04October2025
Dear Diary,
Did she really say it like that? Emily asked, her voice trembling as she repeated my husbands words back to me.
I gave a weary nod and took a sip from my mug. The tea was scalding, and I winced.
Exactly that. Sarah demanded that Mum transfer the twobed flat into her name and move out, because Vic has put a ring on her finger. A young couple needs a place of their own, you see? I said in a highpitched tone, mimicking my sisters manner.
Emily stared at me, disbelief etched on her face. It was absurdasking ones parents to give up their home outright?
Did Mum respond? Emily ventured cautiously.
I shook my head.
Theres no clear answer yet. But I know Mum, and I know how much she dotes on Sarah. So anythings possible.
Could a daughter really drive her own mother out of the flat? Emily would never have imagined saying such a thing to her parents. She had refused to borrow even a deposit from them; she saved every penny, bought a flat herself, and paid off the mortgage before we were married. That flat was her pride, her property.
Listen, I continued, glancing off into the hallway, Mum sold the cottage a few years back to fund Sarahs university fees. And what happened? She dropped out in her second year. Turns out, you actually have to study at university, can you believe it?
Emily snorted.
Your sister never was the studious type.
I fell silent. Emily could see the tension in my shoulders, the way my fingers clenched the mug. What could she say? What could she advise? Family is never simple.
Weeks slipped by. I phoned Mum a handful of times, each call brief and strained. Emily kept out of it, knowing this was my burden to bear.
Then, one Saturday we decided to visit my mother.
I unlocked the flat with my key, and Emily paused at the doorway. The place was a maze of boxes, suitcases, folded blanketsthings piled against every wall, on the sofa, on the kitchen table. The whole flat reeked of a move in progress.
Mum? I called as we stepped inside.
Margaret Turner emerged, her face drawn, dark circles under her eyes. Emily had never seen my mother look so exhausted.
Max, Charlotte, come in, Margaret whispered.
I scanned the flat and asked straightaway, Are you giving the flat to Sarah?
Margaret sighed, lowered herself onto the edge of the sofa, nudging a dishbox aside.
Itll be better this way, love. A young couple needs their own roof. Vic is a good lad, has a steady job. I can manage elsewhere.
Emily stood to the side, her stomach knotting. How could anyone hand over their only flat? Where would my mother go?
Where will you live then? I asked hoarsely.
Ill rent a single room. My pension isnt much, but itll do. Dont worry about me.
I watched my own face turn pale, my hands tremble, but said nothing. This wasnt my fight alone.
Two months later Margaret was living in a modest rented room in a different neighbourhood. I visited often, bringing groceries, medicines, helping with the bills. Emily never protested; she understood my anguish.
One evening I trudged home, shoulders slumped, silence hanging between us. I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the wall.
Whats wrong? Emily asked, sliding into the seat opposite me.
Ive spoken to Mum. Her pension barely covers the rent and the bills. Shes scraping by, just getting by.
Emilys brow furrowed.
Then she should move back into her flat.
The flat has already been transferred to Sarah. And Sarah refuses to let Mum back in. She says she and Vic are planning renovations and Mum would be in the way.
I could see where the conversation was heading. Before Emily could finish, I blurted out, We could take Mum in. We still have our own twobed flat. Theres enough room.
My words echoed in Emilys mind. It was her flat, after all. Yet she stayed quiet, letting me persuade her, even though every fibre of her being protested. What could I say? That I didnt want to let my mother, who had been driven out by her own daughter, stay? That would be cruel.
Four days later Margaret moved in with us. The first day she was a picture of sunshinesoft-spoken, grateful, constantly apologising for any inconvenience.
Emily tried to convince herself that everything would be fine. We had never fought with Margaret before; why would this be any different?
But after a week things began to shift.
First, my favourite mug vanished.
Margaret, have you seen my blue mug with the daisies? Emily asked.
Im so sorry, Charlotte, Margaret replied, eyes wide. I dropped it while washing the dishes. Ill buy you a new one, I promise.
Emily nodded, forcing a smile.
The next day the expensive hand cream I kept in the bathroom was gone.
Margaret, have you seen my cream? Emily inquired.
Oh, that one, Margaret said, holding up an empty tube. I used it on my feet. The airs been dry, my skin was cracking. It works wonders, you know.
Emily clenched her teeth. She would just buy another.
The final straw was the meat. I had bought a premium ribeye for dinner, intending to fry steaks. When I came home from work I found a pan full of greasy burger pattiesmostly breadcrumbs, barely any meat.
Margaret, I said as calmly as I could, this is expensive beef. Its not meant for burgers, especially not these.
She turned from the stove. I always do it like this. The patties turned out lovely, try them. Whats wrong?
Max, sitting in the living room, pretended not to hear.
Weeks passed and Margaret imposed her own routines. Breakfast became porridge and a boiled egg. She scheduled a thorough house clean every Saturday at eight a.m. No one was allowed to stay up past nine, even on weekends. It felt like living under a regimented boarding school.
Emily paced the flat, barely containing her fury. I tried to soothe her, promising Id talk to my mother, but nothing changed.
At dinner Emily spread cottage cheese on toast, topped with a slice of tomato. She was exhausted from work and didnt feel like cooking.
Youve got no taste, Charlotte, Margaret snapped. Thats nonsense youre eating.
Emily lifted her head slowly. Im fine with what I have.
Youre spoiling my son with your habits, Margaret shot back. Max sees you slackingno dishes washed straight away, clothes left unironed. I raised him to be tidy. Youre undoing all my efforts.
Emilys patience finally snapped.
Ive had enough, she said coldly. I tried to show you respect, kept quiet while you broke my things, used my cosmetics, ruined my groceries. No longer. If things are this bad, move back to the flat you gave to Sarah. Dont live in this house I bought with my own money.
Charlotte! I leapt up. What are you saying?
Im saying what I think! she turned to me. I have my own rules, too. And number oneyour mother wont stay in my house!
Margarets face turned ashen.
Max! Do you hear what your wife is saying? Stop her! I pleaded.
Mom, Charlotte, lets calm down, I tried to mediate.
No! Charlotte stared at my mother. She can pack up and leave. I dont care where.
We cant just throw my mother out! I shouted, voice rising. Do you understand what youre saying?
Charlottes laugh came out hoarse, bitter.
Thats your problem, not mine. By evening she wont be here.
My expression hardened like stone.
If she goes, Im leaving too.
Charlotte looked at me for a long, stunned moment.
Oh, have we sunk to ultimatums now? You forgot your promise to keep your mother calm. You asked me to be patient, and now you set conditions? Right, Max, have at it.
Margaret burst into tears and fled down the hallway. I stood in the kitchen, stunned.
We began packing, slowly, in silence. Charlotte stayed by the window, watching the grey sky, a hollow emptiness inside her that somehow felt soothing.
An hour later Margaret and I emerged into the hallway with suitcases, bags, parcels. I opened the front door, letting my mother step out first, then turned to Charlotte.
Charlotte, lets
She cut me off.
If you still dont get that a mother loves her daughter and just uses you, its better we part ways now, before she gets under our skin completely.
She slammed the door in my face.
Taking my mother in was a mistake. It showed me that I could never truly stand up to my own mother, and that meant there was no future for us as a couple.
The divorce was quiet. We had no children, no joint assets. I looked at her with sorrowful eyes, begging for forgiveness, promising never to drag my mother into our marriage again. But Charlotte had stopped believing in second chances.
Lesson learned: love should never demand you abandon the people who raised you, but it also must not let you become a puppet of anyones will. Boundaries are essential, lest you lose yourself entirely.
