“You’ve ruined my life!” cried the daughter, slamming the door behind her.
“Mum, do you remember how you used to put me to bed when I was little?” asked Emily quietly, sifting through old photographs on the kitchen table.
Margaret looked up from the pot of stew, surprised. Emily hadnt asked questions like that in yearstheir conversations had grown tense and distant.
“Of course I remember. You always begged me to read *The Three Little Pigs*. The same story every night,” she smiled, drying her hands on a tea towel. “Then youd insist I stay until you fell asleep. Said you were afraid without me.”
Emily nodded, still studying the pictures. In one, she was five, perched on her mothers lap with a book, both of them grinning.
“Didnt you ever get tired of it?”
“Tired of what, love?”
“Of me. The same routine every daywork, home, then my tantrums.”
Margaret moved closer, sitting beside her daughter. Emily looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes. Since the divorce, shed lost weight, aged before her time, grown bitter and short-tempered.
“Never,” Margaret murmured. “You were my whole world. Especially after your father left.”
“Ah, Dad,” Emily laughed bitterly. “Ran off with his secretary when I was seven. I remember hearing you cry in the kitchen at night. Thought I didnt notice.”
“I tried to hide it from you.”
“I know. But I wasnt blind, Mum. I saw how hard you workedthree jobs just to keep me clothed, fed, in piano lessons. I remember your darned stockings, how youd skip meat at dinner, saying you werent hungry. Then youd finish my leftovers when I wasnt looking.”
Margaret turned away, flustered. It was strange hearing this from her grown daughter.
“Dont, Emily. Its what any mother would do.”
“Any?” Emily set the photos aside, meeting her mothers gaze. “Do you remember Lucy Bennett from school?”
“The ginger one? What about her?”
“She told me last week she envied me. Can you believe it? Said you were the perfect mumalways turned up to parents’ evenings, neat as a pin, going through my work with the teachers. Her mother? Drunk most days, never cared about her grades.”
“Poor girl,” Margaret sighed. “I remember heralways looked so sad.”
“And I used to think *she* was lucky,” Emily admitted. “Because her mum didnt hover over her every move.”
Margaret flinched as if struck.
“What do you mean?”
“Dont take it wrong, Mum, but sometimes your worry smothered me. Remember in Year Nine when I wanted to go on the school trip to Edinburgh? You said it was too dangerous, that I might get lost. Wouldnt let me go.”
“It *was* far! And we could barely afford it.”
“And in Year Ten, when I begged to go to Sarahs birthday disco? You said good girls stayed home, didnt gallivant about at nightclubs.”
Margaret frowned. She remembered that fightEmily screaming about being trapped, then locking herself away for days.
“I was protecting your reputation! The neighbours wouldve gossipedThere goes Emily, running wild. *I* wouldve been ashamed.”
“*You* wouldve been,” Emily repeated. “See? It was never about me. You cared what people thought, never what *I* wanted.”
“Emily!” Margaret bristled. “How can you say that? Everything I did was for you!”
“Yesbut *your* way. You decided what was good for me. Like piano lessonsI hated them, but you insisted theyd come in handy. Three miserable years!”
“But they *did*! You play beautifully now.”
“Because its habit. Back then, I wanted to try volleyball. But you said it wasnt ladylike, that I might get hurt.”
Margaret walked to the window, heart heavy. Had Emily been resentful all this time? And shed only ever meant to help.
“Love, I just wanted to spare you mistakes. Give you a better life than mine.”
“I know, Mum. And I understand why. You were afraid Id make bad choices, fall in with the wrong crowd, rush into marriage. So you kept me locked away.”
“Well, yes. Was that so wrong?”
Emily hesitated. “Remember Daniel Hart? From the year above?”
“The tall blond who sent you notes?”
“Him. We fancied each other. He asked me to the cinema, ice skating. You always found excuseshomework, chores, coming down with something.”
“You were too young for boys!”
“I was *sixteen*, Mum! You treated me like a child. Daniel started seeing Claire instead. Theyre married now, you know?”
“Well, then it wasnt meant to be.”
“Or maybe it was,” Emily said softly. “Maybe if youd trusted me, let me choose, my life wouldve been different.”
Margaret turned sharply. “Are you blaming me for your divorce?”
“Not blaming. But… Mum, I didnt know how to *be* in a relationship. You raised me to fear mensaid they were all cheats and drunkards, that it was better to be alone than trapped. So when James shouted over nothing, I stayed silent. Thought it was normal. Thought I *deserved* it.”
The room fell quiet. The stew bubbled, forgotten. Margarets chest ached.
“So I ruined your life by trying to protect you?”
Emily hugged her. “Not ruined. But you sheltered me too much. I grew up timid, always seeking approval, unable to choose for myself. At work, they pile extra tasks on me because they know I wont refuse.”
“I thought you were just… good.”
“Obedient, yes. But out of fear, not goodness. Im terrified of disappointing people. Even when James turned cruel, I endured it.”
Margaret switched off the stove. “Emily, I never knew… I thought I was keeping you safe.”
“I know. And Im not angry anymore. But I need to learn how to *live*. Im thirty-two and still feel like a lost child.”
“Maybe see a therapist? They help untangle these things.”
“I have been. Six months now. She says Ive got low self-worth, cling to unhealthy relationships. Told me to spend time alone, make my own choices.”
“Has it helped?”
“Its hard. But Im trying. Last week, I went to the Lake District*alone*. Me, who panicked taking the Tube by myself! At first, I was petrified. But then… it was *wonderful*, Mum. Picking where to eat, when to wakeno one controlling me.”
A spark lit Emilys eyesone Margaret hadnt seen in years.
“And you werent scared?”
“Terrified! But it faded. And I realised… I dont want to resent you anymore. You did your best. Gran was even stricter with you, wasnt she?”
“Goodness, yes!” Margaret laughed tearily. “I wasnt allowed to *breathe* without permission.”
“Exactly. You only knew how to parent the way you were raised. But I know better now. And I want to *live* better.”
Margaret held her tight. “Forgive me, love.”
“No forgiveness needed. Just… let me go, bit by bit. No more twenty calls a day, no interrogations about where I am. Trust me.”
“Ill try,” Margaret whispered. Though the thought terrified her.
“And Ill try needing you less. But one more thing…” Emily picked up the photos again, smiling. “In the Lakes, I realised I want a baby. And I dont need a husband to do it.”
Margaret choked. “*What?* Butthe father”
“Ill find a decent man. Women do it all the time now. As long as hes got good genes,” Emily teased. “Dont panic! Im grownits *my* choice.”
“But the neighbours!”
“I dont *care* what they think. And I wont repeat your mistakes. My child will be free, confident.”
“Youre serious?”
“Completely. Ive seen a doctoreverythings fine.”
Margaret sank onto a chair, stunned.
“Can I… still see the baby?”
“Of course! Youll be Grandma. Just no bossing me about nappies and nursery schools. Deal?”
“Deal,” Margaret managed weakly.
Emily hugged her again. “I love you, Mum. And Im gratefultruly. But I need to live *my* way now. Alright?”
“…Alright.”
They laughed as the burnt stew filled the kitchen with smoke.
“Takeaway tonight,” Emily said. “My treat. Lets celebratenew beginnings.”
Margaret nodded, wiping her eyes. For the first time in years, she felt light.
“A fresh start,” she agreed. And meant it.
