In a quiet village nestled in the rolling countryside of England, where time moved slowly and centuries-old cottages held family secrets, there was an unspoken rule: a mother must devote herself entirely to her children, setting aside her own dreams. But Eleanor, a mother of two grown daughters, defied this expectation. Her decision to inherit her sister’s estate turned her life upside down and sparked outrage among those who had always seen her as nothing more than a selfless shadow.
Eleanor had married young, full of hope. She bore two daughters, Charlotte and Emily, but happiness was fleeting. Her husband, a scoundrel, vanished three years after Emily’s birth, leaving Eleanor alone to raise the girls. Struggling as a single mother was hellish. She denied herself everything, working tirelessly so her daughters might have even the smallest comforts. Yet some challenges—like owning a home—remained out of reach.
The family lived in a tiny cottage on the village outskirts, with a modest garden that fed them in lean times. The girls grew up, married, and moved to London, renting flats of their own. Eleanor stayed behind, her health failing, forcing her into early retirement. Then her elder sister, Margaret, fell gravely ill. Without hesitation, Eleanor moved to the city to care for her, settling into Margaret’s spacious flat in the heart of London. What she found there stunned her.
Margaret, unburdened by family, had lived entirely for herself. She spent her money on travel, theatre, and fine clothes, never worrying about the future. She even treated Eleanor with mild disdain: “If you won’t take care of me, Eleanor dear, I’ll hire someone else. But then you won’t get the flat.” Shocked by such selfishness, Eleanor gradually began to understand her sister’s way of thinking. When Margaret passed, leaving her the flat, something awakened in Eleanor. For the first time, she wondered: What if she lived for herself?
She stayed in the city flat, surrounded by the hum of life and dazzling lights. For the first time in decades, she felt alive. She visited galleries, strolled through parks, even enrolled in dance classes. But her happiness became a thorn in her daughters’ sides.
Charlotte and Emily had grown accustomed to their mother always putting them first. Charlotte, weighed down by a mortgage with her husband, expected Eleanor to sell the flat and share the money to ease their debt. Emily, expecting her third child while renting, dreamed of buying a small flat with the same funds. Both had made plans without consulting their mother. But Eleanor refused to sell. She chose to stay in the city and live the life she’d never dared to dream of.
“I’m tired of sacrificing myself,” she told her daughters when they demanded answers. “I want to live for me, even if it’s only now.”
The daughters were furious. They called her selfish, accused her of ingratitude. “You’ve always been there for us—how can you abandon us for your own pleasures?” Charlotte shouted. Emily, wiping tears, added, “How can you think only of yourself when my children and I are crammed into a rented place?”
Eleanor stayed silent, but her heart ached. She remembered skipping meals so her girls could wear new dresses to school, sewing late into the night for extra pennies. Now she was called a traitor. Worst of all, her daughters hadn’t lifted a finger to help with Margaret’s care. They only appeared after her death, when inheritance was at stake.
“Why have you forgotten us and your grandchildren? How dare you enjoy city life?” Charlotte spat before slamming the door.
Emily stopped calling. The daughters cut their mother out of their lives, branding her “self-absorbed.” Eleanor was alone, but she didn’t regret her choice. For the first time, she felt free. She strolled along the Thames, sipped coffee in cosy cafés, smiled at strangers. Her eyes, once dull with exhaustion, now sparkled with life.
Could Eleanor be blamed? She had given her daughters everything—only to finally choose herself. The daughters, accustomed to her sacrifices, couldn’t accept her right to happiness. Who was the selfish one—the mother who dared to live, or the daughters who demanded more? Eleanor knew the answer, but it didn’t ease the pain of losing her family. Still, she hoped one day they’d understand: even a mother deserves a heart of her own.
