“You’ve ruined my life!” shouted the daughter, slamming the door.
“Mum, do you remember how you used to tuck me in when I was little?” asked Emily quietly, sorting through old photographs on the kitchen table.
Margaret looked up from the pot of vegetable stew, surprised. Emily hadnt asked questions like this in yearstheir conversations were usually much harsher.
“Of course I remember. You always wanted me to read *The Three Little Pigs*. The same story every night,” the woman smiled, drying her hands on a tea towel. “Then youd beg me to stay until you fell asleep. Said you were scared without me.”
Emily nodded, still studying the pictures. In one, she sat on her mothers lap at five years old, both smiling over an open book.
“Didnt you ever get tired of it?”
“Tired of what, love?”
“Of me. The same routine every daywork, then home, then my endless demands.”
Margaret moved closer, sitting beside her daughter. Emily looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes. Since the divorce, shed lost weight, aged, grown bitter.
“Never,” Margaret said softly. “You were my whole world. Especially after your father left.”
“Ah, Dad…” Emily scoffed. “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 deaf. Or blind. I saw how hard you workedthree jobs just to keep me in shoes and piano lessons. I remember your darned tights and how youd skip meat at dinner, saying you werent hungry. Then youd finish my leftovers.”
Margaret turned away, embarrassed. Hearing this from her grown daughter felt strange.
“Dont, Em. Thats what any mother would do.”
“Any mother?” Emily set the photos down. “Do you know what Sarah Whitmore told me the other day? Remember her from school?”
“The ginger one? What about her?”
“She said she envied me. Can you believe that? Thought I had the perfect mumalways turned up to parents’ evenings, neat and polished, going through my homework with me. Her mum? Drunk, chasing men, never cared about school.”
“Poor girl,” Margaret sighed. “I remember heralways so sad.”
“And I envied *her*,” Emily admitted. “Thought she was luckyno one controlling her every move.”
Margaret flinched as if struck.
“How can you say that?”
“Dont take it personally, Mum, but sometimes your love felt suffocating. Remember in Year Nine when I wanted to go on the school trip to Edinburgh? You said it was too dangerousI might get lost. So I stayed home.”
“It was *miles* away! And we couldnt afford it.”
“Or when I was sixteen and wanted to go to Lucys birthday party? You said nice girls stay home, not gallivanting to discos.”
Margaret frowned. She remembered that nightEmily had screamed, locked herself in her room for days.
“I was protecting your reputation! The neighbours wouldve gossipedThere goes Emily Clarke, out all hours!”
“*You* wouldve been embarrassed,” Emily corrected. “Not me. You always cared more about what people thought than what *I* wanted.”
“Emily!” Margaret bristled. “How can youI spent my whole life thinking of you!”
“Yesbut *your* way. You decided what was good for me. Like forcing me to learn piano. I hated it, but you insisted it was essential. Three miserable years!”
“But it *was* useful! You still play!”
“I play out of habit. Back then, I wanted to join the netball team. But you said sports were unladylike.”
Margaret walked to the window, heart heavy. Had her daughter been resenting her all this time?
“Em, I just wanted to spare you mistakes. Give you a better life than mine.”
“I know, Mum. And I understand why. You feared Id rebel, marry young, ruin my life. So you smothered me.”
“Is that so wrong?”
Emily hesitated. “Remember Daniel Hart? From Year Eleven?”
“The tall blond who sent you notes?”
“We liked each other. He asked me to the cinema, ice skating. You always found excuseshomework, chores, sudden illnesses.”
“You were too young!”
“I was *sixteen*. You treated me like a child. Daniel started dating Hannah instead. Theyre married now.”
“So? Wrong timing.”
“Or maybe,” Emily said quietly, “if youd trusted me, let me choose, my life wouldve been different.”
Margaret turned sharply. “Are you blaming me for your divorce? For James leaving?”
“Not blaming. But… Mum, I never learned how to *be* in a relationship. You raised me to distrust mentheyre all cheats and drunks, better off alone.”
“Because I didnt want you trapped like I was!”
“So I expected the worst from James. Overanalyzed, doubted, pushed him away. *You* taught me thatfear, suspicion.”
Silence fell. The stew bubbled, forgotten.
“So my love ruined you?”
Emily hugged her. “Not ruined. But… overprotected. I grew up fearful, always seeking approval. At work, they dump tasks on meknow I wont say no. Even with James… when he yelled, I took it. Thought I deserved it.”
“I thought you were just… good.”
“Obedient, yes. But from fear, not kindness. Im thirty-two and still feel like a lost child.”
“Maybe see a therapist? They help untangle these things.”
“I have. Six months now. She says Ive got low self-esteem, codependency. Told me to travel alone, make my own choices.”
“Has it helped?”
“Its hard. But last week, I went to the Lake District*alone*. Me, who panics taking the Tube by myself!”
A spark lit Emilys eyesone Margaret hadnt seen in years.
“Wasnt it scary?”
“Terrifying! But freeing. Choosing where to eat, what to do… *Mine*. Thats when I realisedI dont want to resent you anymore. You did your best.”
“Youve… changed.”
“I have. And I want us to change *together*. As equals.”
Margaret hugged her tight.
“Ill try. Old habits die hard.”
“And Ill try needing you less. But Mum… Ive decided something else.”
“What?”
“I want a baby. And I dont need a husband for that.”
Margaret choked. “*What?*”
“Plenty of women do it. Ive even seen a specialistshe says Im healthy.”
“Butthe *talk*!”
“I dont care about talk. Its *my* life. And I wont repeat your mistakesmy child will grow up confident, free.”
“Emily, are you *sure*?”
“Completely. But… youll still be Grandma. Just no unsolicited advice. Deal?”
Margaret exhaled shakily. “…Deal.”
Emily kissed her cheek. “I love you, Mum. And Im grateful. But its *my* turn now. Okay?”
“Okay.” Margaret smiled through tears. “Well adapt.”
Emily grinned. “Nowlets order pizza. My treat. Tonight, we celebrate.”
Margaret laughed, stirring the burnt stew. For the first time in years, her heart felt light.
