I found my daughter’s diary where she wrote about hating me.
“No, just look at her! She’s back! And what on earth is that in your nose, may I ask?”
Emily stood in the hallway, arms crossed. Her voice, usually gentle, now rang with indignation. Katie, her sixteen-year-old daughter, slowly peeled off her trainers, avoiding her mothers gaze. A tiny stud with a glinting stone sat in the wing of her nose like a rebellious wink.
“Its a nose piercing, Mum. Everyone has them.”
“Everyone? Whos ‘everyone’? That new friend of yours, Lily, with ten holes in her ears? Is that who ‘everyone’ is? 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 your permission. Its my body.”
“Your body?!” Emily took a step forward. “While you live under my roof, on my money, that body is my responsibility! Do you have any idea what could happen if it gets infected? Ever heard of tetanus? Where did you even get this donesome filthy basement with a dirty needle?”
“I went to a proper piercing studio! Everything was sterile! Why do you always jump to the worst conclusion?”
“Me? I waited up for you past midnightyou didnt answer your phone! I was out of my mind, ringing hospitals and morgues! And all this time, you were off getting ‘beautified’! Take that thing out right now!”
“No!” Katie straightened up, 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. “Youre supposed to focus on your studies, get into university, not ruin yourself and wander God knows where!”
Katie shoved past her and slammed her bedroom door with such force that the china in the cabinet rattled.
“I hate you!” she spat before the door crashed shut.
Emily stood frozen in the silent hallway. That wordhateechoed in her skull like a gong. She leaned against the wall, legs weak, heart pounding in her throat. Why? Why was it like this? She did everything for her. Worked two jobs so Katie could have the best clothes, tutors, summer holidays by the sea. Shed given up her own life after her husband left, pouring everything into her daughter. And this was her thanks. Hate.
She shuffled to the kitchen, mechanically filling the kettle. Her hands trembled. Memories flashedKatie as a toddler with big ribbon bows, tiny hands reaching for hers; Katie on her first day of school, proudly clutching gladioli; Katie whispering, “Mummy, youre the best,” in her ear. Where had that girl gone? When had her sweet, affectionate child turned into this spiky, angry stranger?
Katies door stayed shut, no sound from within. Emily knew talking now was pointless. Any peace offering would be met with hostility. She had to wait. She always had to wait.
The next morning, Saturday, Emily rose early as usual. Made breakfast. Katie didnt emerge. She knocked.
“Katie, come eat. Itll get cold.”
Silence.
“Sweetheart, can you hear me?”
“Not hungry,” came the muffled reply.
Emily sighed. Ate alone. Washed up. The flats silence felt thick, suffocating. Saturdays were normally their timecleaning, shopping, films. Today, the house felt cold and alien.
She busied herself cleaning, hoping order outside might steady her mind. Dusted the lounge, mopped the kitchen. Only Katies room remained. Normally, her daughter tidied it herself, but now now Emily needed an excuse to breach the icy standoff.
She knocked again.
“Katie, I need to mop in here. Open up.”
The door cracked open. Katie stood by the window, back turned, headphones on. Emily entered with her bucket, scanning the roomclothes strewn, sketchbooks piled, scribbled designs. She mopped quietly. Katie didnt turn.
Then Emily spotted itunder the bed. A pink notebook with a tiny padlock. A diary. Shed given it to Katie last birthday. “Mum, who keeps diaries anymore? So last century,” Katie had laughed. Yet here it was.
Her heart stuttered. This was wrong. A violation. But that word*hate*burned inside her. She had to understand.
She finished quickly. “Done,” she murmured.
Katie barely nodded.
Emily left, door clicking shut. The diary gnawed at her all day. What was in it? Boys? School dramas? Or her?
That evening, Katie grunted about meeting Lily and left. Emily waited ten minutes, then crept into her room, hands shaking, feeling like a thief.
The diary still lay under the bed. The flimsy lock yielded to a paperclip. She sat on Katies bed, flipping past school notes, exams, band names she didnt recognise. Shame prickledthis was trespassing.
Then she found last weeks entry:
*Aunt Jane came over today. Again with the Emily, youre a saint raising her alone! Katies so clever, your pride and joy! I sat there smiling like an idiot. But inside? I was boiling. Mums pride. Mums project. Do I get to be anything for me? Or just meet her expectations? Be the good girl, get top grades, go to her right uni. Sometimes I feel like a doll she dresses up and shows off.*
Emilys fingers went numb. Shed never thought that. She was just proud. Was that so bad?
She turned the page. A month ago:
*Mum screamed at me for being an hour late. Then cried about being alone, how Im all she has. Classic guilt trip. She does it every timeshout, then play the victim. And suddenly Im the villain. Like I owe her my life just because she birthed me. Like I should sacrifice everything to keep her happy.*
A lump rose in Emilys throat. Was that really how Katie saw her care? As manipulation? But she *was* afraidthe world was dangerous.
Page after page, each line a knife. Offhand remarks shed forgotten were etched here as wounds. Her advice read as criticism. Her love as control.
*She asked what music I like. Played her a track. She grimaced: That noise isnt music. Walked off. It mattered to me. But she doesnt care about my worldjust that I fit hers. Be convenient. Predictable. Cause no trouble.*
Then, the worst. Last nights entry, jagged script:
*I hate her. Hate her! Shell never let me breathe. Controls every step, who I see, what I wear, even what I think. That piercingI worked up courage for weeks. For me. And she Take that junk out. Didnt even ask why. Just decided its wrong. Doesnt fit her perfect picture. Im suffocating. Id run away if I could. Just to escape her judging face. I hate her love. Hate her care. HATE HER.*
Emily snapped the diary shut. Not just shakingconvulsing. That pink cover held words her Katie, her baby, had written.
Her world crumbled. Everything shed lived fora lie. She wasnt a loving mother but a jailer. Not support but chains. Shed given her all, yet stolen her daughters life.
She replaced the diary, staggered to the sofa, and wept. Hollow. Broken.
Katie returned later. Mum? You okay?
Emily looked upat that nose stud, the skull-print hoodie, the crossed armsand saw a stranger who hated her.
Nothing. Just a headache.
Take a paracetamol, Katie muttered, disappearing into her room.
Emily didnt sleep. She replayed every diary line, every mentioned moment. And horribly, she saw Katies point. Shed criticised her friends, mocked her music, weaponised tears. Shed thought it was love. It was suffocation.
Next morning, she called her closest friend, Sarah.
Sarah I dont know how to go on. She spilled it allthe fight, the diary, the hate.
Sarah sighed. Em you *do* smother her. Remember moaning about Lily? Whats so bad about her? Shes sixteen, not forty. We dyed our hair green at that age! Sneaked out to Cure concerts! Our mums had fits too.
But this is different
Its *exactly* the same, Em. We forget. We want our kids to skip our mistakes. But they need their own. Katie doesnt hate *you*she hates the control. She loves you. But she needs you to see *her*not your perfect daughter project.
What do I do? Tell her I read it?
God, no! Thats a betrayal. Change *your* behaviour. Ease up. Show interestnot as a boss, as a friend.
I cant.
You can. Your love became too heavy. Lighten it.
That phrase haunted Emily. *Lighten it.* How? Let go? Terrifying. What if Katie messed up?
That evening, as Katie left again, Emily forced a smile.
Katie, wait.
Her daughter braced for a lecture.
Meeting Lily?
Yeah.
Whatll you do?
Just a café. Maybe hers after. Listen to music.
Emily inhaled. About your piercing its unusual. But if you like it I guess its trendy. Just use antiseptic, okay? No infections.
Katie stared, disbelieving. Shed expected rage, threats. Not this.
Okay.
And dont be too late. I worry.
No *Youre all I have.* Just *I worry.*
Katie nodded silently and left.
The weeks that followed were agony. Emily bit back lectures, asked instead of demanded. Once, she paused at Katies musica chaotic, snarling track. Before, shed have scoffed and left. Now she sat.
Loud? Katie asked, removing one earbud.
No. What is it?
Katie eyed her warily but handed it over. Harsh beats, growled lyrics. Emily made herself listen.
Interesting, she lied. Whats it about?
Katie blinked, then launched into an explanation about rebellion. Emily nodded, understanding little. But she saw Katies eyes warm, the defensive edge soften. For once, her mother was listening.
Small steps. Another day, she noticed sketches on Katies deskfantastical costume designs. Before, shed have snapped, Focus on your physics! Now:
Youre so creative. These are beautiful.
Thanks, Katie mumbled, flushing.
The thaw wasnt instant. There were still fights. But different nowless hopeless. Emily learned to see a person, not her shadow. Katie, sensing freedom, shed her spines.
One evening, they sat quietly over tea. Not the old, smothering silencesomething peaceful.
Mum, Katie said suddenly. That college talk Ive been looking. Theres a fashion design course. I I think Id like to try.
Emilys breath caught. Before, shed have panicked*Design? Wheres the security?* But she remembered the diary. *Mums project.*
That sounds exciting, she said carefully. What do you need? Portfolio?
Yeah, sketches. And English lit.
Youre brilliant at lit, Emily smiled. Your drawings are lovely. Lets pick your best.
Katie gaped. You youre okay with this?
Emily sighed. Love I was wrong. I wanted what *I* thought was best. But your happiness matters more. If this is your dream go for it.
Katies eyes welled. She hugged Emilyfirst time in years.
Thanks, Mum.
Emily held her, inhaling her shampoo. That pink diary, never reopened, hadnt been a curse but salvation. It shattered her perfect world, yesbut woke her up. Forced her to see the living, breathing girl shed boxed in. And gave her one last chance to love rightnot for her sake, but Katies. Just because.
