Two years have slipped by without a single word from my daughter: she erased me from her life, and Im approaching my seventieth birthday
In our block, everyone knows my neighbor, ÉlodieFournier. Shes 68, lives alone, and occasionally I drop by with a few pastries for tea, simply as a friendly gesture. Élodie is kindhearted, elegant, perpetually smiling, and loves to reminisce about her travels with her late husband. She rarely mentions her own family. Yet, on the eve of the last holiday season, as I delivered my usual sweets, she suddenly chose to open up. That night I heard a tale that still freezes my heart.
When I stepped into her flat, Élodie was not her usual self. Normally lively and energetic, she sat that evening, eyes staring into emptiness. I asked nothing, set the tea and biscuits down, and sat quietly beside her. She kept silent for a long stretch, as if fighting an internal battle. Then, abruptly, she broke the hush:
Two years she hasnt called me even once. No card, no message. I tried reaching her, but her number no longer works. I dont even know where she lives now
She paused. It seemed as if years, even decades, flashed before her eyes. Then, as if a dam had burst, she continued.
We once had a happy family. Charles and I married young, but we postponed having childrenwe wanted to live for ourselves first. His job let us travel a lot. We were partners, laughed often, and loved the home we built together. With his own hands he created a spacious threeroom nest in the heart of Lyon the dream of his life.
When our daughter Amélie arrived, Charles seemed reborn. He cradled her, read her stories, spent every free moment with her. Watching them, I thought I was the happiest woman alive. Ten years ago, however, Charles left us. He battled illness for a long time; we drained nearly all our savings trying to save him. Then silence. An emptiness, as if a piece of my heart had been ripped away.
After her fathers death, Amélie drifted apart. She moved into an apartment, wanted to live on her own. I didnt object she was an adult and had to forge her own path. She still visited, we talked, everything seemed normal. Yet two years ago she came and announced she wanted to take out a mortgage to buy a place of her own.
I sighed and told her I couldnt help. The money we had set aside the nest egg Charles and I had built had virtually vanished, spent on his treatment. My pension barely covered bills and medication. She then suggested selling the apartment. We could buy you a studio in the suburbs, and the rest would be my downpayment.
I couldnt agree. It wasnt about money; it was about memory. Every wall, every corner was shaped by Charles. All my happiness, my whole life, lived there. How could I abandon it? She shouted that her father had done all that for her, that the flat would belong to her anyway, calling me selfish. I tried to say I only hoped she might one day return and remember us, but she wouldnt hear a word.
That day she slammed the door. Since then, silence. No call, no visit, not even for holidays. Later I learned from a mutual friend that she did obtain the loan and now works herself to exhaustion two jobs, a relentless race. No family, no children. Her friend even admits she hasnt seen her in six months.
And I I wait. Every day I stare at the phone, hoping it will ring. Nothing. I cant even call her she changed her number. She probably doesnt want to see or hear me any more, thinking I betrayed her by refusing that one request. Yet soon Ill be 70. I dont know how much longer Ill remain in this flat, how many evenings Ill spend at the window hoping. I cant understand how I could have caused her so much pain
Two Years Without a Word from My Daughter: She Has Erased Me from Her Life as I Approach My 70th Birthday…
