“I can live in your house for one simple reason—I gave birth to you!” No, I don’t want her staying in my home.
I was only eleven when my mother decided to remarry. Her new husband didn’t want me around, so Mum took me to my grandmother’s. She never lifted a finger to help us—her husband was all that mattered. Gran and I scraped by on her pension alone. Gran never liked my mother, but thank God she didn’t turn me away. At least I took after my father.
Money was tight, but we managed. Gran became my mother and father both. I asked her advice, whispered my secrets, and she was the first to know about my crushes, my teenage meltdowns. All those years, she was my rock.
When I started university, Gran passed away. I had no other family. The house was mine. Once the paperwork was settled, my mother showed up. I hadn’t seen her in years.
She tried to talk me into swapping places—they had a tiny two-bed flat, while I had a proper house. Too much space for just me, she said. When I refused, she snapped:
“You ungrateful girl! I’m the one who brought you into this world!”
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I couldn’t stand to hear it. “Gran raised me. Where were you all that time? You tossed me aside like a stray the second you remarried. You don’t owe me anything.”
Five more years passed. I married, had a child. We lived in my house, my little family—happy, ordinary. My son was healthy, my husband and I worked steady jobs. Then my mother reappeared. I wasn’t letting her back into my life. Who does that? Abandons a child, then waltzes in like nothing happened?
My son peered out. “Mum, who’s that?”
My mother seized her chance. “I’m your grandmother! Can I come in? Your mum won’t let me.”
“I’ve never seen you before. Mum, is she telling the truth? Why didn’t I know about her?”
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“Love, go to your room. We’ll talk later.” I turned to my mother. “Why are you here? I don’t want to see you. I don’t trust you.”
She sank onto the step, crying. Said she’d been swindled—sold her flat to buy a new one, but her husband took the money and vanished. Now she had nowhere to go.
“Let me stay. You’re my only child. You can’t leave me on the streets. You’re a good person. I gave birth to you!”
I let her sleep on the sofa—couldn’t leave her out in the cold. Rang my aunt, Mum’s cousin, who lived in the countryside. Told her my husband would drive Mum there tomorrow. There’s always work in the villages. She could stay there. Not in my home. Gran was the one who raised me.
Before she left, my mother spat at me: “Why are you so cruel? I gave birth to you!”
Funny, that. Why *was* I so cruel?
