Mom, could you look after Charlie today? Emma asked, her voice sounding like itd been through a marathon. Ive got to pop over to the office theres a stack of urgent paperwork I need to collect.
Emma, dear, Ive got a meeting with the editor at seven this evening, Olivia replied, flicking through her diary. Im afraid I cant.
Come off it, Mum, youre always busy! Hes your grandson, isnt he? Is work really more important than family?
Olivia pressed her lips together. Ah, the classic guilttrip, she thought with a sigh.
Emma, I told you it was reckless to have a baby with a bloke you barely know, she said, trying to keep the tone gentle. You didnt listen. Thats your choice, and your responsibility.
Right, thanks for the support, Emma snapped, coldly. So you really dont care about me or the baby. She hung up.
Olivia had just turned fiftytwo and, for the first time in years, felt she could finally exhale. A divorce had upended her world fifteen years ago. Shed raised two daughters while pulling double shifts, never allowing herself a moments indulgence. Then, five years back, James stepped into her life a calm, dependable chap who accepted her baggage without demanding miracles.
Both daughters grew up, got degrees, and moved onto home ownership. Olivia and James bought Emma a modest onebed flat; Lucy got a studio in a new development. Olivia landed a respectable post at a publishing house, signed up for Italian lessons, and even started saving for a dream holiday to Italy.
But at twentythree Emma had married Tom, a fellow shed barely known, and six months later gave birth to little Charlie. Olivia had warned her about the haste, but Emma ignored it. Now Tom proved to be an unreliable sort of fellow work was irregular, and money filtered into the household only in fits and starts. Emma was torn between caring for an infant and juggling odd jobs just to keep the lights on. Since then Olivias phone has been a constant stream of Emmas calls.
Olivia rested her forehead against the cool kitchen window, exhausted by the endless demand to put herself last. Emma started dropping hints about moving back in with the parents it would be easier for everyone, especially with the baby. Olivia declined, citing her own life, job, and plans. Emma would whine, sometimes even sob into the receiver, lamenting a lost youth.
A week later, a fresh piece of drama arrived. Lucy, fresh out of university, announced she was pregnant. The father? A lad shed only been dating for three months Harry, a courier who lived in a shared house and had no clear career prospects. Lucy burst into the living room, beaming, and plopped onto the sofa.
Can you believe it, Mum? Harry and I are going to be parents! she chirped. Well have a little one isnt that wonderful?
Olivia watched her youngest with a growing sense of déjà vu.
Lucy, have you and Harry thought about how youll raise the child? she asked calmly. Where will you live? A studio with a baby? How will you afford everything?
Lucy fidgeted with the hem of her jumper.
Well, Harry still has his room well figure something out. Mum, youll help us, wont you? Well need you.
Olivia set her teacup down a fraction harder than intended.
No, Lucy. Im not opposed to you having a baby, but Im not going to fund a young family. The flat is yours, everything I could give you I already have given. Now youll have to manage on your own.
Lucy sprang up, tears welling.
How can you say that? Youre heartless! Im your daughter! The baby will be your grandson!
Olivia replied evenly, Thats exactly why I tell you the truth. Youre adults now. You both have degrees; Harry has a job, however modest. If youve decided to bring a child into the world, you must take responsibility yourselves. My obligations are fulfilled. I have my own life and my own plans.
What plans? Isnt family the most important thing? Lucy shrieked, grabbing her bag. Emmas right. Youre selfish!
The two sisters stormed out, leaving Olivia standing in the hallway, eyes shut. The family group chat erupted with accusations of selfishness and coldness. Emma typed long messages about how hard it was for her, how a mother should always be there. Lucy echoed the sentiment, shocked that their mother could be so indifferent.
James tried to be supportive, offering hugs in the evenings, but the tension kept building. Emma began dropping by unannounced, pushing Charlies stroller into the flat and leaving a quick note: Mum, Ill be back in a couple of hours, mind looking after Charlie. Olivia tried to protest, but Emma was already dashing down the stairs. James frowned but stayed silent. Lucy called in tears, pleading for moral support, complaining that Harry didnt understand, that there was no money, that she didnt know what to do.
Olivia felt cornered, like a bottomless well from which everyone expected an endless stream.
Saturday evening was supposed to be quiet. Olivia and James had planned a cosy night in with a film and a chat about their upcoming Italian trip. Then a sharp knock came at the door.
James opened it to find Emma standing there with suitcases and Charlie in her arms. Behind her, Lucy followed, eyes red from crying.
Were moving in temporarily, Mum, Emma announced, dumping a suitcase in the hallway. Sergio will bring the rest of our stuff later. Well rent out my flat to bring in some cash, so you can spend more time with Charlie while I work.
What? Olivia froze. Emma, we never discussed this.
Does it matter? Youre my mother youre supposed to help, Emma retorted.
Lucy slipped in, sniffling, Mum, I need money for a cot. We barely have anything. Harrys earnings are tiny, and I cant quit my job yet.
Olivia felt something snap inside. All the fatigue, irritation, and hurt of the past months burst forth.
No, she said sharply, stepping forward. Emma, pack up and go home. Lucy, you wont get any money. Thats it.
Both daughters stared, stunned.
Are you serious, Mum? Emma asked, cradling a teary Charlie. You cant be serious.
Absolutely, Olivia said, folding her arms. I raised you, gave you education, bought you flats. Its time you spread your own wings. Stop dangling my life over your shoulder.
How can you say that? Lucy shouted, stamping a foot. Were your daughters! Your blood!
I can because Im saying it, Olivia replied. Youre adults. You chose your partners, you chose to have children. I warned you, I advised you, you ignored me. This is your responsibility, not mine.
Emma swapped the baby to her other arm, looking bewildered and angry.
Youre kicking your daughter out? With a baby?
Im not kicking you out. You have a house, Olivia said, eyes steady. And you have a husband, Tom. Sort out your own problems.
Youre a cold, selfish monster! Lucy yelled, kicking at the floor. All you think about is your Italy!
Yes, Im thinking about Italy, Olivia said evenly. My plans, my life. I spent twenty years living for you two. What more do you expect? To be a nanny until the grave?
The sisters exchanged a glance, grabbed their suitcases, and fled down the stairs, their voices a muffled chorus of frustration.
A week passed with no calls or messages. James told Olivia shed done the right thing. Yet a knot of anxiety lingered had she been too harsh?
Later Olivia learned that Emma had indeed sold her flat and moved in with Toms parents, ending up in a cramped twobedroom where she was expected to handle all the housework and endured constant criticism. The motherinlaw raised Charlie the way she saw fit. Toms father muttered about the lazy younger generation who couldnt do anything right.
Lucys situation came to Olivias attention through a neighbour. Shed been sobbing on a bench outside the block because Harry, terrified of responsibility, had packed his things and vanished. She was left alone, pregnant, with no money.
Olivia stood at the kitchen sink, torn between pity for her daughters and the resolve to stay out of their mess. She had given them a launchpad education, a roof, love. How they used it was no longer her problem.
The sisters kept phoning. Emma complained about the motherinlaw, cried that she couldnt take it any longer. Lucy wailed that she was utterly alone. Olivia listened, sympathised, but offered only advice, never cash. Their demands grew: Let us stay, give us money. Olivia said no each time.
Finally, James and Olivia booked three weeks in Italy a longawaited holiday finally materialising after countless postponements. Before leaving, Olivia called her daughters.
Are you serious, Mum? Emma asked, bewildered. What about us?
Youre adults. Youll manage, Olivia replied, eyeing the suitcase by the door. When you learn to solve your own problems and stop treating me as a freestanding nanny and ATM, we can talk as equals. Until then, keep growing up.
Youre abandoning us? Lucy whispered.
Im not abandoning you. You have the right to make mistakes. I have the right not to foot the bill for them, Olivia said, taking her coat. Ill always be your mother, but Im not obligated to sacrifice myself for adult childrens illthought decisions.
James waited by the car. Olivia slid into the passenger seat, inhaled a deep, liberating breath, and felt the weight of guilt lift. Shed given them education, a roof, some love. Shed offered advice, which theyd ignored. Her mission was complete. Time to think about herself.
She imagined strolling down Romes cobbled lanes, sipping espresso in a Florentine piazza, gliding through Venices canals the freedom shed earned. The future felt bright, and she finally smiled.
