A Life of Unspoken Words
“Mum, where are my stuffed toys?” Emily quickly scanned her room, which had gone from cosy to clinical overnight. “And where are my Kinder egg toys from the shelf? They’re gone too!”
“Nikki, I gave them to Auntie Val. Her little granddaughter, Poppy, is just adorable. Val said she’s been glued to that bag of toys all morning,” Mum called from the other room.
“What? Is this a joke? Mum, those are my things! My toys!” Emily’s voice cracked as she stormed in, tears welling up.
“Good grief, you’re seventeen and crying over trinkets! Auntie Val’s got a child who’ll actually play with them. Yours were just gathering dust. Or are you planning to play with teddy bears at your age? Stop making a scene—it’s not like I gave your whole room away!”
“Wouldn’t surprise me if you did next time! I’ll come back to find some random niece or your friend’s daughter has moved in!” Emily snapped, grabbing her coat and rushing for the door.
It was always like this. Since she was fifteen, Emily had worked part-time to avoid asking Mum for extra money for clothes or makeup. And the moment she’d bought her first jumper and jeans with her wages, Mum had immediately decluttered her wardrobe, dumping a whole bag of “unwanted” things.
“Now you’re earning, and Mrs. Briggs on the third floor has a daughter growing out of everything. You’ve seen how tight things are for them. Are you really that selfish?” Mum had scolded when Emily spent an hour hunting for her favourite T-shirt.
“Mum, you can’t just do this! They’re my things! You should’ve at least asked!”
“I don’t owe you anything. But you, ungrateful girl, have no right to mouth off! I bought all that with my own money,” Mum shot back.
*Does she not get it?* Emily seethed, staring at her half-empty wardrobe. *How can she just hand my stuff to strangers?*
Next, her bookshelf was stripped bare. The series she’d collected since Year 4—gone.
“Mum, Nan gave me those! Not you! Why would you do this?” Emily demanded, tears streaming.
“You weren’t reading them anyway. Just collecting dust. And they’re kids’ books—you’re too old for them. They’d have ended up at the charity shop or lighting the fireplace,” Mum said dismissively.
“It doesn’t matter if I read them or not! They’re mine! Call your friend and get them back!”
“Don’t be ridiculous! What an embarrassment. I’m not calling anyone. God knows how I raised someone so petty. Just like your father—counting every sock. You’re exactly the same.”
Mum never admitted who got the books. After that, Emily only bought essentials, refusing gifts to avoid the guilt trips. She stored surviving magazines and books at Nan’s, stashing new purchases on her own shelf with strict warnings: *Don’t touch.* Mum would sulk for days. “Look at us, squabbling over clothes. Next, we’ll be buying our own groceries!”
The final straw was her missing toys. Finding them gone—”donated” to Auntie Val—Emily snapped. She knew where Val lived. Shame be damned, she marched over. *Let them think what they want. I’m not letting her give my things away.*
“Nikki! Where are you going?” Mum shouted. “Don’t you dare embarrass me in front of Val!”
But Emily was already gone. To others, they were just toys. To her, they meant everything.
She knocked. Val, a kindly woman in her sixties, answered. She’d been family friends for years—helped Mum get a job after the divorce, even babysat little Nikki.
“Emily! Are you alright?” Val asked, concerned.
“Hi. No—well, not really.” Emily hesitated, sweating with shame. Her earlier resolve crumbled. Was she being selfish?
“Come in, love. Tell me properly.” Val ushered her inside.
Emily perched on the hallway stool, still in her shoes.
“Auntie Val… Mum gave you a bag of my toys this morning.”
“Oh yes! Little Poppy adores them. I meant to drop off something to say thanks, but since you’re here…” Val turned to fetch it.
“Wait, please,” Emily blurted. “I’m so embarrassed, but… I need them back.”
Val frowned. “But I’ve already given them to Poppy. It’s a bit awkward now.”
“I know how this looks. And I’m mortified. I don’t need all of them—just two. Mum didn’t ask. If she had, I’d have picked some out myself. But… there was an old brown bear and a knitted doll, palm-sized. They’re not just toys. Dad gave them to me before… before he left. They’re all I have left of him.” Emily broke down.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Val whispered, pulling her close. “Your mum said you didn’t want them. I had no idea.”
Tears fell unchecked.
“Come on.” Val helped her up. “Let’s have tea and sort this out.”
Emily clutched the steaming mug, staring into the brew. She remembered Dad. Mum had barred contact after the divorce, but those rare visits lit up her world. She’d always felt a bond with him—only realising how strong when his last traces were given away.
Then he’d died years ago, leaving nothing but emptiness. No goodbye.
Val returned with a bundle.
“Nikki, look. This shawl’s over thirty years old. My mum’s gift. My kids laugh—say I should bin it. But look.” She pointed at the frayed edges. “I keep darning it. They’re ashamed, but I don’t care. It’s memories. Wearing it, I feel her hug me.”
Tears welled in Val’s eyes.
“I understand what your things mean. I met your dad—good man. Don’t blame your mum. She loved him fiercely. Maybe if not for that crash… But she lives with words unsaid. Giving things away eases her guilt. I’ll bring your toys tomorrow. Let my kids judge. I get it. Fight for what matters—but don’t forget to cherish those still here.” She pressed the shawl to her face, inhaling the wool’s scent.
***
Emily found Mum leaning on the dresser. Bracing for a scolding, she froze as Mum pulled her into a crushing hug.
“I’m sorry, love,” Mum whispered. “Val called… I never knew those toys meant so much.”
They cried together.
“When your dad left, I threw out his things. Gave some to that drunkard, Terry, down the road—spite, really. Burnt the rest. When he died in that crash, I hated him more. Like he’d abandoned us twice. I live with so much unsaid. Giving things away… it dulls the guilt. Forgive me.”
They talked for hours—about Dad, their past. Emily told her about Val’s shawl. The anger melted. That night, they weren’t mother and daughter, but confidantes sharing secrets.
“I remember that shawl! Never thought a rag could hold someone’s whole life,” Mum murmured, wiping Emily’s tears. “Forgive me.”
“If giving helps, let’s sort through old things together—but only to people who need them,” Emily said, laughing through sniffles. “Deal?”
“Deal.”
