23April2025
I never imagined that a quiet evening in our cosy terraced house in Sheffield would end with me feeling as useless as a teacup without a saucer. Helen has always been the rock of our little family the one who keeps the bills paid, the meals on the table, and the childrens schedules in order. Yet tonight, as the phone buzzed with yet another frantic message from our 24yearold daughter, Emily, I realised how fragile that rock can be.
The day began with Helens voice slicing through the kitchen air like a cold wind. Emily, youre supposed to pay the council tax today! she snapped, hurling the printed reminder onto the countertop. The paper fluttered and spread across the floor, a chaotic little snowstorm.
Darling, I told you Im stuck at work, James, my name, muttered, sinking into the doorway with my shoulders slumped. Ill sort it tomorrow, I promise.
Tomorrow! Always tomorrow! Helen shot back, her cheeks flushing. The moneys due today, James!
Dont shout, love. Emilys sleeping! I tried to defuse the tension.
She isnt sleeping, shes glued to her phone as always! Helen retorted, storming out of the kitchen and into Emilys room.
Emily lay on her bed, face lit by the glow of her smartphone, a faint, detached smile playing on her lips. Emily, youre coming down for dinner? Helen called, voice softer now.
A beat of silence. Then, Emily! Helen repeated.
Yeah, the girl replied without looking up, the word barely audible over the scrolling.
What? Are you coming down or not? Helen pressed.
I dont know, Emily said, eyes never leaving the screen.
Helen sighed, retreating back to the kitchen. In the early years, Emily had been a little whirlwind, racing home from the afterschool club with stories about schoolyard adventures, hugging her mother tight. Time had turned her into a stranger who barely spoke to the woman sharing her bedroom.
Half an hour later, Emily shuffled into the kitchen, perched on the chair, still typing away on her phone.
Emily, could you put the phone down for a moment? Lets talk, Helen pleaded. Just a bit.
What about?
Work, hows that going? Anything new?
Everythings fine, Emily replied, eyes flicking back to the screen.
Is Mark still around? Are you two still seeing each other? Helen ventured, trying to bridge the gap.
Emily finally lifted her gaze, a flash of irritation crossing her face. Mum, Im twentyfour. I dont have to report my love life to you.
Im not asking for a report, love. Just curious, Helen said, trying to keep the tone light.
Yes, were seeing each other. Thats all.
Helen poured herself a cup of tea, intending to ask another question, but held back, fearing another sharp retort.
By the way, Emily suddenly set her phone aside, the wedding is happening in May.
Helens tea froze halfway to her mouth. A wedding? Youre getting married?
Yes, Emily said, almost matteroffact. Mark proposed, I said yes.
Helen leapt up, halfhugging her daughter. Emily! Why didnt you tell us sooner?
When? Emily replied, shrugging. He proposed just yesterday.
But you could have mentioned it this morning! Or at least dropped a hint!
I forgot, Emily said simply.
Helen sank back into her chair, the disappointment heavy. She had imagined being part of the bridal preparations, choosing the dress together, as she had done with countless other little girls in the neighbourhood. Instead, Emily had already gone with Marks mother, Margaret Hughes, to pick out the gown.
Did you go with Margaret? Helen asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
Yes, Emily said. She covered the cost, so we went together.
A sharp pang hit Helens chest. The wedding dress, a moment every daughter dreams of sharing with her mother, now chosen with the future motherinlaw. She tried to mask the hurt. I could have gone too, you know. We could have made a day of it.
What for? Emily responded, impatient. Youd still want a simple dress, while Margaret will want something extravagant.
I dont want a simple dress! I want you to be happy! Helens voice cracked.
Emily rolled her eyes. Enough, Mum. The dress is bought. Thats that.
What about the guests? How many are we inviting? I need to make a list from our side
Its already sorted. Margaret has taken care of everything.
Youre my mother. I should be involved! Helen protested.
Why? Margaret has the venue, the photographer, the caterer. Shes got the connections. What can you do? Call the village hall and ask for a cheap accordion band?
Helen felt the words like a knife. Emily, how can you speak to me like that?
Its the truth. You have no money, no contacts, no taste. Margaret has all that, so why bother us?
So Im useless? Helen whispered, feeling the sting.
Emilys tone hardened. Im not looking for your tears or sentimental rubbish. I want a beautiful wedding, the kind people post on Instagram and get likes for. Thats all.
Helens heart sank. She had spent years trying to give Emily a good life, working as a nurse, saving every penny, even when it meant putting herself on the back burner. Now she felt irrelevant.
Later, James slipped into the kitchen, his eyes searching mine. Helen, whats wrong?
Emilys getting married. And Im not needed, I said, voice low.
Seriously? Thats a good thing!
No, James. Shes saying I have no place at her wedding.
Dont be daft, love. Shell need you there.
I recounted the argument. Jamess face tightened. Shes a cheeky girl! Ill talk to her.
Dont. Itll only make it worse.
Impossible! Shes my daughter; Ive cared for her all my life. How can she push me away like this?
Helens voice trembled, Im tired, James.
He wrapped his arms around her, the silence heavy between us.
That night, I lay awake, replaying every harsh word. Emily had left for work, leaving her halffull coffee cup on the kitchen table. I called my old friend Tom, a neighbour from the estate, hoping for a sympathetic ear.
Tom, can I come over? I asked.
Of course, love. Whats happened?
Id explain later, I promised.
We met at the local café, the smell of freshly brewed tea filling the air. I ordered a cup and poured out the story. Tom shook his head. Young people these daysno respect, no gratitude!
Maybe Im right, I mused. Maybe I dont understand anything about weddings, restaurants, or what people want.
Tom leaned in. Youre a mother, Helen. You dont have to understand every detail. Just be there, support, be happy. Let Margaret handle the money if she wants to. Youre still the main person for Emily.
Emily doesnt think so, I muttered.
Then tell her straight: either you take part in the planning, or you wont attend at all, Tom advised sharply.
The thought of not showing up at my own daughters wedding chilled me to the bone.
The next morning, Emily returned late, the keys jingling as she entered. I knocked on her bedroom door.
Emily, may I have a word? I asked.
She glanced up, irritated. Im busy.
Its important.
She stood, sliding off the chair. What?
I sat on the edge of the bed. About the wedding. I get that Margaret can do more, but I also want to be involved, even if only a little.
Mother, Ive explained she began.
Hold on. Let me finish. I could help with invitations, the décor, maybe compile the guest list for our side. Im not asking to run the whole show.
Emily sighed. Fine. You can do the list, but keep it to twenty people.
Twenty? Why so few?
Marks side will have fifty, the venue only holds eighty. Thats the limit.
But I have relatives, friendsmy godmother, my cousins!
My godmother is a relic. My cousins dont matter. Invite whoever you want, just stay within twenty.
Its unfair! I protested.
Its fair. Marks family is paying half the costs, and youre paying nothing, she retorted. So you get fewer seats.
She went on about my pension being a pittance and Jamess salary of £30,000 a year. Well take a loan! she sneered.
We dont need a loan. Margaret has already paid! she added, as if crushing my hopes.
I rose, feeling my face flush. So were worthless, with no place at our own daughters wedding?
Enough drama, Mum, she snapped. Im not saying youre poor, just that you have fewer resources.
Margaret has more resources, so shes in charge, right? I asked, voice barely a whisper.
Yes! She can give what I cantmoney, connections, status. And you? Youd organize a wedding in some cheap venue with budget champagne, she mocked.
I can offer love, support, be there, I replied, my voice shaking.
Thats not what I need. I need a pictureperfect wedding, the kind that looks good on Instagram, she said, turning away.
Are we not normal? I asked, feeling the sting of every word.
No, were poor, always poor. Im sick of it! she shouted, eyes blazing.
I stood, stunned, as she stormed out, grabbing her bag.
James entered the hallway, having heard the whole exchange. Ill kill her, he muttered under his breath. How dare she talk to you like that!
Dont touch her. Shes ashamed of us, I whispered, tears brimming.
He softened, pulling me into a tight hug. Well get through this, love.
The days that followed were a blur of frantic listmaking, cutting out names, and trying to fit twenty people into a tight guest list. I sent the final list to Emily; she barely glanced at it before forwarding it to Margaret with a curt List received, will add to the master list.
The invitations never came. When I asked Emily, she shrugged, There wont be any. Theyll just tell everyone the time and place.
But invitations are tradition! I protested.
Its an outdated tradition, she replied.
I tried reaching out to Margaret, hoping to offer help. Margaret, could we meet for tea? Id love to be involved, I suggested.
Her voice was cool. Mrs. Hughes, I appreciate your offer, but everything is under control. If you have something to discuss, speak to Emily, not me.
I hung up, feeling dismissed yet again.
One evening, I finally sat down with Emily. Emily, sit down, please, I said.
She rolled her eyes but complied. What now?
The wedding will happen, but you told me Im not needed. Is that true? I asked, heart pounding.
Her face hardened. I never said that, she replied defensively.
You said, The wedding will be, but youre not needed, I reminded her gently.
She shook her head. Thats not what I meant.
Im not asking for a grand role, just a small partmaybe a toast, helping with the seating, that sort of thing, I pleaded.
She sighed. Fine, you can compile the list, but keep it to twenty.
Why twenty? I asked.
Because Marks side has fifty, and the venue only fits eighty. Thats it, she answered.
Twenty is hardly enough for all our family and friends, I replied.
Its the reality, she said, turning away.
The argument escalated, both of us shouting, tears mixing with anger. Finally, she stormed out, leaving me alone in the hallway, heart heavy.
James found me later, his eyes full of sorrow. Helen, were not going to the wedding, he whispered.
Right, I said, numb. We cant be there if were not wanted.
He nodded, but then, Ill still go, as the father. Its my duty.
Im the mother, I replied, voice cracking.
He held me, and we sat in silence, the house feeling emptier than ever.
A week later, I received a call from Margaret. Helen, we need to talk about the wedding, she said, her tone businesslike.
We met at a coffee shop in the city centre. Margaret, impeccably dressed, exuded confidence. Emily asked me to speak with you, she began. She wants you to be restrained at the wedding. No tears, no speeches about how ungrateful you are.
I never called her ungrateful! I protested.
You may not have said it, but youve shown it, Margaret replied. Emily feels constant pressure from you.
Im just trying to help, I said, feeling the sting of each word.
She pressed on, Youre jealous, Helen. Youre upset that Im handling the planning, that she trusts me more than you.
Yes, Im jealous! Shes my daughter! I snapped.
But that doesnt give you a monopoly on her life, Margaret replied calmly. If you truly care, step back a little.
I stood, the coffee cooling in my hands. Tell Emily I wont attend then. If Im only going to cause trouble, Ill stay away.
Her eyes widened. Helen, please
I left the café, the cold wind biting my cheeks. I walked aimlessly through the park, tears blurring my vision. I thought of calling my old friend Tom again, but instead I dialed Emilys number.
Emily? I said after a long pause.
Hey, Mum, she answered, weary.
Margaret called. She said you dont want me at the wedding, I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
No, thats not
Tell me honestly, am I such a bad mother that you hate me? I asked, my heart pounding.
There was a long silence. I dont hate you, she finally said, voice soft. I just feel you want me to be a copy of you. I want my own life.
Do you want love? Respect? I asked.
You want me to live the way you think is right. Im not you, Mum. Im different, she replied.
Then let me be part of your happiness, even if its not how I imagined, I whispered.
She sighed. You dont support, you control. Thats the same thing.
The line went dead, the click echoing in my ears.
The next day, James came home with his shoulders slumped. What now? he asked.
Im not going to the wedding, I said, feeling oddly relieved. If Im just going to be a burden, Ill stay away.
He nodded, Thats probably best.
The weeks that followed were a strange mixture of dread and hope. I kept a notebook of the twenty guests I could invite, crossing names off, trying not to think of the fortyodd who would be left out. Emily sent a brief text: List received, will add to master list. No thanks, no apologies.
When the day finally arrived, I was still not sure whether to attend. I stood at the door, hand on the doorknob, when Emily appeared, eyes red, hair dishevelled.
Mom, she whispered.
I stepped inside, and the first thing she did was collapse onto the sofa, sobbing. Mark cheated on me, she cried. He was with my best friend. I found out today.
My heart shattered. I gathered her into my arms, holding her like a frightened child. Itll be alright, I whispered, rubbing her back. Well get through this.
She shook her head. The wedding is in ten days. Everythings paid for, guests are booked. Margaret says itll go ahead, she cant lose the money.
Maybe we can cancel, I suggested desperately.
No! Margaret has invested a fortune. Shell survive. What matters is you, Emily sobbed, clinging to me.
I pulled her close, feeling the fierce love that had always driven me. Because Im your mother. No matter what you say, I love you.
She looked at me, eyes wide with a mix of shame and relief. Even after everything I said?
Even after everything, I said, tears spilling over my cheeks.
We sat like that for hours, talking about school days, first crushes, the moment she first felt embarrassed to bring us to a friends house. She confessed she had thought that if she were rich and fashionable, she would finally be accepted. I thought if I were like Margaret, Id be important, she admitted.
Ive always thought you were important, just the way you are, I told her.
In the end I learned that a mothers love isnt measured by grand gestures or attendance, but by the unshakeable willingness to be there whenever my daughter truly needs me.
