**Living with Unspoken Words**
*—Mum, where are my stuffed toys?* Emily quickly scanned her room, which had transformed overnight from a cosy nest into a sterile space. *—And my Kinder toy collection on the shelf—gone too!*
*—Em, I gave them to Auntie Margaret. Her granddaughter adores them—such a sweet little thing. Auntie Marg said little Lily hasn’t let go of the bag all morning,* Mum called from the other room.
*—Are you joking? Mum, those are mine!* Emily’s voice cracked as she stormed in, tears welling up. *—You can’t just give them away!*
*—Goodness, you’re seventeen—crying over trinkets? They were collecting dust. Or are you still a child, playing with toys?* Mum huffed. *—Stop carrying on like I’ve emptied your whole room!*
*—Wouldn’t surprise me if you did next! I’ll come home to find I’ve been evicted for some random kid!* Emily snapped, grabbing her coat and heading for the door.
This always happened. Since she was fifteen, Emily had worked part-time to avoid asking Mum for extra cash. The moment she bought her first jumper and jeans with her wages, Mum had rummaged through her wardrobe and donated a bag of *”unwanted”* clothes.
*—Now that you’re earning, why hoard things? The Johnsons down the road struggle—have you seen how they live? Surely you don’t begrudge them?* Mum had scolded when Emily spent an hour searching for her favourite top.
*—Mum, you can’t just take my things! At least ask me first!*
*—I don’t owe you anything. And you’ve no right to snap at me—I bought all this with my own money!* Mum shot back.
*”Does she not get it?”* Emily fumed, staring at her half-empty wardrobe. *”How can she just hand my things to strangers?”*
The next blow came when she returned from school to find her bookshelf barren. The series she’d collected since Year 5 was gone.
*—Mum, Nan gave me those! You didn’t even pay for them! Why?* Emily sobbed.
*—You never reread them—what’s the difference? Just gathering dust. Childish books, anyway—you’re too old. They’d have ended up at the charity shop or lighting the fireplace,* Mum shrugged.
*—That’s not the point! They’re mine! Call your friend and get them back!*
*—Are you mad? What a disgrace. I’m not calling anyone. I don’t know how I raised someone so selfish—just like your father. He nitpicked over every sock, and now you’re the same.*
Mum never revealed who got the books. After that, Emily only bought essentials, refusing gifts to avoid guilt trips. She stored her remaining magazines at Nan’s and kept new purchases strictly on her shelf, warning Mum not to touch them. Mum would sulk for days. *”Pathetic, counting rags like this. Next, we’ll be buying our own groceries separately,”* she’d mutter before shutting down.
Losing her stuffed toys was the last straw. Finding them gone, Emily marched straight to Auntie Margaret’s. *”Let them think what they want—I’m not letting her give my things away,”* she thought, ready to fight the world.
*—Emily! Where are you going?* Mum shouted. *—Don’t you dare embarrass me at Margaret’s!*
But Emily was already out the door. To others, they were just toys—but to her, they meant everything.
Auntie Margaret, a family friend who’d helped Mum after the divorce, answered. *—Emily, love! What’s wrong?*
*—Hi… Nothing, well—actually…* Emily hesitated, sweat prickling her neck. Her earlier resolve had vanished. Was she being petty?
*—Come in, dear. Talk to me,* Margaret urged.
Emily sat on the hallway stool, still in her shoes. *—Auntie Marg… Mum gave you a bag of my toys this morning.*
*—Oh yes! Little Lily’s smitten. I meant to drop off a thank-you—*
*—Wait,* Emily blurted. *—I’m so ashamed to ask this… but could I have them back?*
Margaret frowned. *—But I’ve already given them to her. It’s a bit awkward now.*
*—I know how it sounds. I don’t need all of them—just two? Mum didn’t ask me. I’d have happily picked some to give away myself…* Emily’s voice broke. *—There’s a brown teddy and a knitted doll, palm-sized. They’re from Dad… before he left. They’re all I have left of him.*
*—Oh, love…* Margaret pulled her into a hug. *—Your mum said you didn’t want them!*
Emily dissolved into tears.
*—Right, come on,* Margaret said firmly, leading her to the kitchen. *—Tea first, then we’ll sort this.*
Cradling her mug, Emily stared into the tea, remembering Dad. After the divorce, Mum had barred contact, leaving only rare, cherished visits. He’d died years ago—no goodbye, just emptiness.
Margaret returned with a bundle. *—Look at this shawl. Thirty years old, my mum’s gift. My kids tease me—*she laughed, pointing at frayed edges—*but I keep mending it. Smelling the wool… it’s like she’s hugging me. I get why your things matter. Your dad was a good man. Don’t blame your mum—she loved him deeply. Maybe too much. Keep what’s precious, but don’t forget to cherish the living too.*
***
At home, Mum leaned against the dresser. Instead of scolding, she pulled Emily into a tight hug. *—I’m sorry, love… Margaret called. I never knew those toys meant so much.* She wept. *—When your dad left, I donated his things out of spite—even to old Barry downstairs, the drunk who scared the kids. Burned the rest. After the accident… I was furious he’d left us for good. Like he’d chosen to go. Giving things away eases the guilt. Forgive me.*
They talked for hours—about Dad, their past, Margaret’s shawl. The anger faded. That night, they weren’t mother and daughter, but confidantes sharing secrets.
*—I remember that shawl! Never thought a rag could hold so much memory,* Mum murmured, wiping Emily’s tears. *—Let’s donate together from now on, okay?*
Emily laughed, sniffling. *—Deal. But only if we do it properly.*
