“You ungrateful girl! We raised you, fed you, and now you abandon your dying father!”
“Mum, enough! I wont send another penny while you drink it all away. I wont fund your binges!” Emilys voice trembled, though she fought to keep it steady. Tears pricked at her eyes.
“Then dont bother calling again. I wont speak to youand neither will your father!” The line went dead.
Emily sank into a chair, setting her phone on the table. She buried her face in her hands. From the next room, her toddler whimpered. She stifled a sob. She had to stay strongfor him.
But how could she, when the past gnawed at her like a starving thing?
…Memories clawed their way up. The stench of whisky and stale cigarettes. The peeling wallpaper, the dented doorsbarricades against her parents drunken rows, the shattering glass. As a child, she never understood the screaming, only the terror that one morning, one of them wouldnt wake up.
Her toys were empty crisp packets and bottle caps, arranged into make-believe families. Shed whisper promises to herselfthat one day, shed have a home where people smiled.
Her mother was worse. Even sober, she snapped at the smallest thingsa dropped plate earned a slap, spilled sugar a belt. Now, Emily knew none of it was her fault. Back then, shed believed she deserved it.
Her father had flickers of kindness. Hed come home from the factory and ask, “Liz, did you at least feed the lass?”
“Shes old enough to fend for herself!” her mother would scoff.
“Shes seven, Liz. Make her some bloody dinner.”
Most nights, Emily ate dry toast or cold baked beans straight from the tin. Fear was a constant companion. Shed fall asleep to the clink of bottles, wake to shouting. She prayed for it to stop.
School was her escape. The day she left for university in Manchester, she breathed for the first time. Still, guilt crept in at nighthad she abandoned them? Would they survive without her?
Her mother never called. Her father did, at first.
“Alright, love? Hows things?”
A thousand answers swirledIm happier without you. Im exhausted. I have friends now who dont make me ashamed. Instead, she said, “Fine. You?”
She knew nothing had changed. She almost hoped it hadnt.
“Same as always,” hed mutter before the awkward goodbyes. Eventually, the calls stopped.
She buried the truth deep. Even from James.
“My parents wont be at the wedding,” she said, her stomach knotting. “Theyre in a tiny village. Cant travel.”
“Dont be daftwell pay their train fare! All parents want to see their child married.”
All but mine. She bit her lip. “Mums got a heart condition. Its fineIll send photos.”
She remembered her tenth birthday, when her friend Charlotte had witnessed a row. “Shut your gob! Youre eating my food in my house!” her mother had screamed. Charlotte locked herself in the loo, crying. Emily never invited anyone over again.
She wouldnt risk that humiliation now.
But the past wasnt done with her.
“Emily, love your dads not well,” a neighbour called to say. “Hospital took him.”
Her heart lurched. Shed known this day would come.
“What happened?”
“Liver, most like. Yellow as parchment. Maybe visit?”
The unspoken words hung heavy: before its too late.
That night, she told James everythingthe drinking, the neglect, the rare moments her father had shielded her.
“Thats not care,” James scoffed. “Leaving a kid with a drunk? Letting her bolt the first chance she got?”
The pain in her eyes silenced him. She still loved themlike a beaten dog still wags its tail.
He sighed. “You cant go alone with Oliver. But send money if you must.”
She sent more than he knewskimping on haircuts, skimming grocery budgets. Her father improvedbriefly. Two months later, the neighbour called again.
“Theyre your blood! How can you leave him to rot?”
Emily froze. “I send money”
“Which they drink! Your mum wails that youve abandoned them, while your dad claims she steals his medicine cash!”
The next call was worse.
“Dad, theres a clinic near youspecialists who can help. Well pay.”
“Piss off with your clinics!” he barked. “Ill quit when I want. Dont need your charity.”
And she understoodhe didnt want to stop.
That night, as Oliver slept, Emily made a choice. No more calls. No more guilt. Shed pour her love where it matteredinto her son, her husband, the family shed built from ashes. The rest? Let it be.
