shed be sobbing into the phone. The worst part? Her mum probably wouldnt even understand why.
“Got it. Thanks, Mum. Ill think about it… Well talk later,” Emily said and hung up.
She pulled a cushion to her chest, hugging it tightly as she hunched over. This wasnt just adviceit was a clumsily dropped revelation. Emily could practically feel the door to her past swinging open, everything clicking into place.
…When it came to parenting, Margaret had been… diligent. Punctual. Shed always made sure Emily ate well, giving her the best even when she herself went without. Emily had plenty of toys, nice clothes. Even as a single mother, Margaret sent her to piano lessons and ballet.
In short, Emily had everything. Except love.
Margaret never told her daughter she loved her. No hugs, no heart-to-hearts, no praise. Heck, she didnt even scold her. Margaret was utterly indifferent.
Emily vividly remembered the time she and her desk mate, Sophie, both failed a maths test. Sophie had been devastated.
“Lucky you. You wont get shouted at. Ill be grounded for a weekno phone, no laptop,” Sophie groaned.
“*Youre* the lucky one. At least they care enough to shout…” Emily muttered.
Sophie stared at her like shed grown a second head. Who in their right mind *wanted* to be yelled at?
“Have you lost the plot? Fine, you can listen to my parents lectures for me,” Sophie scoffed. “Be my guest.”
Emily just turned away. Shed have *loved* to be scoldedbut her mum never checked her school planner. Why bother? Emily was a straight-A student. Well, until she wasnt.
At first, she thought if she was *good enough*, her mum would notice. Praise her piano recitals, her grades, clap at her ballet performances. But no. Margarets reactions were muted, as if it were all just… expected.
Emily tried pretending to be ill. Said her stomach hurt. She wanted Margaret to fuss over her, care for her. Yes, it was rottenbut how else could she get attention?
It half-worked. Margaret *did* start paying more attention. Just not the way Emily hoped. She dragged her to doctor after doctor until they diagnosed mild gastritis. Then came the rigid medication schedule, the strict diet. No cuddles, no sympathy. Just detached practicality.
So Emily took drastic measures. She skipped school, flunked tests, quit ballet and piano, stopped doing chores. Even got mouthy.
Nothing.
“Fine, dont studyyour problem,” Margaret said calmly one day. “Ill feed you till youre eighteen, then youre on your own. But if you drop out, good luck finding work. Even shop assistants need GCSEs now.”
As for chores? No clean floors, no going out. Emily tried a full-blown tantrum. Margaret just pointed to the door.
“Spare me the dramatics. Save the performances for your room,” she said, shutting herself in her bedroom.
That was the end of tantrums. Emily cried half the night, feeling abandoned. Like she was just a doll to be dressed and put to bednot a person with feelings.
She pushed further. Once, she stayed over at a friends without telling Margaret. Would her mum panic? Forget she had a daughter? Maybe even *relief*?
Nope. Margaret called everyone, tracked her down, drove her home. Still no shouting.
“Keep this up, and youll end up in police custody. They wont coddle youtheyll say Ive failed as a parent and send you to care,” Margaret stated flatly.
Emily almost wished shed smashed plates, screamed, even reached for a belt.
Years passed. Emily didnt accept itjust got used to it. Moving in with her boyfriend, James, helped. They rushed things, engaged within six months. Starved for affection, Emily had thrown caution to the wind.
Luckily, James was decent. Steady, with plans.
“What do you think about kids?” hed asked long before the wedding.
Emily froze. Kids were the logical next stepbut the idea of having her *own* filled her with dread. What if she was a terrible mother? What if her child felt as unloved as she had?
“I dont think Im ready,” she admitted.
But plans change. Emily got pregnantbad timing. They didnt own a home, and prices were skyrocketing faster than their salaries.
“Oh, please. Half the countrys on a mortgage or worse. People manage,” her friend shrugged when Emily voiced her fears.
James was all for it.
“Your call, but were married, stable. Id love to be a dad.”
Yet the more she heard that, the more she doubted. So she asked her mumand got the answer that flipped her world upside down. Had *she* been unwanted too?
And Margaret said it all so *matter-of-factly*. As the saying goes, truth hurts worse than lies…
For days, Emily moved like a ghost. Still working, cooking, watching telly with Jamesbut mechanically. She couldnt sort her own feelings. Would she *ever* hear “I love you” from her mum? And what about the baby?
Finally, she went to her mother-in-law, Maureen. Strict but warm, Maureen drew Emily in. Sure, she grumbled about “kids these days” or dust on the shelvesbut that beat indifference.
“Emily? No call, no warning?” Maureen frowned, opening the door.
“Just… felt like visiting,” Emily mumbled, voice trembling.
Maureen didnt pry. She made tea, laid out bread and jam.
“Theres stew if you fancy it,” she said, eyeing the fridge. “You and James havent rowed?”
“No,” Emily bit her lip. “Its… Mum.”
And the floodgates opened. Emily spilled everythingthe lonely childhood, the failed tests, the desperate bids for attention, the crushing fear of being unloved.
Maureen listened, frowning, then set her mug down with a sigh. Emily braced for dismissal.
“Listen, love,” Maureen finally said. “I knew you two werent close, but not *this*. Still… dont hold it against her, alright? I doubt she *meant* harm. Some people… life hardens them. Or maybe she just wasnt cut out for motherhood. But shes not a bad *person*just a bad mum.”
“A *good* person wouldnt not love their child!”
“They can. Its awful, but it happens. Sometimes they dont even love *themselves*…” Maureen sighed. “As for the baby… follow your heart.”
“What if Im like her?”
“You wont,” Maureen snorted. “James told me how you nursed that stray kitten. Cold people dont do that.”
“A babys not a kitten! What if I mess up?”
“Oh, loveyou think *any* mum gets it right first time? Heres a secret: good mums *worry* about being bad ones. None of us are perfect. I wasnt, your mum wasnt, you wont be. And thats *fine*. Wanting to loveeven when you fumblethats what matters. Blimey, told you not to listen to anyone, and here I am lecturing…” Maureen grinned.
Emily managed a small, shaky smile. The fear didnt vanishbut it eased. For once, talking to Maureen, she felt warmth instead of ice.
In the end, Emily kept the baby. Pregnancy was roughmorning sickness, mood swings, constant dread. But James was there, fetching midnight cravings, rubbing her back, enduring her moods. Maureen helped too, dragging her to check-ups and teaching her to swaddle.
Margaret called rarely. Just asked if she needed anything. After the birth, she dropped off a bag of baby clothesnothing more.
Years flew. Emilys daughter grewcurious, loud, stubborn. She threw tantrums, broke toys, drove Emily mad. But when she was ill, Emily sat by her bed, stroking her hair, reading stories. She couldnt explain why she sometimes cried doing it.
She was ashamed to admit: she was giving her daughter what shed once craved herself.
Things with Margaret never warmedbut they endured. Emily stopped expecting the impossible. Now *she* helped *her*money, groceries, checking on her blood pressure. Margaret wasnt a good mother or grandmother. But she *existed*. Maybe she couldnt lovebut in her own way, she tried. And sometimes, that had to be enough.
