Oh, Ive got this story to share with youits about a mum and her daughter, and honestly, it hit me right in the feels.
*”Mum, you dont need to come over today, alright?”* My daughter said it so casually, like she was asking me to pass the salt, while she tied her trainers by the door. *”I appreciate everything, really, but not right now. Just stay home and relax.”*
I already had my bag in hand, coat buttoned up, ready to look after my granddaughter like I always did while she went to her yoga class. Normally, it was clockworkId pop round, mind the little one, then head back to my modest little flat. But today? Something felt off. Those words froze me solid, like Id been struck by lightning.
What had I done wrong? Did I not put the baby down right? Used the wrong onesie? Fed her at the wrong time? Or maybe theyd just looked at me differently.
Turns out, the truth was simplerand so much worse.
It was her in-laws. Well-off, influential types whod decided to drop by every day now. Theyd march in with these fancy gift boxes, sit at the dining table theyd bought for the housethe whole place was their gift to the young couple, really. The furniture was theirs, the posh tea was theirs (theyd brought some premium loose-leaf blend and made themselves right at home). And now, it seemed, the granddaughter was theirs too. And me? Well. I was just extra.
Mea railway worker with 30 years under my belt, a simple woman, no fancy degrees or jewellery, no expensive haircuts or trendy clothes.
*”Mum, look at you,”* my daughter said. *”Youve put on weight. Your hairs gone grey. You look messy. Those coats of yours are so dull. And you smell like the Tube. You get it, dont you?”*
I didnt say a word. What could I even say?
After she left, I caught my reflection in the mirror. Yepthere she was. A woman with tired eyes, wrinkles round her mouth, a frumpy coat, cheeks flushed with shame. The self-loathing hit me like a sudden downpour on a clear day. I stepped outside just to breathe, and thenthroat tight, eyes burning. Those awful, traitorous tears spilled over.
So I went back to my little flatmy cosy studio in a quiet neighbourhood. Sat on the sofa and scrolled through my old phone, full of photos. There she wasmy daughter, so tiny. Here she was on her first day of school, hair in a ribbon. Graduation, her degree, the wedding and then my granddaughter, grinning in her cot.
My whole life in these pictures. Everything Id lived for. Everything Id poured myself into. And if I was being let go now? Well, maybe thats how it had to be. My time was up. Id played my part. The main thing now was not to be a burden. Not to ruin their lives with my scruffy appearance. If they needed me, theyd call. Maybe they would.
Not long after, my phone rang.
*”Mum”* Her voice was strained. *”Can you come? The nannys left, the in-laws well, theyve shown their true colours. And Andrews gone off with his mates somewhere, and Im completely alone.”*
I paused. Then, calm as anything, I said:
*”Sorry, love. I cant right now. I need to take care of myself. Become presentable, like you said. When I canmaybe then.”*
I hung up. And for the first time in ages, I smiled. Bitter, but proud.
