**Diary Entry**
I should’ve seen it coming. Mum always has a way of bringing up big purchases at the worst possible moment.
*”So, love, have you thought about it? Saw a gorgeous white Vauxhall yesterday—leather seats, absolutely stunning. Only £28,000,”* Mum said, forcing lightness into her voice, but I knew that tone. It was her way of nudging.
*”Mum…”* I shut my laptop with a sigh. *”We’ve talked about this. We’ve got the mortgage, Lily’s always ill—where am I supposed to pull £28,000 from? Find something more sensible.”*
Giggles spilled from the bedroom. Dan was wrestling Lily into her socks, while she wriggled like an eel. Eight-forty. Ten minutes until I had to leave for work. And here Mum was, bringing up cars again.
*”Just take out a loan,”* she said coolly, reaching for a biscuit. *”You’re young, stable jobs—it’s not like I’m asking for a funeral wreath. This is practical.”*
I spun around, fists tightening. *”With what money, Mum? Thin air? Are you even listening? We’ve already got the mortgage!”*
She huffed, crossed her arms, and looked away. *”Right. Dan’s parents have a car, but I’m just left out, as usual.”*
That was it. Something in me snapped.
*”Dan’s parents have a car because they saved for it. Sold their old one, put money aside—didn’t demand it from anyone. You just got your licence and already want a bloody Vauxhall?”*
Mum’s face flushed. *”And why do you think I only just got my licence?! Because I raised you—every penny went on you, your savings! Now I finally have a chance, and you shut me down.”*
I glanced at Dan. He was helping Lily into her shoes, looking tired and awkward. He never interfered, hoping we’d sort it out ourselves, but his tight lips said it all—he’d had enough.
*”Mum, you used to say you were scared to drive. Listen, we’re not monsters. But we don’t have a platinum card,”* I said, weariness replacing anger. *”We already help with everything—bills, medicine, gifts…”*
Dramatically, Mum clutched her chest like she’d just remembered her high blood pressure. *”Oh, I see how it is. Now you’ll throw every quid in my face?”*
I exhaled sharply, mouth dry, palms damp. This wasn’t our first car row, but today was different. Lack of sleep, Lily’s constant colds, work, unpaid bills—everything boiled over.
Then Mum delivered the final blow.
*”What if I looked after Lily when she’s ill? You could work more, earn more. Then we could manage the loan.”*
I froze. *”Wait—so you’ll only babysit if we buy you a car? Your health miraculously improves at the sight of a Vauxhall?”*
*”Don’t twist my words,”* she muttered. *”I’m trying to compromise.”*
*”Compromise means both sides give. You’re just bartering.”*
Mum turned sharply and marched for the door. *”Fine. I see where I stand. Don’t call me when you need a grandma again.”*
I didn’t chase her. Just sat by the window, eyes closed, swallowing the sting.
Dan’s hand settled on my shoulder. *”You said the right thing,”* he murmured. *”Shame it went like this.”*
The flat fell into uneasy silence. Even Lily stopped fussing, staring at the door. *”Is Grandma gone forever? Aren’t we seeing her anymore?”*
I didn’t know. My chest burned with exhaustion, anger, and childish hurt. We’d helped Mum endlessly—just because. Now she refused to be a grandmother unless we bought her a car.
Two months passed. Life settled, sort of. Lily went to nursery, I worked my shifts, Dan took extra jobs and was barely home. No one mentioned Mum aloud, but her presence lingered—in the stuffed toys she’d brought Lily, the knitted socks, the family pie recipe.
And Lily missed her. Quietly at first, then with questions.
*”Mum, did Grandma go away?”*
*”No, she’s just… busy.”*
*”She always called when I coughed. Now she doesn’t. Did she forget me?”*
I forced smiles, mumbled about repairs or broken phones, but my voice lacked conviction. Lily’s anxiety grew.
One evening, as I washed dishes, Lily hesitated in the doorway. *”Can I call Grandma?”*
I nodded, bracing myself. Maybe this time, she’d answer. Maybe seeing Lily’s number would soften her.
The phone rang out. Lily tried again. And again. After the fourth attempt, she burst into quiet, confused tears—the kind kids cry when they don’t understand why they’ve been cut off.
I hugged her tight, regretting the call instantly. *”Sweetheart, maybe she didn’t hear—”*
*”She’s not sleeping,”* Lily whispered. *”She doesn’t love me anymore. Because we didn’t buy her the car. Grandma’s cross…”*
The words stabbed. I held her closer, murmuring empty reassurances. But inside, I seethed. Anger at a child? Over a Vauxhall? That was low.
Later, after Lily slept, I sat with cheap wine. My neighbour, Rachel, dropped by. *”You look like you’ve lost a fiver and found a penny. What’s up?”*
*”Mum again. Lily tried calling her today. She didn’t pick up.”*
Rachel sighed—she and her mum weren’t close either. *”Sometimes, with older people, it’s not wisdom that comes—it’s resentment. Like the world owes them.”*
I stayed quiet.
*”But look at it another way. She’s lonely. No husband, no friends. You were her whole world. Then Lily. Now she’s alone—just the telly and thoughts of ‘betrayal.’ Maybe reach out first?”*
*”I get it. But I can’t forgive. Not yet. Maybe never. Lily reached out first—and what?”*
*”You don’t have to. Just… don’t expect her to bend. She’s too proud.”*
After Rachel left, nothing changed—except inside me, where anger, pity, and understanding tangled. I still refused to grovel.
Another month passed. One chilly Saturday, I took Lily to the nearly empty playground. She ran to the slide while I sat, sun squinting my eyes. Lily’s unasked questions echoed in my head: *Does Grandma love us? What if she’s poorly?*
Then—sharp heels on pavement, a familiar voice.
*”No, I don’t want your mobile deal. I’ve got a basic phone, no internet.”*
My chest tightened.
Mum strode past the flats in her signature fur-trimmed leather jacket—the one she wore everywhere. Lips pursed, face stern. Then she slowed. Noticed Lily.
Lily, mid-climb, whirled around. Froze. Then leaped down and sprinted, half-sobbing. *”Grandma!”*
Mum hesitated, eyes widening. But when Lily wrapped both arms around her waist, clinging, she surrendered, pulling her close.
I stood, heart hammering, and walked over. *”Hi, Mum.”*
*”Hello,”* she said, still holding Lily but unsmiling. *”She’s taller. Hair’s longer.”*
*”Yes. Unlike some grudges.”*
Mum sighed, watching Lily but speaking to me. *”Thought you were still angry.”*
*”I am. But Lily isn’t. Why didn’t you call her?”*
*”Didn’t want to intrude. If I’m not wanted—”*
*”Mum,”* I cut in, keeping my voice level for Lily’s sake. *”We’re not cutting you out. But we’re people, not cash machines. Be with us—no strings.”*
She nodded, forehead smoothing slightly. *”I missed her. You. Even Dan.”*
*”I know,”* I said, smiling faintly. *”We missed you too. Even if it took us a while to admit it.”*
We stood in silence, wind tugging at our hair. Lily eventually wriggled free, scampering back to the slide—though she kept glancing over, as if fearing Mum might vanish again.
Weeks later, Mum stopped mentioning the car. She just came over—to play, to listen to Lily’s chatter about cartoons.
One evening, as I cooked, Mum and Lily flour-bombed the kitchen making dumplings.
Dan leaned in the doorway, smirking. *”Well, look at this. Peace, love, and harmony. Did you drive here in yourShe laughed, brushing flour from her hands, and for the first time in months, it felt like we were truly a family again.