Emily arrived in a different town—to see her daughter. Charlotte greeted her mother politely, as expected, yet without warmth. Emily, weary from loneliness and strained ties with her own parents, decided to stay a few nights. Over dinner, her daughter abruptly asked:
“Mum, when are you heading home?”
“I thought I might stay a couple more days,” Emily replied hesitantly.
“Truthfully, I think it’s time you left,” Charlotte said firmly.
“So now even your own mother’s in the way,” Emily muttered bitterly.
“Mum, after everything you did, I don’t want you here,” Charlotte snapped—words sharp as a blade.
“What? What exactly did I do?” Emily froze, bewildered.
But Charlotte remembered it all.
She was only seven when her parents divorced. After that, she lived with her grandparents, who became her true family. Her mother? Emily chose another life—men, flings, new love. The girl grew up burdened with guilt over the divorce, over her grandfather working into old age while her grandmother laboured at the stove. When Emily’s life ran smoothly, she might call, even turn up with a cake. But the moment trouble arose, she’d lock herself away, lash out, vanish.
There were many men, but one—Oliver—was the last straw. Slippery, self-satisfied, unbearable. When Emily tried moving him into her parents’ house, they gave her a choice: him or her family. She chose him.
“Your mother lives across town now,” her grandmother told thirteen-year-old Charlotte flatly.
“What about me?”
“You stay with us. It’ll be alright, love. We’ll manage.”
But Charlotte knew—her mother had betrayed her.
First, Emily didn’t visit at all. Then she’d drop by, take jars of preserves from the pantry, and disappear again. The girl grew up with no one to confide in—first heartbreak, first tears. Her grandmother wouldn’t understand; her grandfather stayed silent. And her mother? She was off living her new life… until Oliver left her. She returned broken, pitiful, and instead of holding her daughter, she sobbed alone in her room. Even when she found another man—Andrew—it repeated. He was dull, lazy, entitled. Moved into her parents’ home, refused to help, even avoided her grandfather, who carried the weight alone.
Charlotte grew distant. She left for university in another city, seldom visiting. Emily kept cycling through men, talking of fresh starts, making plans behind her daughter’s back. Then came the news: Charlotte inherited a flat from her father’s parents. Unexpected, decisive. She took ownership without hesitation and moved out.
Emily found out by chance—immediately declaring,
“Brilliant! I’ll move in with you. Help with the place, find a decent job in the city.”
“You didn’t ask me,” Charlotte said coolly. “I won’t live with you.”
“Ungrateful! You wouldn’t even exist without me!” Emily exploded.
But Charlotte said nothing. She remembered herself—small, lonely, abandoned. Her mother left. She didn’t need her now.
Emily sulked but kept trying. Calls, visits “just for the day,” overstays. Charlotte endured until she finally said:
“Mum, it’s time to go home. I have my own life. Help Gran and Grandad instead.”
“Am I in your way?” Emily sneered. “Of course. Needed when you were a child, now just a nuisance.”
“No, Mum. You made your choice when you left me for a man. I grew up. Thanks for teaching me to need no one.”
Emily left. Complained to her parents. They pitied her but understood their granddaughter—they’d been there when she cried at night. While her mother… distanced herself. Another man entered the picture—Michael. Respectable, seemingly decent. Emily wanted Charlotte to meet him.
“Visit,” Charlotte said.
She was polite. Spoke to Michael. Realised he was no different. Four months later, it fell apart. Emily brought up moving in again—and was refused.
“Don’t ask me again,” Charlotte said. “There’s no place for you. Not in my home. Not in my life.”
That was the end.
Charlotte lives in her flat. Renovated it with friends. Works. Builds her future—no hysterics, no grudges, no mother.
Because not everyone who gives you life deserves to stay in it.
