My name is Lily, I’m 17, and I’m from London. I’ve kept my feelings inside for a long time, but now I’ve decided to share my story. Perhaps someone might see themselves in it, or reconsider their actions. Maybe at least one mother will think twice before betraying her own child like mine did.
My parents split up when I was ten. Before that, I’d be lying if I said we were a happy family — the arguments, blame, and coldness between them were tangible, even when I couldn’t fully grasp it all. But after the divorce, things only worsened. Mum and Dad seemed to compete over who needed me more — not out of love, but out of obligation. I was shuffled between flats like a suitcase without a handle. Dad’s place was cramped but calm, while Mum’s was roomier, yet each year it became harder to breathe under the strain.
Everything fell apart when Mum met a new man named Chris. He was around thirty, nearly a decade younger than Mum, and immediately acted like he owned the place, treating me like an inconvenience. At first, he smiled politely and pretended to care about how I was doing. But the facade quickly slipped away. He didn’t like me living with Mum or that she spent money on me. He had no qualms about saying aloud that my dad was irresponsible, that I was a burden, and that it was high time I “stood on my own two feet.”
He manipulated Mum, drained her finances, and convinced her that she didn’t need a teenage daughter, but rather freedom and self-care. And Mum… Mum listened to him. She stopped noticing my late-night tears, how I quietly gathered my books in the kitchen to avoid being seen, or how I locked myself in the bathroom for hours just to sit in silence.
The final straw was the night I heard them arguing again. The yelling was so intense the windows rattled. I ran out of my room to stand between them, to protect Mum — afraid he might hit her. But things took a different turn. He looked at me with such fury that my heart clenched. I shouted, “Stop it! Don’t you dare yell at her!” — and was immediately struck. A real, adult, powerful blow. He hit me in the face so hard I fell, banging against the corner of the cupboard. Everything blurred. I only remember Mum screaming and then… silence.
I thought that surely he would leave now. That Mum would throw him out, hold me close, call a doctor, tell me she loved me. I waited for that. I searched her eyes for salvation. But she only whispered, “You’ve ruined it all.” An hour later, she said I needed to move in with Dad.
I packed in silence. It felt like my heart had been torn out. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I simply left, realizing I no longer had a home.
Now I live with Dad. He tries his best, but we don’t have the closeness I always sought with Mum. I no longer hope she’ll call, apologize, come by… Though deep down, I’m still a little girl waiting for Mum to open the door and say, “I’m sorry, darling.” But that won’t happen. She chose him. She picked the man who hit her child.
I don’t wish her ill. But I know he’ll leave her one day. He’ll find someone younger, prettier, more agreeable. He’ll leave her alone. And maybe then, she’ll remember me. But I won’t be the one to forgive everything anymore. Because a mother’s betrayal is a wound that never heals.
I say this to all parents: don’t have children if you’re not ready to be there, if you can’t put them above your romantic dramas. We, the children, aren’t to blame for who you love. We didn’t ask to be born. But if you chose to bring us into this world — don’t betray us.
Mum, if you ever read this… know that I survived. I’ve picked myself up. I’m strong. But I’ll never come to you in tears again, like I used to. You’re no longer my mum. You’re just a woman who once gave birth to me.
