“You’ve got this.”
“Are you having a laugh? You cant even pay the bills!” snapped her mother. “A grown woman! Smart enough to have a kid, but not to take responsibility for yourself?”
Emily stood silently in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the sock slipping down her ankle. She hunched her shoulders, as if trying to shrink into invisibility.
“Mum, Im sorry” she mumbled. “I got in late last night, I completely forgot.”
“And I suppose *I* didnt?”
Lydia scanned the table and stove. Someone had made porridge and left the pot unwashed. A dirty chopping board lay on the counter. Crumbs everywhere. This mess was always left for Lydia to clean. Emily insisted it “didnt bother her.”
“We had an agreement,” Lydia continued. “You promised to at least cover the utilities. Said youd found extra work. And where is it? *I* get your daughter ready for school, *I* buy her clothes, *I* feed us. *Me.* Everywhere, *me.* And you? Just loafing about!”
Emily shrugged guiltily and opened her mouth to reply, but Lydia wasnt listening. She paced the kitchen, slamming cupboard doorsnot looking for anything, just needing somewhere to put her anger.
Emily was thirty-four now, far from a girl, yet her wide eyes and hesitant gestures still begged for someone to carry her burdens. Right now, she was clinging to her mother, and Lydia had had enough.
In the living room, her granddaughter clattered toys together, the noise growing louder as the adults arguedas if trying to drown them out.
“Sophie can hear everything,” Emily said quietly. “Shes getting upset. Please stop shouting.”
“Then *you* stop giving me a reason to!” Lydia barked, then caught herself. “Right. Take the bills and sort them. Today. Not later. On your own, no help from me.”
Emily nodded and slunk off like a scolded schoolgirl. Some things never changed.
Alone, Lydia slumped onto a chair, finally letting the weight of everyone elses responsibilities bow her shoulders.
Daniel, Emilys now ex-husband, had swept into their lives like a storm. Charming, poetic, guitar-strumming, always with a glass of wine and deep thoughts about existence. They married in a whirlwind, and Emily was pregnant just as fast.
At first, Daniel promised to stay. Then came the vanishingneeding “space,” nights with mates, “finding himself.” Often, he came home smelling of beer. Lydia saw the disaster coming, but did anyone listen? Emily even took offence. Shed hoped theyd “rub along.” Two years later, Daniel sent a final text*This is for the best*and vanished.
No one had seen him since. Or the child support.
Emily came home with a toddler and a box of belongings. Lydia had dreamed of holidays and retirement. Those dreams went straight to the back burner.
“Just till were back on our feet,” Emily said that first day.
“You can count on me,” Lydia promised.
Six years later, they still were.
As she tidied, Lydia thought of herself at Emilys agealready with two kids, a husband whose liver was failing, and a job at the post office. Every day was parcels, chores, and raising children. She couldnt afford to forget a thingno one else would pick up the slack. When her husband died, that instinct only sharpened. Shed clung to life by her teeth, or shed have drowned.
Now, every time she looked at Emily, the same question burned: *Why cant you, when I could?*
Emily emerged from her room, eyes red, phone in hand.
“I looked it up. Ill sort it tomorrow,” she said. “But, Mum maybe we could do things together?”
Lydia stared back, exhaustion deeper than bones. *Tomorrow.* Again. For five years, “together” had meant Lydia doing while Emily watched.
“Fine. But pay it tomorrow. No excuses.”
Emily nodded, then sat beside her. Lydia shifted away slightly.
“Mum are you angry with me?”
“Its not anger anymore. Its disappointment.”
Emily awkwardly covered her mothers hand with her own, but Lydia barely felt itlike touching through gloves.
Monday morning was ordinary, except the porridge burned. The usual chores grated harder. Then her phone rang. Lydia almost ignored it, thinking it spam, until she saw the name.
“Hello, Michael.”
Michael was a colleague. Quiet, unassuming, until the day he brought her coffee, noticing the shadows under her eyes. Since then, theyd talkedwarmly, but never too personal.
“Listen,” he said. “Fancy a weekend in Brighton? Mates got a flat going cheap. Sea air, bit of peace.”
Lydia froze. The idea was reckless, delicious, almost mad.
“Me? Brighton?”
“Why not?” Michael chuckled. “Were grown-ups. Free. No little kids.”
She didnt answer at once. A thousand tasks swirled in her headthings no one else would do. But somewhere deep, a whisper: *Go on. Just once.*
“Give me a day to think,” she said.
That evening, when Lydia cautiously mentioned the trip, Emily tensed instantly.
“Waitwhat about the aquarium?”
“Youll manage without me.”
“You *promised*! I already told Sophie youd come!”
“Listen. Im tired. I want to rest. Be *me*, not Granny, not Mum, not your maid.”
“So some bloke matters more than your granddaughter?”
Lydia exhaled sharply.
“Its not about him. Its about me, for once. Sorry if I dare to want something.”
“Fine. Whatever,” Emily snapped, slamming the door behind her.
Brighton was crisp, the air salty with pine. Michael walked with her along the promenade, arm in arm like theyd been together years. That evening, they celebrated with wine and mussels at a seafront restaurant.
“You dont get out much, do you?” Michael asked, pouring more wine.
“Id like to. Just no time for myself.”
She trailed off. Michael waited. Lydia felt she owed him more.
“Ive a daughter. Emily. Grown, but shes lived with me since her divorcesix years now. Always about to move out, never lifts a finger. Its all on me.”
“Maybe thats the problem?” Michael smirked.
“How?”
“My mum was the same with my brother. Did everything for himguess how that turned out.”
He set his glass down, meeting her eyes.
“Im no expert. But nothingll change while youre together.”
Lydia knew where this was heading.
“We live in *my* flat. Where would I go? *She* should leave.”
“And yet, she hasnt,” Michael said calmly. “Stay with me, if you like. Plenty of space.”
Lydia blinked. Hed said it like offering a cuppa. Something fluttered in her chest.
“On condition: no roast dinners every Sunday.”
“Deal. Alternate weekends, my turn to cook.”
Lydia smiledthen a memory surfaced.
“Emily, put your hat on,” her own mother had scolded. “And stick by me.”
Once, theyd lived four-deep: her, her mother, Emily, and her brother. Her husband long gone. Her brother moved out; the women remained. Her mother and Lydia had micromanaged Emilyrunning to teachers, arranging clubs. Back then, it felt like love. Now, she wasnt sure.
Emily had grown up under glass. Decisions made for her, approval given, never pushing back. The worst part? She still lived that way.
Something had to change.
After Brighton, Lydia spent one more day at home. She packed a bag and left for Michaels without a word. Just a note: *Well live apart for now. Youve got this! Im here, but I cant stay.*
First, Emily was furious. Then anxious. Thenrealisation: shed have to manage.
Everything fell apart. The internet got cut offforgotten bill. Her phone had the cheapest plan, no data. She traipsed through rain, hunting for a pay terminal, boots soaked, throat raw by evening.
“Mum, the tablet wont load,” Sophie complained.
“Read a book, then,” Emily grumbledthen froze.
Shed sounded just like Lydia.
The fridge emptied fast. Emily scrambled for cash-in-hand workcleaning offices. Pay was daily, which suited her.
First shift: blisters, but money in her account. And a shockshe *could* do this. Messily, but she could.
A week later, she landed a proper jobcustomer service for a delivery firm. Modest wage, but steady. Mornings started earlier, alarms set in pairs. No more sleeping in.
Now she remembered: internet due dates, parent evenings, grocery runs.
Lydia visited a month
