“Can you look after Max for me today, Mum?” I asked, my voice hoarse from exhaustion. “Ive got to pop into the office and pick up some urgent paperwork.”
“Darling, I have a meeting with the editor at seven this evening,” my mother, Margaret, replied, flipping through her planner. “Im sorry, I cant.”
“Always busy, arent you?” I snapped. “Hes your grandson! Is work really more important than family?”
Margaret pressed her lips together. Another guilttrip, she thought.
“Kate, I told you it was reckless to have a baby with a man you barely knew,” Margaret went on. “You ignored my warning. Thats your choice and your responsibility.”
“Right,” Kate shot back, coldly. “So you dont care about me or the baby. Thanks for the support.”
She hung up.
Margaret had just turned fiftytwo and, for the first time in years, she felt she could finally breathe. A painful divorce had turned her world upside down. For fifteen years she raised two daughters on her own, working double shifts, never allowing herself a moment’s rest. Five years ago Michaelsteady, dependable, and unpretentiouscame into her life and accepted her, baggage and all, without demanding the impossible.
Both girls grew up, earned their qualifications. With Michael, Margaret bought a onebed flat for the elder daughter, Kate, and a studio for the younger, Lucy. Margaret finally secured a respectable position at a publishing house, enrolled in an Italian language course, and began setting aside money for a dream trip to Italy.
But at twentythree Kate married a stranger she barely knew. Six months later she gave birth. Margaret had warned her against such haste, yet Kate ignored the advice. Now her husband turned out to be unreliable, working sporadically and bringing home money only when luck smiled. Kate was torn between a newborn and odd jobs, trying desperately to keep the household afloat. From that point on Margarets phone buzzed nonstop with Kates calls.
Margaret pressed her forehead against the cool kitchen glass, weary of the endless demand to sacrifice herself. Kate hinted at moving back with her parents, claiming it would make life easier for everyone, especially the baby. Margaret refused, explaining she had her own life, work, and plans. Kate wept into the receiver, bemoaning the loss of her youth.
A week later a new, exciting development arrived. Lucy, just twenty, fresh out of university, announced she was pregnant. The father was a lad shed only dated for three monthsa courier who rented a room in a hostel, with no steady prospects. Lucy burst into the living room, eyes shining, hoping for support and celebration.
Mum, guess what? Victor and I are going to be parents! she exclaimed, plopping onto the sofa. Were having a baby! Isnt that wonderful?
Margaret watched her younger daughter, irritation rising. The same story repeated itself.
Lucy, have you and Victor thought about how youll raise the child? Margaret asked calmly. Where will you live? A studio with a baby? How will you afford everything?
Lucy fidgeted, twisting the hem of her sweater.
Well, Victors got a spare room for now Well figure something out. Mum, youll help us, wont you? Well need you.
Margaret set her tea cup down a little harder than intended.
No, Lucy. Its your right to have a child, and Im not opposed to that. But Im not going to support a young family financially. Ive already helped you buy the flat; thats all I can give. Youll have to manage on your own.
Lucy sprang up, tears welling.
How can you say that? Are you heartless? Im your daughter, and the baby will be your grandchild!
Im telling you the truth, Margaret replied. Youre both adults. Youve finished university; Victor works. If you decide to have a child, you must take responsibility yourself. Ive done my part. I have my own life, my own plans.
What plans? Lucy shouted, grabbing her bag. What could be more important than family? Youre selfish!
The two sisters united against her, flooding the family group chat with accusations of egoism and coldness. Kate typed long messages about how hard it was for her, insisting her mother should help; Lucy echoed, lamenting how shed never expected their mum to be so indifferent.
Michael, ever supportive, hugged Margaret each evening, trying to soothe the tension. Yet the strain grew. Kate began showing up unannounced with the baby, pushing the pram through the hallway, and leaving a note: Mum, Ill be back in a couple of hours, look after Max. Margaret tried to protest, but Kate was already dashing down the stairs. Michael frowned but stayed silent. Lucy called, sobbing, begging for moral support, complaining that Victor didnt understand her, that they were broke, that she didnt know what to do.
Margaret felt cornered, as if she were a bottomless well from which they could endlessly draw.
Saturday evening was meant to be quiet. Michael and Margaret had planned a cosy night in, a film and a chat about their upcoming Italian holiday. A sharp knock interrupted them.
Michael opened the door. Kate stood there, suitcase in hand, Max cradled on her hip. Behind her, Lucy followed, eyes red from crying.
Mum, were moving in temporarily, Kate declared, dumping the suitcase in the hallway. Serge will bring the rest of our stuff later. Well rent out our flat to get money, and you can look after Max more often so I can work.
What? Margaret froze in the doorway. Kate, what are you talking about? We never discussed this.
Why discuss it? Kate retorted. Youre my mother; youre supposed to help. Who else will?
Lucy squeezed into the apartment behind her.
Mum, I need money for a cot, she sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve. Weve got nothing. Victor earns barely enough, I cant stay on maternity leave, I need to work.
Something inside Margaret snapped. All the months of fatigue, irritation, and hurt burst forth.
No, she said sharply, stepping forward. Kate, turn around and go home. Lucy, there will be no money. Thats it.
Both sisters stared, stunned.
You serious, Mum? Kate asked, rocking a tearsoaked Max. Are you kidding me?
Im deadserious, Margaret crossed her arms. I raised you, gave you education, bought you homes. Fly the nest and live your own lives instead of hanging my children on my neck.
How can you say that? Lucy shrieked. Were your daughters! Your blood!
I can because Im telling the truth. Youre adults. You chose your partners, you chose when to have children. I warned you, I gave advice. You ignored it. This is your responsibility, not mine.
Kate shifted Max to her other arm, eyes angry and confused.
Youre throwing us out? With a baby?
Im not throwing you out. You have a house, Margaret said, unflinching. And you have a husband, Kate. Deal with your problems yourself.
You coldhearted selfish witch! Lucy shouted, stamping a foot. You dont mean anything to us! All you think about is Italy!
Yes, Italy is important to me, Margaret replied evenly. My plans, my life. I spent twenty years living for you. What more do you want? To have me mind you until Im on my deathbed?
The sisters exchanged a look. Kate grabbed her suitcase and headed for the door. Lucy followed. Margaret heard their footsteps on the stairs, the muffled exchange impossible to decipher but unmistakably contemptuous.
For a week none of them called or texted. Michael told her shed done the right thing. Still, a knot of anxiety tightened in Margarets chest. Was she too harsh?
Later she learned Kate had indeed let go of her flat. Her family moved into her husbands parents cramped twobedroom, where she was piled with chores and criticised for every mistake. Her motherinlaw raised the grandson as she saw fit; her fatherinlaw grumbled that todays youth were lazy.
Lucys plight reached Margaret through a neighbour. The girl had been sobbing on a bench outside the block. Victor, frightened by responsibility, had vanished, taking his things and leaving her alone, pregnant and penniless.
Margaret stood at the kitchen sink, mulling over the news, torn between pity for her daughters and the firm resolve not to intervene. She had given them a solid starteducation, roofs over their heads, love. How they used it was no longer her concern.
The sisters began calling again. Kate complained about her motherinlaw, cried that she couldnt take it any longer. Lucy wailed about being utterly alone. Margaret listened, sympathised, but offered only advice, never money or a place to stay. Each time they demanded that she solve their problems, she refused.
Michael and she finally booked three weeks tickets to Italya longawaited getaway that had been postponed countless times. Before leaving, Margaret called her daughters.
Whats wrong, Kate? Are you serious? the younger asked, confused.
Are you not adults enough to manage? Margaret replied, eyeing the suitcase by the door. When you learn to solve your own problems and stop treating me as a freewheeling nanny and cashmachine, we can speak as equals. Grow up.
Youre abandoning us? Kate whispered.
Im not abandoning you. You have the right to make mistakes. I just have the right not to pay for them, Margaret said, grabbing her coat. I will always be your mother, but I wont sacrifice myself for grownup children and their illthoughtout decisions.
Michael waited by the car. Margaret descended the stairs, slid into the passenger seat, and breathed deeply. She had finally decided she would no longer be haunted by guilt. She had given her children a good starteducation, a roof, love. Shed offered advice; theyd chosen otherwise. Her mission was complete. It was time to think about herself.
She dreamed of strolling through Roman streets, gazing at Florentine art, cruising Venices canals. Of the freedom shed earned. Everything felt wonderfully possible.
