Emma flung her hand out, pointing toward the door. “You’ve got nothing to say to me. Just go!”
She stormed out of college and headed in the opposite direction of the bus stop. International Women’s Day was just three days away, and she still hadn’t bought her nan a present. She’d been dithering about it for ages. Rushing toward the shops, a muffled ringtone buzzed from her bag. Emma stopped and fished out her phone. Nan calling.
“Nan, I’ll be home soon,” she said.
“Alright,” Nan replied.
Something felt off. Her voice sounded strange—guilty, almost.
“Are you okay?” Emma pressed before Nan could hang up.
“I’m fine. Just… hurry back.” The line went dead.
Emma shoved her phone into her bag, turned on her heel, and made for the bus stop, puzzling over why Nan sounded so urgent. *Something’s definitely up. Why didn’t she just say it over the phone? I should call back before my nerves get the better of me…* But just then, she spotted her bus pulling up and broke into a jog before it could leave without her.
*Maybe she got her purse nicked at the shops and is gutted? Or her blood pressure’s gone wonky? Sounds like it. Blimey, this bus is crawling. I could’ve run faster…*
Finally, her stop. She hopped off and bolted toward the house. Entering the courtyard, she glanced up at the flat’s windows. Still light out, but the living room lamp was on. A knot of worry tightened in her chest as she sprinted for the front door. Fumbling in her handbag for the keys, she groaned.
“Where the hell are they?!”
Just then, the lock clicked. The door swung open, and there stood Nan.
“Were you waiting behind the door for me?” Emma frowned.
“Come in,” Nan said shortly, stepping aside.
Emma scanned Nan’s face the moment she stepped inside. The nervous energy rolling off her was impossible to miss.
“What’s happened?”
Nan glanced toward the half-open living room door, then leaned in, whispering, “We’ve got company.”
“Who?” Emma matched her hushed tone.
Nan’s tension was contagious. Visions and names of people who could unsettle her usually unflappable nan flashed through Emma’s mind.
“You’ll see. Get your coat off,” Nan urged.
Emma’s fingers fumbled with her jacket. As she hung it up, she spotted a stranger’s wool coat on the rack—beneath it, pristine white ankle boots. Not the sort she’d ever afford. Her stomach lurched.
She shot Nan a questioning look, but Nan only wrung her hands before nudging the door open. Emma smoothed her hair and stepped inside. The usual cosy lamp was swapped for the full glare of the overhead light. Movement flickered in the corner of her eye—a woman rising from the sofa.
Black dress, sharp collarbones jutting out. Dark hair in a messy updo, strands escaping like she’d given up halfway. Tired eyes. The woman looked wrecked—ill, or fresh from a funeral.
A stiff smile stretched across her face as she spotted Emma. Then, like a jolt—recognition. *Mum.* The word flickered in her mind then vanished. No other name fit. Fourteen years gone, but she still knew her.
The woman’s smile faltered at whatever showed on Emma’s face. What had she expected? A tearful reunion?
She’d been pretty once, but now she just looked worn. Black did her no favours—added years. How old? Nan said she’d had Emma at nineteen. So thirty-nine now. But she looked older. Life hadn’t been kind.
“Hello, love,” the woman said. “Look at you—all grown up. Gorgeous. Nan said you’ve got a boyfriend.”
Emma shot Nan a glare. *Telling her about me already?* Nan ducked her head. The woman stepped forward—Emma stepped back. The woman froze, lost. And Emma? She wanted to bolt. Too much hurt, too many old wounds ripped open.
“Why are you here?” Emma’s voice was sharp, chin jutting. Anger, hate, grief all tangled together.
“I came back. Your birthday’s soon,” her mum tried again, forcing another smile—until Emma’s icy stare snuffed it out.
*Two weeks away. Bit late to remember, isn’t it?* “Could’ve just sent money like always,” Emma snapped. “Didn’t need to show up in person. Feels a bit rich, doesn’t it?”
A scoff escaped her, but her glare stayed locked on.
“Emma, she *did* send money,” Nan cut in gently.
“Oh yeah, a whole grand! Kept us in pasta and porridge for months. So generous.” Emma’s laugh was brittle. “Didn’t need it then, don’t need it now. Don’t need *you* either. You can toddle right back where you came from.”
But her mum didn’t move.
“Remember when I’d come home from school, and Nan would gush about how you’d called? Said you sent your love, promised you’d visit soon. I was daft enough to believe it. Then I figured it out—Nan was lying to keep me hoping. So I played along, pretending I still believed, just to spare *her* the heartache. What a pair we were.”
Her voice cracked. “I told my friends you called every week, sent piles of cash for presents. Even convinced *myself* you’d come back one day. Easier than facing the truth—that you just ditched me and never looked back.”
“I *did* think about you—”
Emma talked over her. “After GCSEs, I went to college to learn sewing. Started making dresses for Nan’s mates within a year. Paid peanuts, but I was chuffed. While other girls were out clubbing, I was hunched over a sewing machine till midnight.”
“Please, love, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t *call* me that!” Emma’s shriek could’ve shattered glass.
“Did your bloke dump you? Found someone younger?” Emma’s smirk was vicious. “Serves you right. Now you know how it feels.”
“Emma,” Nan chided.
One look silenced her.
“You let her in? After she *left* us both? That outfit’s a laugh,” Emma sneered. “World’s biggest martyr. Bet you never lost sleep over how we scraped by. Oh wait—you *did* send that grand a year. Real sacrifice, that.”
“Just listen—”
“Done listening. No excuses left.” Emma jabbed a finger toward the door. “*Go.*”
Nan wrung her hands. “She’s still your mum—”
“Where was *Mum* when I was sick? You sat up all night crying because you couldn’t fix me. Who brought soup to the hospital? Not her. Other kids got kisses from their mums—” Emma’s voice broke. She swallowed hard. “*Leave.*”
Her mum’s shoulders sagged. She shuffled toward the hall, and Emma sidestepped as she passed. A cloying, sickly-sweet perfume hit her—why hadn’t she noticed it before? She held her breath, but the stench already clung to the air.
Nan followed her, but Emma bolted to the kitchen, wrenching the window open. She gulped in cold air, drowning in the noise of the street until her pulse steadied.
“Shut that, you’ll catch your death,” Nan murmured behind her.
Emma eased it closed. “She gone?”
“Yes. I should’ve warned you. She just turned up like a bad penny. Hungry?”
“Not a chance.”
“Her bloke cleaned her out—took the lot, then kicked her to the curb. Nowhere else to go.”
“Good. Don’t care. Never forgiving her.” Emma collapsed onto a chair, face buried in her hands, sobbing.
Nan rubbed her back. “I’m not making excuses. But she’s still my girl. I can’t turn her away.”
Emma cried harder. “She *left* us!”
“People make mistakes, love. She was besotted—lost her head.”
“She didn’t want me. I was in the way.”
Nan sighed. “True. But she’s on the lease. Can’t just boot her out.”
Emma wiped her eyes. “So what now? You *believe* her?”
“Dunno. But I’ve got to try. For my sake, if not yours.”
Emma chucked the unopened birthday gift her mum gave her straight in the bin. Over time, she grudgingly tolerated her mum’s visits—so long as they were rare and never when Nate was home.
Forgiveness never came. But years later, holding her newborn daughter, something shifted. She even let her mum hold the baby—once.
Maybe, just maybe, that was the start of something. A crack in the wall. Not love, not yet. ButAnd as she watched her mother cradling the baby with trembling hands, Emma wondered if some wounds—no matter how deep—could finally, slowly, begin to mend.
