Mom, could you look after Max for a bit today? Kate asked, her voice hoarse from exhaustion. I have to dash to work; I need to pick up some urgent paperwork.
Margaret flipped through her diary, the ink still wet. Kate, I have a meeting with the editor at seven this evening, she said. I wont be able to.
Come on, Mum, you always have something else! Hes your grandson! Is a job really more important than family? Kate pressed, the guilt tugging at her throat.
Margarets lips tightened. Another round of guiltladen manipulation.
Kate, I warned you it was reckless to have a child with a man you barely knew, Margaret said, the words flat. You didnt listen. Its your choice, and now your responsibility.
Fine, Kate snapped, her tone icecold. So you dont care about me or the baby. Thanks for the support.
The line went dead.
Margaret had just turned fiftytwo. At last she could exhale. A bitter divorce had upended her life years ago, and for fifteen years she juggled two daughters, two jobs, and a relentless selfdenial. Five years earlier Michael had walked into her worlda steady, dependable man who accepted her whole baggage without demanding the impossible.
The girls grew, earned their degrees. Margaret and Michael bought a modest onebedroom flat for Kate; Lucy snagged a studio in a new development. Margaret landed a respectable post at a publishing house, signed up for Italian lessons, and started squirreling away pounds for a dream trip to Italy.
But Kate, at twentythree, married a stranger shed met on a night out. Six months later she gave birth. Margarets warnings about haste fell on deaf ears. The husband turned out to be unreliable, working only sporadically, money trickling in at random. Kate was torn between a newborn and odd jobs, scrambling to keep the lights on. From then on, Margarets phone rang incessantly with her daughters pleas.
One evening Margaret pressed her forehead against the cold kitchen window, the endless demand to sacrifice herself wearing thin. Kate had started hinting at moving back home, saying it would be easier for everyone, especially the child. Margaret refused, explaining she had her own life, her own plans. Kates tears turned into complaints about a wasted youth.
A week later Lucy, fresh from university at twenty, burst in, eyes bright, announcing she was pregnant. The father was Victor, a courier shed only known three months, living in a dormitory with no prospects. She plopped onto the sofa, beaming.
Can you imagine, Mum? Victor and I are going to be parents! Well have a little one! she chirped.
Margarets inner irritation flared. The same story as with Kate.
Lucy, have you thought about how youll raise the child? Where will you live? How will you afford everything? she asked calmly.
Lucy fidgeted, tugging at the hem of her sweater. Well, Victors got a spare room well figure something out. Youll help us, right? Well need you.
Margaret set her tea cup down harder than intended. No, Lucy. You have the right to give birth, Im not opposed to that. But I wont bankroll a young family. Ive already bought you a flat; thats all I can give. Youll have to manage yourselves.
Tears welled in Lucys eyes. How can you say that? Youre heartless! Im your daughter! The baby will be your grandchild!
Im telling you the truth, Margaret replied, her voice steady. Youre adults. You finished university, Victor works. If you decided to have a child, you must also decide to support it. Ive fulfilled my obligations. I have my own life, my own plans.
What plans? What could be more important than family? Lucy shrieked, grabbing her bag. Kates right. Youre selfish!
Both daughters turned their fury on Margaret, the family chat exploding with accusations of selfishness and coldness. Kate typed endless messages about how hard it was, how a mother should always help. Lucy added that she never imagined her mother could be so indifferent.
Michael wrapped his arms around Margaret each night, trying to soothe the rising tension. Kate began showing up unannounced, stroller in hand, saying, Ill be here for a couple of hours, mind looking after Max. Margaret tried to protest, but Kate was already thudding down the stairs. Michael frowned, but stayed silent. Lucy called, sobbing, begging for moral support, complaining that Victor didnt understand, that there was no money, that she didnt know what to do.
Margaret felt cornered, as if she were a bottomless well the daughters could draw from forever.
Saturday night was meant to be quiet. Margaret and Michael had planned a simple film at home and a final review of their Italy itinerary. The doorbell rang, sharp and urgent.
Michael opened the door to find Kate, suitcases in hand, Max cradled against her chest. Behind her, Lucy stood, eyes red from crying.
Were moving in with you for a while, Kate announced, not bothering with pleasantries, dragging a suitcase into the hallway. Serge will bring the rest of our stuff later. Well rent out my flat to bring in money, and you can look after Max more often so I can work.
What? Margaret froze, staring at the doorway. Kate, what are you saying? We never discussed this.
It doesnt need discussing, Kate snapped. Youre my mother; youre supposed to help. Who else will?
Lucy slipped in behind her. Mum, I need money for a cot. We have nothing. Victor earns next to nothing, I cant quit my job yet.
Something inside Margaret shattered. All the fatigue, the anger, the months of hurt burst forth.
No, she said sharply, stepping forward. Kate, pack your things and go home. Lucy, there will be no money. Thats it.
Both girls stared, stunned.
Youre serious? Kate asked, cradling a weeping Max. Are you really going to throw us out?
Absolutely, Margaret said, crossing her arms over her chest. I raised you, gave you education, bought you flats. Its time you left the nest and built your own lives. Stop hanging your children over my shoulders.
How can you say that? Lucy shrieked. Were your daughters! Your blood!
I can because Im speaking the truth, Margaret replied. Youre adults. You chose your partners, you chose when to have children. I warned you, I advised you. You didnt listen. The responsibility is yours, not mine.
Kate switched Max to her other arm, her face twisted with disbelief and rage. Youre kicking us out? With a baby?
Im not kicking you out. You have a house. You have a husband. Sort out your problems yourselves, Margaret said, eyes unflinching.
Youre a coldhearted monster! Lucy yelled, stomping her foot. All you think about is your Italy trip!
Yes, Italy is my plan, Margaret replied evenly. Ive spent twenty years living for you. What more do you expect? To be a nanny until my grave?
The sisters exchanged a look, then Kate snatched her suitcase and fled. Lucy followed, their voices echoing down the stairwell, laced with contempt.
A week passed with no calls, no messages. Michael told Margaret shed done the right thing, but a knot of anxiety twisted in her gut. Was she too harsh?
Later she learned that Kate had sold her flat, moved into her husbands parents cramped twobedroom, where she was bombarded with criticism from a motherinlaw who ran the household with an iron fist. Victor, frightened by responsibility, vanished with a suitcase, leaving Kate alone, pregnant and penniless.
Lucys plight emerged from a neighbors gossip. Shed been seen weeping on the step outside the block, Victor having fled, leaving her with a baby on the way and no cash.
Margaret stood at her kitchen sink, torn between sympathy and a firm resolve. She had given them a head starta roof, an education, love. How much further could she go?
The daughters began calling again, each lamenting their misery, each demanding money. Margaret listened, offered only advice, refusing to fund them. Their pleas turned into demands for a place to stay, for cash, for a mother who would solve everything. She said no, each time.
Meanwhile, she and Michael finally bought threeweek tickets to Italy, the longpostponed journey they had saved for years. Before they left, Margaret dialed her daughters, her voice calm.
Are you out of your mind? Kate asked, bewildered. What about us?
Youre adults. Youll manage, Margaret replied, glancing at the suitcase by the door. When you stop treating me as a freerange babysitter and a cash source, we can talk as equals. Grow up.
Youre abandoning us, Lucy whispered into the handset.
Im not abandoning you, Margaret said. You have the right to make mistakes. I have the right not to pay for them. Ill always be your mother, but I wont sacrifice myself for adult childrens reckless choices.
Michael waited by the car. Margaret descended the stairs, slipped into the drivers seat, and exhaled a breath that felt like a release. Shed given them everything she coulda roof, an education, love. Her mission was complete. Now it was time to think of herself, of strolling down Romes cobbled streets, admiring Florences galleries, drifting along Venices canals. Freedom, finally earned, stretched before her like the Italian horizon, and everything felt, at last, wonderfully possible.
