For two years now, I haven’t heard a word from my daughter. Emily posts photos on social media, chats with friends, and lives her life—just not with me in it. She’s a grown woman, with a two-year-old daughter and a husband, living in their own flat in Manchester. I’ve always been strict—with myself and everyone else. Emily was no exception.
Being a parent means having standards. I wanted her to do well in school, help around the house, and take care of herself. Even now, with her own family, I can’t ignore her slip-ups. Visiting her, I’d catch the mess—clothes strewn about, dishes piled up, cupboards in chaos. “How can you live like this?” I’d ask, straightening jumper folds on the shelf. Emily would sigh like a moody teen and start tidying—just to shut me up.
Her daughter’s room is a tip, plates linger in the sink for days, and her husband, in my opinion, is about as useful as a chocolate teapot. Who else but a mother would tell her the truth? But a year ago, everything changed. Emily stopped answering my calls. The day before, I’d mentioned how my niece’s little girl could already read at three. Emily frowned and asked why I kept comparing her child to others.
Well, how could I not, when the difference is plain as day? That was our last conversation. Later, I found out she’d changed the locks and didn’t want to see me. I thought it was a passing phase—she’d come round eventually and apologise. But time rolled on, and she kept silent.
In August, it was my birthday. I waited, hoping for even a text, but Emily didn’t so much as remember her own mother. The next day, frustration got the better of me, and I rang her from a friend’s number. “If you don’t want to speak to me,” I said, “then clear out of my flat!”
Here’s the rub—six years ago, before her wedding, I signed the flat over to Emily. Her husband earned peanuts, and I wanted to help them out. But now she’s cut me out of her life? Fine. Let her find somewhere else to live! Emily’s reply was icy—the paperwork’s done, the flat’s legally hers, and no one’s kicking her out.
Am I wrong? If she’s so independent, let her prove it by moving out! I gave her everything, and all I got in return was silence. My heart aches, but forgiveness? That’s a bridge too far.
