**Diary Entry**
*This is all mine, and youre no one here*thats what my daughter declared, demanding I clear out of the room.
“Mum, you left the gas on again!” shouted Emily, storming into the kitchen and twisting the knob sharply. “How many times do I have to remind you? Youll burn the house down!”
Margaret flinched, tearing her gaze from the window where shed been watching sparrows on the ledge.
“Dont shout, Emily. I just got distracted… I was boiling water for tea.”
“Distracted!” Emily scoffed. “At your age, distraction is dangerous. The neighbours have complained about the smell of gas in the hallway before.”
She wasnt wrong. Margaret *had* grown forgetful, especially since burying her husband a year ago. It was as if part of her mind had slipped away with Michaelthe small things, anyway. The big things? Crystal clear. She remembered Emilys birth, Michaels proposal, her daughters first steps. But yesterday, last week? A fog.
“Ill make tea,” Margaret said gently. “Would you like some scones? I baked them this morning, just how you like them.”
Emily sat at the table, drumming her fingers impatiently on the vinyl tablecloth.
“Mum, we need to talk. Seriously.”
Something in her tone set Margarets nerves alight. She set down the teacups slowly, cutting a scone in half.
“Go on, then.”
“You cant live alone anymore. Its not safefor you *or* the neighbours. The gas, the electrics… What if you fall? Whod find you?”
“Emily, what are you on about? I manage perfectly well. So I forget things sometimeswho doesnt?”
Emily shook her head, pulling papers from her handbag.
“Its already settled. Ive arranged a lovely assisted living place for you. Theyll keep an eye on youmeals on schedule, pills on time. Youll have company, people your own age. No more moping.”
Margarets face went cold. The scone caught in her throat.
“Assisted living? Emily, dont be ridiculous.”
“Its not some dreary care home. A private place, very respectable. Ive already paid the deposit.”
“Without asking me?” Margarets voice wavered. “This is *my* house. My *life*.”
“Mum, be realistic. Youre alone in a three-bedroom flat. The bills are sky-high, the buildings falling apart, and *Im* the one footing the costs.”
Margaret opened her mouth, but Emily held up a hand.
“And besides, Daniel wants to move to London. Weve decided to marry. This flats perfectcentral, good layout. I dont want to sell it. Its still family.”
“Daniel?” Margaret frowned. “Youve only known him six months.”
“Mum, Im forty-two. I know what Im doing. Daniels steadyowns his own business. Hes happy for me to quit work, finally put myself first.”
“And where does that leave *me*?”
“In the assisted living place! Youll be fine, trust me. Ive looked it upyoga classes, painting, choir. New friends, a fresh start.”
Margaret stood, pacing the kitchen. Forty years of breakfasts at this table, forty years staring through this window. Emily had been born just down the hall, done her homework at this very table. Michael had read his paper here every morning, tutting at the headlines.
“So youve made the decision without me? No discussion?”
“Whats there to discuss?” Emily shrugged. “Youd have refused anyway. Im taking charge.”
“Taking charge…” Margaret repeated. “Emily, Im your *mother*, not some burden.”
“No one said youre a burden! But we have to be practical. Ive spent thirty years putting you and Dad first. Now its *my* turn.”
The words stung. Margaret remembered scrimping for Emilys tuition, sewing her prom dress, minding little Sophie while Emily worked late.
Sophie… Where *was* Sophie?
“And what about Soph? Does she agree to shipping her gran off?”
Emily looked away.
“Sophies grown. Shes at uni in Bristol, barely visits. No need to upset her.”
“You havent even *told* her?”
“I will. Once youre settled.”
Margaret sank back into her chair. Her legs had gone weak.
“And if I refuse?”
“Mum, you dont *have* a choice. The deposits paid. Daniel moves in next week. Pack essentialswell sort the rest later.”
“*My* things? Emily, every spoon here is mine, every mug! That china set was a wedding gift! The lace tableclothI stitched it myself! And my plantswholl tend them?”
“You can have plants there. As for the china… Mum, theyve got their own crockery. Why drag old things along?”
*Old things.* Emily had called their family treasures *old things.*
Margaret walked to the sideboard, pulling out a photoher and Michael cradling newborn Emily. So young, so hopeful.
“Remember when your dad built that swing in the garden? Youd spend hours on it. I was terrified youd fall.”
“Mum, dont. This is hard enough.”
“And when you had pneumonia at school? I barely slept for two weeks. Dad took leave to relieve me.”
“*Please*…”
“And when that boywhat was his name? Mark?when he broke up with you, you cried for a month. I stayed up every night, telling you youd find better.”
Emily stood abruptly.
“Enough! Im not to blame for how life turned out! Im not to blame if you cant live alone! But I wont sacrifice my life for your old age!”
“My *old age*,” Margaret whispered. “Im sixty-nine, Emily. Not some doddering relic.”
“You forget the *gas*! You lose things! Mrs. Thompson saw you in the garden last week wearing *one slipper*!”
Margaret remembered. Shed taken the bins out and hadnt noticed. But was that reason enough to
“Emily, I understand you want a life. But must it be like this? Ill stay in my room, quiet as a mouse. Daniel wont even know Im here.”
“You dont get it. Daniel needs space. Silence. And youyou blast the telly because youre going deaf. You rattle pans at dawn. Well have guests, parties. Its awkward having your mum in the next room.”
“Ill be quieter. Ill take walks”
“No, Mum. Its decided.”
Margaret sat heavily. For the first time in years, she felt utterly helpless. After Michael died, shed thought the worst was over. She was wrong.
“And if I refuse?”
Emily pulled another paper from her bag.
“I could take legal action. Have you deemed unfit. The neighbours have written about your forgetfulness. Even the constablehe came about the gas.”
“Youve… spoken to doctors?”
“A psychiatrist. He said with my testimony, the court would likely side with me. Especially as your only child, responsible for your welfare.”
Margaret said nothing. This couldnt be her Emilyher baby, whose first steps shed guided, whose tears shed dried.
“When?”
“Monday. The cars coming. Well pack this weekend.”
“Todays Friday…”
“Yes. Youve time to prepare.”
Emily stood, adjusting her handbag.
“Dont be dramatic, Mum. Its not the end. Youll make friends, find hobbies. Ill visitSundays, probably.”
“Sundays,” Margaret echoed.
“Honestly, it might be for the best. Since Dad died, youve shut yourself away. There, youll have a social life.”
“I go to the doctors, the shops”
“Lets not argue. Its done.”
Emily turned to leave but paused at the door.
“Oh, and Mumdont you *dare* call Sophie and upset her. Shes got exams coming up.”
The door clicked shut. Margaret sat alone at the table, the air thick with cooling scones and bitterness.
She cleared up slowly, washing each cup as if underwater. Emilys words looped in her head: *unfit, old things, its done.*
That night, she dug out the photo albums. Emily at nurseryserious-eyed, clutching a toy. Their family holiday in CornwallMichael swinging her in his arms. Emilys graduationbeaming in white, arms around them both.
When had it changed? When had her daughter started seeing her as a hindrance?
Perhaps when she married that Paul. Hed disliked her from the start, always hinting they needed
