Im sorry, Mum, could you look after Max today? I asked, my voice hoarse from exhaustion. I have to swing by the office to collect some urgent paperwork.
My dear Kate, I have a meeting with the editor at seven this evening, my mother, Margaret, replied without looking up from her diary. I wont be able to.
Always busy, you know that, I muttered, feeling the sting of guilt. Hes my grandson, after all. Surely the work isnt more important than family?
Margaret pressed her lips together. Another round of manipulation, disguised as a plea for responsibility.
Kate, I warned you it was foolish to have a child with a man you barely knew, she reminded me. You chose that path, and you must live with the consequences.
Fine, I snapped coldly. So you dont care about me or the baby. Thanks for the support.
I hung up.
At fiftytwo, Margaret finally felt she could breathe. A painful divorce had turned her world upside down fifteen years earlier. She raised two daughters alone, working two jobs, denying herself every comfort. Five years before, Michael entered her life a steady, dependable man who accepted her whole history without demanding the impossible.
The girls grew, earned their degrees. With Michaels help, Margaret bought Kate a onebedroom flat, and a small studio for Lucy in a new development. Margaret secured a respectable post at a publishing house, enrolled in Italian classes, and began saving 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, but Kate ignored the advice. The husband turned out to be unreliable, earning irregularly and bringing home money only when luck favoured him. Kate was torn between a newborn and odd jobs, scrambling to keep the household afloat. From then on Margarets phone rang incessantly with Kates pleas.
One evening Margaret rested her forehead against the cool kitchen window, weary of the endless demands to sacrifice herself. Kate hinted that moving back in with her parents would be easier for everyone, especially with a baby. Margaret refused, explaining she had her own life, work, and plans. The daughter wept into the handset, mourning the youth she felt shed lost.
A week later, a fresh shock arrived. Twentyyearold Lucy, fresh from university, announced she was pregnant. The father was a courier shed been dating for only three months, living in a shared house with little prospect.
Can you believe it, Mum? Victor and I are going to be parents! Lucy exclaimed, flopping onto the sofa. Well have a little one! How wonderful!
Margaret watched her daughter, irritation bubbling up again. The same pattern as with Kate.
Lucy, have you and Victor thought about how youll raise the child? she asked calmly. Where will you live? A studio with a baby? How will you afford everything?
Lucy fidgeted with the edge of her sweater.
Victors room is free for now well figure something out. Youll help us, right? Well need you.
Margaret set her tea cup down harder than intended.
No, Lucy. You have the right to bear a child, and I wont oppose that. But I wont fund a young family. The flat is yours; thats all I can give. Youll have to manage yourselves.
Lucy sprang up, tears welling.
How can you say that? Youre heartless! Im your daughter, and the baby will be your grandson!
Im telling you the truth, Margaret said. Youre adults. You finished university, Victor works. If youve decided to have a child, you must shoulder the responsibility. Ive done my part. My life, my plans, are my own.
What plans? Nothing is more important than family! How can you be so selfish when your own daughters are in trouble? Lucy shouted, snatching her bag. Kates right. Youre an egoist!
Both daughters fled the house, leaving Margaret alone in the living room, eyes shut against the onslaught of accusations that flooded the family group chat. Kate wrote long messages about how hard it was for her, demanding that her mother help, as if it were a sacred duty. Lucy added that she never imagined their mother could be so cold toward her own children.
Michael, ever supportive, held her close each night, trying to soothe the rising tension. Kate began turning up unannounced with the baby, pushing the stroller in the hallway before disappearing again, leaving a hurried, Mum, Ill be back in a couple of hours. Look after Max.
Margaret tried to protest, but Kate was already descending the stairs. Michael frowned, saying nothing. Lucy called, sobbing, pleading for moral support, complaining that Victor didnt understand her, that there was no money, that she was lost.
Margaret felt cornered, as if she were a bottomless well from which everyone expected to draw endlessly.
One quiet Saturday evening, Margaret and Michael planned a calm night at home, a film and a discussion of their upcoming Italian trip. A sharp knock interrupted them.
Michael opened the door. Kate stood there, suitcases in hand, Max cradled on her hip. Lucy followed, eyes red from tears.
Were moving in temporarily, Kate announced without preamble, dragging a suitcase inside. Serge will bring the rest of our things later. Well rent out my flat to get some income, and youll be able to look after Max more often, giving me time to work.
What? Margaret stared, stunned. Kate, what are you talking about? We never agreed to this.
Do I need to discuss it? Kate retorted. Youre my mother; youre supposed to help. Who else will?
Lucy slipped in behind her.
Mum, I need money for a cot, she sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve. We have nothing. Victor earns little, I cant stay on maternity leave, I need to work.
Something inside Margaret snapped. All the fatigue, irritation, and hurt of the past months spilled out.
No, she said sharply, stepping forward. Kate, turn around and go home. Lucy, youll get no money. Thats final.
Both daughters froze, staring at their mother.
You serious? Kate asked, rocking a crying Max. Are you really going to throw us out?
Absolutely, Margaret crossed her arms. I raised you, gave you education, bought you flats. Now spread your wings and stop dangling your children over my shoulders.
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 and when to have children. I warned you, I advised you. You ignored me. This is your responsibility, not mine.
Kate switched the baby to her other arm, eyes narrowed.
Youre kicking us out? With a baby?
Im not kicking you out. You have a house, Margaret replied, unmoved. And you, Kate, have a husband. Sort your problems yourselves.
You coldhearted selfish thing! Lucy wailed, stamping her foot. You dont mean anything to us! All you think about is Italy!
Yes, Italy matters to me, Margaret answered calmly. My plans, my life. I spent twenty years living for you. What more could you possibly want? To be a nanny until my own grave?
The sisters exchanged a glance. Kate grabbed her suitcase and marched to the door. Lucy followed. Margaret heard their footsteps on the stairwell, the tone of their voices harsh and wounded.
For a week there was no call, no message. Michael told her she had done what was right. Yet a knot of anxiety lingeredhad she been too harsh?
Months later she learned that Kate had indeed given up her flat. She and her husband moved into his parents cramped twobedroom, where she was tasked with endless chores and critiqued for every mistake. Her motherinlaw raised Max as she saw fit; her fatherinlaw muttered that todays youth were lazy and incapable.
Lucys story reached Margaret through a neighbour. The girl had been seen sobbing on a bench outside the block. Victor, frightened by responsibility, had packed his things and vanished, leaving Lucy alone, pregnant and penniless.
Margaret stood in her kitchen, torn between pity for her daughters and the resolve she had set. She had given them a solid starteducation, roofs, love. How they used it was no longer her burden.
The daughters called again. Kate complained about the motherinlaw, cried that she could not go on. Lucy wailed that she was utterly alone, unable to cope. Margaret listened, expressed sympathy, but offered only advice, never money.
They wanted her to solve everything, to let them live under her roof, to hand over cash. Each time Margaret refused.
Finally, the day of their Italian journey arrived. Michael and Margaret had bought tickets for a threeweek holiday, a longdelayed dream. Before leaving, Margaret called her daughters.
Are you alright with us going? she asked evenly.
What? Are you abandoning us? Kate replied, bewildered.
Youre adults. Youll manage, Margaret said, eyeing the suitcase by the door. When you learn to solve your own problems and stop treating me as a freestanding nanny and cash source, Ill be happy to talk to you as an equal. Until then, grow up.
Youre leaving us? Lucy whispered, voice shaking. What are we supposed to do?
Im not abandoning you, Margaret replied. You have the right to make mistakes. I have the right not to pay for them. I will always be your mother, but I am not obliged to sacrifice myself for adult children and their illthought decisions.
Michael waited by the car. Margaret descended the stairs, slipped into the sedan, and breathed a full, liberating sigh. She had finally decided not to be haunted by guilt any longer. She had given her children a good starteducation, a roof, love. She had offered counsel, which they had ignored. Her mission was complete. It was time to think of herself.
She imagined herself strolling through Romes cobbled lanes, admiring Florentine galleries, drifting along Venetian canals, tasting the freedom she had earned. The thought filled her with a quiet joy.
