Two years have gone by without a word from my daughter. Shes wiped me from her life, and soon Ill be turning 70
Two whole years. Not a single message. Shes cut me out completely. And before long, Ill be 70.
Everyone in our neighbourhood knows my neighbour, Margaret Whitmore. Shes 68, lives alone, and every now and then, I pop round with some scones for tea, just to be friendly. Shes lovelyelegant, always smiling, full of stories about her travels with her late husband. But she hardly ever talks about her family. Then, just before the holidays last year, when I brought over some mince pies like usual, she suddenly opened up. That night, I heard a story that still chills me to the bone.
When I walked in, Margaret wasnt herself. Normally so lively, she just sat there, staring into space. I didnt ask questionsjust made the tea, set out the biscuits, and sat quietly beside her. She was silent for ages, like she was fighting with herself. Then, out of nowhere, she said:
“Two years Not one phone call. No card, no text. I tried reaching her, but her number doesnt even work anymore. I dont even know where she lives now”
She paused then. You could see decades flashing before her eyes. Then, like a dam breaking, the words just poured out.
“We had such a happy family. David and I married young, but we waited to have kidswe wanted time for ourselves first. His job took us everywhere. We were a team, always laughing, and we adored our homea cosy three-bed right in the heart of London. He built so much of it himself. His dream house”
When our daughter, Emily, was born, David lit up. He carried her everywhere, read her bedtime stories, spent every free minute with her. Id watch them and think I was the luckiest woman alive. But ten years ago, David left us. He fought his illness for so longwe drained our savings trying to save him. And then silence. Emptiness. Like someone had torn a piece of my heart out.
After he died, Emily drifted away. She got her own flat, wanted to be independent. I didnt argueshe was grown, she had to live her life. Shed visit, wed talk, everything seemed normal. But two years ago, she came over and told me she wanted to take out a mortgage to buy her own place.
I sighed and explained I couldnt help. The money David and I had saved was nearly gonemost of it spent on his treatment. My pension barely covers bills and my own medication. Then she suggested selling the house. “We could get you a little flat outside the city, and Id use the rest for my deposit.”
I couldnt do it. It wasnt about the moneyit was the memories. Every corner of that house, David had touched. All my happiness, my whole life, was in those walls. How could I just walk away? She shouted that her dad had done all this for her, that the house would be hers one day anyway, that I was being selfish. I tried to tell her I just hoped shed come back someday and remember us But she wouldnt listen.
That day, she slammed the door. And since then? Nothing. No calls, no visitsnot even at Christmas. Later, a mutual friend told me shed gotten her mortgage after all and was working herself raggedtwo jobs, no breaks. No family, no kids. Even her friend said she hadnt seen her in six months.
And me? I wait. Every day, I stare at the phone, willing it to ring. But it never does. I cant even call hershes changed her number. She must think I betrayed her that day. But soon, Ill be 70. I dont know how much time Ive got left in this house, how many more evenings Ill spend at the window hoping. And I still dont understand how I hurt her so badly
