**Diary Entry 24th October**
I found my daughters journal today, and in it, she wrote that she *hates* me.
*”Honestly, just look at her! Back so lateand what on earth is that in your nose?”*
Emily stood in the hallway, arms crossed. Her voice, usually warm, was sharp with disapproval. Katie, my sixteen-year-old, slowly tugged off her trainers, avoiding her mothers gaze. A tiny silver stud glinted in her nostril, defiant.
*”Its a nose piercing, Mum. Everyone has them.”*
*”Everyone? Whos ‘everyone’? That new friend of yours, Lily, with half her ears covered in metal? Is that your crowd now? I told you not to hang around with her!”*
*”Lilys fine! You dont even know her!”* Katie finally looked up, her eyes flashing with angry tears. *”And I didnt ask your permission. Its my body.”*
*”Your body?”* Emily took a step closer. *”While you live under my roof, on my money, your body is my concern! Do you have any idea the risks? Infection? Tetanus? Did you do this in some grimy basement with a dirty needle?”*
*”I went to a proper studio! Everything was sterile! Why do you always assume the worst?”*
*”Assume? I waited up till midnight, and you didnt answer your phone! I was ringing hospitals, police stationsand you were off getting pierced? Take it out. Now.”*
*”No!”* Katie straightened, nearly matching her mothers height. *”Its my life, and Ill decide how I look! You hate everything I likemy music, my friends, my clothes!”*
*”Because its all leading you nowhere!”* Emilys voice cracked. *”You should be studying, aiming for universitynot ruining yourself and gallivanting God knows where!”*
Katie shoved past her, slamming her bedroom door so hard the china in the display rattled.
*”I hate you!”*
The word echoed in the silent hallway. Emily leaned against the wall, legs shaky. *Hate.* After everythingworking two jobs so Katie could have the best tutors, holidays abroad, clothes as nice as her friends. Shed given up her own life when her husband left, devoted herself entirely to her daughter. And this was her thanks?
In the kitchen, the kettle boiled unnoticed. Her hands trembled as memories flickered: Katie as a little girl in oversized hair bows, trusting hands outstretched; Katie in her first school uniform, proudly clutching a bouquet; Katie whispering, *”Mummy, youre the best.”* Where had that girl gone? When had her sweet child become this spiky, furious stranger?
The next morning, Katie stayed locked in her room. Breakfast cooled untouched. The flat felt foreign, heavy with silence. Emily cleaned on autopilotdusting, moppinguntil only Katies room remained. An excuse to breach the cold war.
*”Katie, Im mopping. Open up.”*
The door cracked open. Katie stood by the window, headphones on, back turned. Emily entered, bucket in hand. The room was a teenagers chaosclothes strewn, sketchbooks piled high. Under the bed, something caught her eye: a pink journal with a tiny lock.
Her pulse stuttered. She shouldnt. It was an invasion. But that word*hate*burned inside her. She *needed* to understand.
Later, when Katie left to meet Lily, Emily crept back in. The lock gave way to a paperclip. Pages flippedschool stress, band lyrics, then:
*”Aunt Margo visited today. Emily, youre a saint raising her alone! Katies so clever, your pride and joy! I smiled like an idiot. But inside? Im just Mums project. Her perfect doll. Do I even get to choose my own future? Or just fulfil her dreams?”*
Emilys fingers went numb. She *loved* Katies achievementswas that wrong?
Another entry:
*”Mum screamed at me for being an hour late, then cried about being alone, how Im all she has. Classic guilt trip. Like I owe her my life for raising me. Like Im not allowed to *live.*”*
A lump rose in her throat. Was that how Katie saw her fear? As manipulation?
Then, the worst:
*”I HATE HER. She suffocates me. Controls every step, every thought. This piercingit was *mine.* A choice for *me.* And she just dismissed it. I want to run. Far away. I hate her love. I hate *her.*”*
The journal slipped from her hands. Her whole worldevery sacrificeshattered by that single word.
She didnt sleep. By dawn, she rang her oldest friend, Sarah.
*”I read her diary. She *hates* me, Sar.”*
A pause. Then Sarah sighed. *”Em you *do* smother her. Remember when we dyed our hair purple and snuck into those punk gigs? Our mums hated it too. Kids need to make their own mistakes.”*
*”But what if she”*
*”Loves terrible music? Dates idiots? Thats *her* life, Em. She doesnt hate *you.* She hates the cage.”*
That evening, Katie headed out. Emily forced a smile.
*”With Lily?”*
Katie tensed, bracing for a lecture.
*”Yeah. Just café. Maybe hers after.”*
Emily inhaled. *”That piercing its not my taste. But if you like itjust keep it clean, alright? And dont be too late. I worry.”*
No *”youre all I have.”* Just *”I worry.”*
Katie blinked, disbelieving, then nodded.
The next weeks were agony. Biting back lectures. Asking, not demanding. Once, she paused at Katies musica chaotic, angry mixand *listened.*
*”Its different. Whats it about?”*
Katies wary explanation, the thaw in her eyesit was a start.
Then, one night over tea:
*”Mum Ive been looking at fashion colleges. For costume design. I Id like to try.”*
Emilys old self screamed: *Proper degree! Law! Economics!* But she remembered the diary. *”Her project.”*
*”That sounds exciting. What do you need? A portfolio?”*
Katies tears were answer enough.
Later, hugging her daughterreally *hugging* herEmily thought of that pink journal. It had shattered her, yes. But it also saved them. Taught her to love not for obedience, or dreams fulfilled, but *freely.*
And that, perhaps, was the hardest lesson of all.
