“You’ve got to help meyou’re my mother!”
“Charlotte, you’re back again,” sighed Eleanor, shrugging off her coat as she watched her daughter rummage through the fridge. “Why did you move out if you keep coming back? Maybe it wasnt the right time…”
Charlotte spun around sharply, clutching a packet of sliced ham to her chest.
“Mum! You scared me half to death, creeping up like a ghost!” she huffed, then flashed a disarming grin. “I just wanted to check in on you.”
Eleanor set the grocery bags on the table and studied her daughter. At twenty-four, Charlotte looked every bit the adult, yet something helpless and childlike still flickered in her eyes.
“Checking inor checking the fridge?” Eleanor asked gently.
Charlotte flushed, staring at the floor. After a moments silence, she blurted out in one breath,
“Look, Mum, my wages just… vanished suspiciously fast. Ive got a week to stretch them, and the cupboards are bare. Thats all.”
Eleanor swallowed a heavy sigh. Her daughter had rushed into independence too soon, desperate to prove herself. But how could she have stopped her? Young people always leap before they look.
“No ‘I told you so,’ please,” Charlotte cut in, raising a hand before Eleanor could speak. “I just misjudged things a bit. Next month will be betterI swear! Soon Ill be the one bringing *you* gifts and ordering your groceries. Youll see!”
Eleanor shook her head. Charlottes stubborn optimism hadnt faded with age.
“Take whatever you need, love. Dont fret.”
She watched as her daughter methodically emptied the fridgeham, cheese, cream, vegetablesall vanishing into her oversized tote. From the cupboards went tins of beans and rice, and from the pantry, a hefty bag of potatoes.
“Thatll last me the week!” Charlotte beamed, planting a loud kiss on Eleanors cheek. “Thanks, Mum! Youre the best!”
Eleanor walked her to the door, giving her shoulder a fond squeeze.
Silence settled over the flat. Leaning against the wall, Eleanor remembered herself at Charlottes agejuggling work, a husband, and a toddler. How had she managed it? Now, even a trip to the shops left her drained.
“Where did my youth go? Gone in a blink…” she whispered, catching her reflection in the hallway mirror. Wrinkles framed her eyes; silver streaked her once-thick chestnut hair. Time was merciless. Her best years had slipped by in a blur of responsibilitiesstudies, work, raising Charlotte. No regrets, but sometimes the weight of it all made her want to howl.
A week later, Eleanor called her daughter. A mothers worry never rested.
“Do you need money? Anything?” she asked the moment Charlotte answered.
A carefree laugh echoed down the line.
“Mum, Ive been paidstop fussing! Im a grown woman!”
“Grown, my foot,” Eleanor muttered. “Who was scavenging my fridge last week? Charlotte, listenmaybe you should move back home? Itd be easier.”
Silence. Then an impatient huff.
“Mum, I *want* my own place! So what if Im still figuring things out? Why cant you believe in me?”
Eleanor faltered. She hadnt meant to upset herjust to protect her.
“Sorry, love. I worry. To me, youll always be my little girl.”
The call ended awkwardly, leaving a sour aftertaste. Eleanor sat clutching her phone, lost in thought. Raising Charlotte had been hardbut letting go was harder.
Three days later, Eleanor returned late from a friends. The moment she stepped inside, kitchen noises startled her. Burglars? Noit was Charlotte, demolishing a sandwich by the open fridge.
“Back already? Just raiding your supplies. Paid the rent today and realised Im skint till payday. Same old story…”
Charlotte smiled, but the warmth was gone. Something calculating had crept into her gaze.
“And who claimed they were independent?” Eleanor sighed, sinking onto a chair.
Charlotte tossed her hair, stuffing groceries into her bag.
“I *am* independent. But youre my mum. Helping me is your *job*.” The way she said it made Eleanors chest tighten. “Consider this your chance to mother me properly.”
Into the bag went fruit, veg, a tub of pasta salad, and six yoghurts. Eleanor watched silently. A *job*? Since when was love an obligation?
The raids grew frequent. New shoes, a phone bill, a rent hikealways a “crisis” justifying a grocery haul. Eleanor bit her tongue. How could she refuse her own child? But each visit chipped away at her. Charlotte stopped pretending she came to chat. No “How are you?”just take and leave.
One evening, Eleanor trudged home soaked by autumn rain. Shucking off her dripping coat, she headed to the kitchen.
“Need to thaw the chicken,” she murmured, yanking open the freezer.
Her hand froze. The shelves were bare. Four drawers, packed that morning with meat and veg, now gaped empty. She flung the fridge door wideonly a jar of Branston pickle (which Charlotte loathed) remained.
Hands trembling, she dialled Charlotte.
“Mum? What?” came the irritable reply.
“Did you take *everything*?” Eleanors voice cracked.
“Yeah!” Charlotte chirped. “Thought, why keep trekking over? Saves time!”
Eleanor shut her eyes against stinging tears. How could her daughter be so callous?
“Charlotte, Ive just got homeIve nothing for dinner”
“Mum,” Charlotte cut in, annoyed. “Pop to the shops! The walkll do you good. Doctors say so. Anywaybusy. Bye!”
The line died. Eleanor slumped at the table, staring at her phone. Bitter realisation pooled in her chest. Had she become just a free supermarket to her daughter?
The emptied fridge became routine. Every fortnight, Eleanor found it stripped. Charlotte didnt even bother with excuses anymore.
Then one night, the smash of glass woke Eleanor. She bolted to the kitchenCharlotte knelt, mopping up spilt pickle amidst shards.
“Even took the pickle you hate?” Eleanor snapped.
Charlotte glared.
“God, Mum, drop the lecture and help!”
“Why sneak in? Why not wake me?”
Charlotte hurled the cloth down, smearing the tiles. She stood arms crossedmirroring Eleanors own stance when cross.
“Ive got a key, remember? This is *my* home too! Do I need permission now? Or am I banned?”
Eleanor shook her head.
“You dont visit *me*you visit the fridge. Charlotte, Im not made of money. I cant feed us bothespecially when you clear me out.”
Charlotte slammed the fridge. Fury flashed in her eyes.
“You grudge feeding your own daughter? *You* said take what I need!”
“I meant *once*!” Eleanor finally snapped. “You treat this place like a free-for-all! I never know if Ill have dinner or go to bed hungry. This isnt normal!”
Charlotte backed toward the window, avoiding broken glass.
“Regretting helping me now? Just say it! And I thought you *loved* me! Mothers are *supposed* to”
“Youre twenty-four!” Eleanor shouted. “I dont *owe* you meals! If you cant managemove back! Contribute. At least youd save on rent.”
Charlotte stiffened. Rage twisted her face.
“I *hate* living with you! Oliver and I moved in togetherbut he eats like a horse! I didnt *plan* this!”
Eleanor froze. A boyfriend. All this time, her groceries were feeding *him*.
“And thats *my* problem?” Her voice turned icy.
“But you *have* to help! Youre my *mother*!” Charlotte shrieked.
“Let Oliver raid *his* mothers fridge!” Eleanor gripped the chair, strength failing. “Or get a second job. If two adults cant feed themselves, thats *your* failure. Ive dipped into savingsfor what? To feed your greedy boyfriend?”
Charlottes face blotched red.
“How *dare* you! Olivers wonderful! Youreyoure a *horrible* mother! A *good* one would support me!”
Eleanor cradled her head. Hurt choked her.
“Charlotte, leave. Please,” she whispered. “For months, Ive just been your meal ticket. You lied. You used me. Take whats left. Consider it a parting gift. And go.”
She didnt look up as Charlotte filled her bag. Only the slam of the door made her flinch. The kitchen clocks ticking echoed.
At the window, Eleanor watched the city lights. Somewhere out there, her daughter returned to Oliver with her spoils.
“New locks tomorrow,” she murmured. “Time they learned responsibility. Live within your meansor learn the hard way.”
The locks were changed. Silence followed. No calls, no texts. Charlottes pride was woundedbut better that than being her daughters personal ATM.
A month later, the phone finally rang.
***
**Lesson**: Love isnt a ledger. Children must learn independence, and parents must learn to let goeven when it hurts. True support doesnt mean enabling helplessness; it means teaching strength.
