I found my daughters diary, and in it, she wrote about how much she hates me.
“No, just look at her! Finally home! And what on earth is that in your nose, may I ask?”
Emily stood in the hallway, arms crossed. Her voice, usually warm, now rang with anger. Katie, her sixteen-year-old daughter, slowly pulled off her trainers, avoiding her mothers gaze. A tiny stud glinted in her nostril like a defiant little spark.
“Its a piercing, Mum. Everyone has them.”
“Everyone? Whos *everyone*? That new friend of yours, Lily, with ten holes in her ears? Is that your everyone? I told you not to hang around with her!”
“Lilys fine! You dont even know her!” Katie finally looked up, her eyes sharp with angry tears. “And I didnt ask for your permission. Its my body.”
“*Your body*?” Emily stepped closer. “As long as you live under my roof, on my money, your body is *my* concern! Do you have any idea what could happen if it gets infected? Ever heard of tetanus? Where did you even get this donesome dirty basement with a rusty needle?”
“I went to a *proper* piercing studio! Everything was sterile! Why do you always jump to the worst?”
“*I* jump to the worst? I waited up until midnight, and you didnt answer your phone! I was out of my mind, calling hospitals and morgues! And all this time, you were just getting *prettied up*? Take that thing out right now!”
“No!” Katie straightened up, nearly matching her mother in height. “Its *my* life, and *I* decide how I look! You just hate everything I likemy music, my friends, my clothes!”
“Because its all leading you *nowhere*!” Emilys voice cracked. “You should be studying, getting into uni, not ruining yourself and wandering God knows where!”
Katie shoved past her, slamming her bedroom door so hard the china in the cabinet rattled.
“I *hate* you!” she spat before the door crashed shut.
The word *hate* echoed in Emilys ears. She leaned against the wall, legs shaking. Her pulse throbbed in her throat. *Why?* After everything shed given upworking two jobs so Katie could have the best clothes, tutors, holidays by the sea. Shed put her whole life on hold after her husband left, dedicating herself entirely to her daughter. And this was her thanks. *Hate*.
She wandered to the kitchen, mechanically filling the kettle. Her hands trembled. Memories flashed through her mindKatie as a little girl with rosy cheeks and oversized bows, Katie on her first day of school proudly clutching a bouquet of daffodils, Katie whispering, *”Mummy, youre the best.”* Where had that sweet, loving girl gone? When had she turned into this prickly, furious stranger?
Katies door stayed shut. No sound came from inside. Emily knew talking now would be pointlessany attempt at peace would be met with resistance. She had to wait. She always had to wait for the storm to pass.
The next morning, Emily knocked softly. “Katie, breakfasts ready. Itll get cold.”
Silence.
“Sweetheart?”
“Not hungry,” came the muffled reply.
Emily sighed. She ate alone, washed up, the silence thick as syrup. Saturdays were usually their timecleaning together, shopping, watching films. But today, the flat felt cold and unfamiliar.
She cleaned to distract herself, wiping dust, mopping floors. Only Katies room remained. Normally, shed never intrude, but nownow she *needed* an excuse to break the ice.
She knocked again. “Im mopping the floors. Open up.”
The door cracked open. Katie stood by the window, headphones on, back turned. Emily stepped inside, bucket in hand. The room was its usual teenage messclothes strewn about, sketchbooks piled on the desk. As she mopped, something caught her eye under the beda pink notebook with a tiny padlock. A diary.
Her heart skipped. *This is wrong. Its private.* But that word*hate*burned inside her. She *had* to understand.
She finished cleaning, slipped out, and spent the day restless, the diary gnawing at her. What if it explained everything?
That evening, Katie muttered she was going out with Lily and left. After ten minutes, Emily crept back into her room, hands shaking. The lock was flimsya paperclip undid it easily.
She sat on the bed and opened it.
Neat, girlish handwriting. Notes about school, a maths test, some band Emily had never heard of. Shame prickled as she readshe was invading her daughters soul.
Then she found last weeks entry.
*”Aunt Sarah came over today. Again with the Oh, Emily, youre a saint, raising such a clever girl all on your own! Katies your pride and joy! I sat there smiling like an idiot, but inside? I wanted to scream. *Mums* pride. *Mums* project. Do I even get to be *me*? Or am I just here to live up to her perfect plangood grades, the right uni, the right life? Sometimes I feel like a doll she dresses up and shows off.”*
Emilys fingers went cold. Shed *never* thought that. She was just proud. Was that so wrong?
She turned the page. A month earlier.
*”Mum screamed at me for being an hour late. Then she cried and said shes all alone, that Im all she has. Classic guilt trip. She does it every timeyells, then plays the victim. And suddenly *I* feel like the monster. Like I owe her my whole life just because she gave birth to me.”*
A lump formed in Emilys throat. Was that really how Katie saw her love? As manipulation?
Page after page, every word a knife. Her advice came off as criticism. Her care felt like control. Her lovea leash.
Then, the worst. Yesterdays entry, after their fight.
*”I *hate* her. She smothers me. Controls every step, every friend, every thought. That piercing? It was *my* choice. *My* way of being me. And she justtake that rubbish out. Didnt even ask *why*. Because it doesnt fit her perfect picture. I cant *breathe*. I want to *run*. I hate her *love*. I hate *her*.”*
Emily shut the diary, hands shaking violently. Her whole world crumbled. She wasnt a loving mothershe was a jailer. A cage.
She put it back, staggered to the sofa, and cried.
Katie came home later, stopping in the doorway. “Mum? You okay?”
Emily looked upat the nose ring, the skull-print hoodie, the crossed armsand saw a stranger.
“Just a headache,” she mumbled.
Katie shrugged and disappeared into her room.
Emily didnt sleep. She replayed every diary entry, every moment Katie had described. And with horror, she realisedher daughter was *right*.
The next morning, she called her best mate, Claire.
“Claire, I messed up.” And she spilled everything.
Claire sighed. “Em, love you *have* been a bit of a helicopter mum. Remember when we dyed our hair blue and snuck into gigs? Our mums nearly had coronaries.”
“But this is different”
“Its *exactly* the same. We forget what its like to be sixteen. She doesnt hate *you*. She hates the control. She loves youI know she does. But she needs you to see *her*, not just your idea of her.”
“So what do I do?”
“Change. Slowly. Give her space. Show interest in *her* world, not the one you want for her.”
That evening, as Katie headed out, Emily forced a smile. “With Lily?”
Katie tensed. “Yeah.”
“Where are you off to?”
“Café. Maybe her place after.”
Emily took a breath. “About your piercing its unusual. But if you like it just keep it clean, yeah?”
Katie blinked, stunned. “…Okay.”
“And dont stay out too late. I worry.”
No *”youre all I have.”* Just *”I worry.”*
Katie nodded and left.
The next weeks were agony. Emily bit her tongue when shed normally lecture. Asked instead of demanded. Once, she even sat through one of Katies “noise” songs, asking what the lyrics meant.
Slowlyso slowlyKaties walls lowered.
One night, over tea, Katie broke the silence. “Mum you asked about uni. Ive been looking at fashion design courses.”
Emilys heart clenched. *Not law? Not business?* But she swallowed it. “That sounds creative. What do you need to apply?”
Katies eyes widened. “You youre okay with it?”
Emily sighed. “Love I wanted what *I* thought was best. But your happiness matters more.”
Tears welled in Katies eyes. She hugged Emily*properly*for the first time in years.
“Thanks, Mum.”
Emily held her tight, breathing in her shampoo. That pink diary had shattered her worldbut it also saved them. It forced her to see her daughter as a person. Not her project.
And maybe, just maybe, that was the real love Katie needed all along.
