“You’ve ruined my life!” screamed the daughter, slamming the door.
“Mum, do you remember how you used to put me to bed when I was little?” Emily asked softly, shuffling through old photographs on the kitchen table.
Margaret looked up from the pot of beef stew, surprised. It had been years since Emily had asked questions like thisusually, their conversations were far less gentle.
“Of course I remember. You always wanted me to read *The Three Little Pigs*. The same story, every single night,” she smiled, drying her hands on a tea towel. “Then youd insist I stay beside you until you fell asleep. Said you were scared without me.”
Emily nodded, still studying the pictures. In one, she sat on her mothers lap at five years old, a book open between them. Both were smiling.
“Did you ever get tired of it?”
“Tired of what, love?”
“Of me. The same routine every daywork, then home, then my endless demands.”
Margaret moved closer, sitting beside her daughter. Emily looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes. Since the divorce, shed lost weight, aged. Her temper had sharpened, tooquick to flare, quick to snap.
“Never,” Margaret said quietly. “You were the point of it all. Especially after your father left.”
“Ah, Dad…” Emily gave a bitter laugh. “Ran off with his secretary when I was seven. I remember hearing you cry in the kitchen at night. Thought I didnt notice.”
“I tried not to let you see.”
“I know. But I wasnt deaf. I saw how hard it was for youworking three jobs just to keep me dressed, fed, paying for piano lessons. I remember your darned tights, how youd skip meat at dinner, saying you werent hungry. Then youd finish my leftovers when I wasnt looking.”
Margaret turned away, flustered. It was strange, hearing these things from her grown daughter.
“Dont, Emily. Any mother wouldve done the same.”
“Any mother?” Emily set the photos down, studying Margaret. “Do you know what Lucy Bennett told me the other day? Remember her? We were in school together.”
“The redhead? What about her?”
“She said she envied me back then. Can you believe it? Thought I had the perfect mum. You always came to parents evenings looking smart, asking the teachers about my work. Meanwhile, her motherLucy said she was either drunk or chasing men. Never showed up, never cared about her grades.”
“Poor girl,” Margaret sighed. “I remember heralways so quiet.”
“And I used to think *she* was the lucky one,” Emily admitted. “Because her mum didnt control her every move.”
Margaret flinched, as if struck.
“Whats that supposed to mean?”
“Dont take it the wrong way, but sometimes your care felt suffocating. Remember in Year Nine, when I wanted to go on the school trip to Edinburgh? You said it was too dangerous, that I might get lost. Wouldnt let me go.”
“It was miles away! And we didnt have the money.”
“Or in Year Eleven, when I asked to go to Sophie Carters birthday party? You refused. Said nice girls stay home, not gallivanting about at discos.”
Margaret frowned. She remembered that nightEmily had locked herself in her room for days, screaming that she was trapped.
“I was protecting your reputation! Our street was full of gossips. If theyd started whispering about you, *I* wouldve been ashamed.”
“*You* wouldve been ashamed,” Emily repeated. “See? Not me. You always cared more about what people thought than what *I* wanted.”
“Emily!” Margaret bristled. “How can you say that? I spent my whole life thinking of you!”
“Yes. But *your* way. You decided what was good for me, what wasnt. Remember forcing me to take piano? I hated it, but you said itll be useful. Three years of misery!”
“And now you play beautifully! You still do, at home.”
“Only because its habit. I wanted to join the volleyball team, but you said it wasnt ladylike, that I might get hurt.”
Margaret stood, walking to the window. Her chest ached. Had Emily been harbouring resentment all these years? And shed only ever meant to help.
“Love, I just wanted to spare you mistakes. For your life to be better than mine.”
“I know, Mum. And I understand why. You were terrified Id make stupid choicesfall in with the wrong crowd, rush into marriage. So you kept me under glass.”
“Was that so wrong?”
Emily was quiet, then whispered:
“Remember Daniel Whitaker? He was in the year above.”
“The tall blond? The one who passed you notes?”
“Him. We liked each other. He asked me to the cinema, the ice rink. But you always found reasons to say nohomework, chores, a sudden cold.”
“You were too young to be dating!”
“I was sixteen, Mum! You treated me like I was ten. Daniel started seeing Hannah Cooper instead. Theyre married now, you know?”
“Well, then it wasnt meant to be.”
“Or maybe it was,” Emily smiled sadly. “Maybe if youd trusted me, let me choose, my life wouldve been different.”
Margaret turned sharply.
“So youre saying your failed marriage is *my* fault?”
“Not your fault. ButMum, I never learned how to have a relationship. You always said men were cheats and drunks, that it was better to be alone than trapped with a bad husband.”
“Because I didnt want you living *my* life!”
“And I couldnt trust James. Always waiting for betrayal, looking for lies. In the end, *I* sabotaged it with my own fear. You taught me thatto doubt, to expect the worst.”
Silence fell. The stew bubbled, forgotten. Margarets heart twisted.
“So all my love… ruined you?”
Emily hugged her.
“Not ruined. But you shielded me too much. I grew up afraidneeding approval, unable to choose. At work, they pile extra tasks on me because they know I wont say no.”
“I thought you were just… good.”
“Obedient, yes. But not from strengthfrom fear. Even when James shouted over nothing, I stayed quiet. Thought I deserved it.”
Margaret turned off the hob, sighing.
“Emily, I didnt know. I thought I was keeping you safe.”
“I know. And Im not blaming you. But I need to learn how to live. Im thirty-two and still feel like a child who doesnt understand the world.”
“Maybe see a therapist? They say it helps.”
“I have been. Six months now.” Emily hesitated. “She says Ive got low self-esteem, that I expect to be controlled. Told me to try doing things alonemake my own choices.”
“Has it helped?”
“Its hard. But Im trying. Last week, I went to Cornwall. By myself. Can you believe it? Mewho used to panic taking the tube alonejust booked a train and went.”
There was a spark in her eyes Margaret hadnt seen in years.
“Werent you scared?”
“Terrified! Im so used to you deciding everything. But then… it was *freeing*. Choosing where to eat, what to do, when to wake up.”
Margaret smiled through tears.
“Im happy for you, love.”
“Out there, I thought a lot. About us. And I realisedI dont want to resent you anymore. You did your best. You grew up strict, just like Grandma.”
“*Much* stricter!” Margaret huffed. “I wasnt allowed to breathe without permission.”
“Exactly. You didnt know another way. But I do now. And I want to learn.”
Margaret hugged her tight.
“Forgive me, Emily, if I got it wrong.”
“No forgiveness needed. Just… lets move forward. I want us to be equals now.”
“And I wont interfere?”
“You wontif you let me go. No calling ten times a day, no interrogations. Trust me.”
“Ill try,” Margaret promised. “It wont be easy.”
“And it wont be easy for me either. But well manage.”
Emily picked up the photos again, smiling.
“Ohand Ive decided something else. I want a baby. And I dont need a husband for that.”
Margaret choked.
“*What*? Butthe father?”
“Ill find one. Women do it all the time now. Good genes, thats all.” Emily laughed. “Mum, dont panic! Its my choice.”
“But what will people *say*?”
“I dont care. Its my life. And I wont repeat your mistakesIll raise them to be free, confident.”
“Youre serious?”
“Completely. Ive even seen a doctor. Says Im perfectly healthy.”
Margaret sank into a chair, reeling.
“And… Ill still see them?”
“Of course! Youll be Grandma. Just… no advice on how to parent. Deal?”
“…Deal.”
Emily hugged her again.
“I love you, Mum. And Im grateful for everything. But I need to live my own life. Is that okay?”
“Okay, love. Well adjust.”
“Good. Because Im done being angry.”
Margaret held her close. It hurt, realising her love had been a cage. But it wasnt too late. She could learn to let go.
“The stews burned,” she muttered.
“Never mind,” Emily grinned. “Lets order pizza. My treat. Actuallylets celebrate. For us.”
Margaret smiled, truly happy for the first time in years.
“Yes. Lets.”
