My Daughter Stopped Answering My CallsThen I Found Out Why
My daughter Emma used to ring me every week without fail, even if it was just for a quick chat. Those calls were our little traditionwed talk about Sunday roasts, her job at the accounting firm, or that new novel she couldnt put down. Sometimes shed call from Tesco just to ask, Mum, how long do I parboil the potatoes for roasties? and Id chuckle because shed asked me that at least twenty times before.
But come mid-March, the calls dried up.
At first, I figured she was swampedmaybe a big project at work, or perhaps she and her husband Tom had popped off to Brighton for a weekend. A week passed, then another. I sent a few texts*Love, how are you? Miss you. Ring me when youve got a sec.* Left on read. Her birthday came and went without so much as a WhatsApp sticker.
This wasnt like her. And in my bones, I knewsomething wasnt right.
Turns out, I wasnt wrong.
It was my son James who finally filled me in. He rang one evening and said hed managed a quick chat with her. Shes alright, he said, but his voice didnt sound convinced. Then, almost like an afterthought, he added, Though she mentioned Tom doesnt want her working anymore. Or driving. Said its less hassle this way.
My stomach dropped.
James brushed it off, saying maybe Tom just fancied the old-fashioned setup, that I was reading too much into it. But Im her mum. I know my girl. Emmas as stubborn as they comein the best way. Shed clawed her way up in her career, pulled all-nighters, chased every goal shed ever set. She wouldnt just roll over and give that upnot without a proper row.
That night, I barely slept a wink. I lay there staring at the ceiling, my mind spinning through every worst-case scenario. Was she being pressured? Too scared to tell us? Was she in trouble?
By dawn, Id made up my mind.
The next morning, I hopped in my car and drove straight to her flat in Manchestersix hours with nothing but service station coffee and a growing sense of dread. Every mile felt heavier than the last. My imagination was running wild, but I didnt have a planjust this gut feeling screaming that my daughter needed me.
When she finally opened the door, I hardly knew her.
She looked exhausted, shadows under her eyes like she hadnt slept in months. She managed a weak smile that didnt reach her eyes. And she kept glancing over her shoulder, like she was waiting for someone to cut in. Or worselike she was listening for footsteps.
My pulse was racing. 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 place looked like a bomb had gone off. The sofa cushions were gone, the curtains were in tatters, and there was strawactual strawall over the kitchen tiles.
I froze. What in the world happened here?
Before she could answer, something rustled in the corner. I turnedand there, smack in the middle of the madness, was the most adorable little spaniel puppy, tail going like mad, gnawing on a squeaky toy like it hadnt a care in the world.
I blinked. Is that a goat in your loo?
She winced. Two, actually.
Turns out, she and Tom had signed up to foster rescue animalsjust for a fortnight, she said. But a fortnight had turned into a dozen critters: two goats, four kittens, three puppies, and a pair of cheeky rabbits with a taste for designer curtains.
I stood there gobsmackedsix hours of panic, imagining hostage situations and controlling husbandsonly to find my daughter had basically turned into St. Francis of Assisi.
I started laughing. First just a snort, then proper belly laughs until tears streamed down my face. She joined in, and soon we were both howling, half-crying, half-wheezing.
All that dread, all those nightmaresand it all boiled down to a house full of fur, chaos, and love.
That day, I stayed to help her tidy up, feed the menagerie, and, of course, snuggle the puppy whod started it all.
As the sun dipped behind the rooftops, she gave me a soft smile and said, You always know when to turn up, Mum.
Guess a mothers instinct never really misseseven when it leads you straight to a lounge full of goats.
