My Daughter Ignored My CallsThen I Found Out Her Secret
My daughter used to ring me every Sunday without fail, even if just for a quick chat. Those calls were our little routinewed discuss her latest baking attempts, her job in London, or the novel she couldnt put down. Sometimes shed phone from the Tesco car park just to ask, Mum, how long for roast beef again? and Id chuckle because shed asked me the same thing a hundred times.
But in late April, the calls dried up.
At first, I assumed she was swamped. Work projects, perhaps. Or maybe she and her husband, Oliver, had popped off to the Cotswolds for a weekend. A week passed, then another. I sent a few texts*How are you, love? Miss you. Give us a ring when you can.* None were opened. Birthdays and bank holidays came and went without so much as a text.
This wasnt like her, and I knewdeep downsomething wasnt right.
My instincts were spot on.
It was my son, James, who finally broke the silence. One evening, he called and said hed spoken to her briefly. Shes alright, he insisted, but his voice didnt fool me. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, Though she mentioned Oliver doesnt want her working anymore. Or driving. Said its less hassle this way.
My stomach lurched.
James brushed it off, suggesting maybe Oliver fancied old-fashioned roles, that I was reading too much into it. But Im her mother. I know my daughter. Shes fiercely independent, determined in the best way. Shed clawed her way up in her career, pulled all-nighters, chased every ambition she ever had. She wouldnt have just rolled over and given that upnot without a bloody good reason.
That night, I barely slept. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, my mind spinning through every nightmare scenario. What if she was being manipulated? What if she was too scared to tell us? What if she was in trouble?
By dawn, I knew what I had to do.
The next morning, I hopped in my car and drove straight to her flat in Bristolfour hours without a break. Every mile weighed heavier than the last. My imagination ran wild with every horrible possibility. No plan, just a mothers gut screaming that my girl needed me.
When she finally opened the door, I hardly recognised her.
She looked gaunt. Dark circles hung under her eyes like she hadnt slept in months. She managed a weak smile that didnt reach her gaze. And she kept peering over her shoulder, as if waiting for someone to barge in. Or worselistening for footsteps.
My pulse raced. I stepped closer and whispered, Youre coming with me. Now.
She hesitated, then sighed. I cant. Not yet.
That threw me. My stomach knotted. Why? Whats going on, love?
She didnt answer straight away. Finally, she stepped aside. Come in, Mum.
The second I walked in, my jaw hit the floor. The flat looked like a bomb had gone off. The sofa cushions were gone, the curtains were in tatters, and there was strawactual strawstrewn across the kitchen tiles.
I froze. What in Gods name happened here?
Before she could reply, something darted past my feet. I turnedand there, in the middle of the madness, sat the most adorable little spaniel puppy, tail wagging, gnawing on a chewed-up slipper like it was the best day of his life.
I blinked. Is that a sheep in your loo?
She gave a sheepish nod. Two, actually.
Turns out, she and Oliver had signed up to foster rescue animalsjust for a fortnight, she said. But a fortnight had snowballed into a dozen critters: two sheep, four kittens, three puppies, and a pair of naughty rabbits with a taste for curtains.
I stood there gobsmackedfour hours of dread, imagining kidnappings and abusive husbandsonly to discover my daughter had turned into a full-time zoo keeper.
I burst out laughing. First a snort, then proper belly laughs until tears streamed down my face. She joined in, and soon we were both howling, wiping our eyes between giggles.
All that worry, all those nightmaresand it all boiled down to a house stuffed with love, fur, and absolute bedlam.
That day, I stayed to help tidy, feed the menagerie, and, of course, cuddle the pup who started it all.
As the sun dipped below the rooftops, she squeezed my hand and said softly, You always know when to turn up, Mum.
Suppose a mothers intuition never misfireseven when it leads you straight to a lounge full of sheep.
