“You have no excuse for what you’ve done.” Emily’s hand shot up, pointing her mother toward the door. “Go!”
She stormed out of the college and walked the opposite way from the bus stop. With Mother’s Day just days away, she still hadn’t bought her nan a present. She couldn’t decide. As she hurried toward the shops, a muffled ringtone chimed from her bag. She stopped, fished out her phone. Nan’s name flashed on the screen.
“Nan, I’ll be home soon,” Emily said.
“Alright,” came the quiet reply.
Something in her nan’s voice felt off—guilty, hesitant.
“Are you okay?” Emily pressed, before the call could drop.
“I’m fine. Just… hurry home, love.”
The line went dead.
Emily shoved the phone back in her bag, turned on her heel, and marched toward the bus stop, chewing over her nan’s strange tone. *Something’s wrong. Why wouldn’t she just say what it was?* She nearly dialled back, desperate for answers—but then her bus lumbered into view. She broke into a sprint.
*Maybe her purse was stolen at the shops and she’s upset? Or her blood pressure’s spiked… That’s it, isn’t it? Ugh, why is this bus crawling? I could’ve run faster!*
The familiar stop finally arrived. She leapt off, hurrying home. The flat’s windows were lit despite the lingering daylight. Her pulse quickened. She rushed into the building, fumbling for her keys.
“Where *are* they?” she hissed.
Then—a click. The door swung open. Her nan stood there, tense.
“Were you waiting for me?” Emily asked, startled.
“Come in,” her nan said, stepping aside.
Emily’s eyes narrowed. Her nan was nervous—something she *never* was.
“What’s wrong, Nan?”
Her nan glanced toward the living room, then leaned in, whispering, “We’ve got company.”
Emily’s stomach twisted. “Who?”
The dread in her nan’s voice was contagious. Images flickered in Emily’s mind—every relative, every ghost from the past who could rattle her unshakable nan like this.
“You’ll see. Take your coat off,” her nan urged.
Emily shrugged off her jacket, then froze. A stranger’s wool coat hung on the rack. Beneath it, a pair of pristine white boots. She stared. *I’d kill for boots like that.*
She shot her nan a questioning look, but the older woman only gave a tight shake of her head and nudged the living room door open. Emily smoothed her hair, then stepped inside.
The room was brighter than usual—overhead lights instead of the warm glow of the table lamp. Movement caught her eye. A woman in a black dress rose from the sofa. Her collarbones jutted sharply above the neckline. Dark hair, messy. Tired eyes. She looked exhausted—or ill. Or like she’d just left a funeral.
Her smile was strained.
Then recognition hit.
*Mum.*
The word flashed and vanished. Fourteen years had passed, but Emily knew her. A stranger wearing her mother’s face.
Whatever showed in Emily’s eyes made the woman’s smile crumble. *What did she expect? A hug?*
She’d been pretty once. Now, black washed her out, aging her. Thirty-nine, if Emily did the maths. She looked older. Life had been cruel.
“Hello, love,” the woman said. “Look at you—all grown up. Nan says you’ve got a boyfriend?”
Emily shot her nan a glare. *Already gossiping about me?* Her nan looked away.
The woman stepped forward. Emily stepped back.
“Why are you here?” Emily’s voice was ice.
“I came back. Your birthday’s soon.” A frail attempt at a smile.
“Two weeks. Bit late to remember, isn’t it? Where were you the rest of the time?” Emily’s words were knives.
“Emily, she sent money,” her nan interjected softly.
“Oh, right. A whole *hundred quid.* Kept us in pasta and rice for months. Why come now? Could’ve just transferred it. Or is there no money this time? Thought you’d grace us with your *presence* instead?” She scoffed.
“I don’t want your money. Or *you*. Don’t come to my birthday. You’ve seen me. Now *leave*.”
Her mother didn’t move.
“When I was little, Nan would lie. Say you’d called, sent your love, promised to visit. I *waited.* But you never rang back. I pretended to believe her—for *her* sake. We played this *game* for *years.*”
Her voice cracked. “I told my friends my mum was buying us a flat, that you’d come for me. I *believed* it. Because the truth—that you didn’t *care*—was too cruel.”
“I *did* care—”
“After GCSEs, I went to college so I could sew, help Nan. By sixteen, I was making dresses for her friends. They paid me scraps, but I was *proud.* While other girls went out, I sat at that damn machine—”
“I’m sorry,” her mother whispered.
“Don’t *call* me that!” Emily’s shout rang off the walls.
Her mother flinched.
“Did your bloke dump you? Find someone younger? *Good.* Now you know how it feels.”
“Emily!” Her nan looked horrified.
Emily rounded on her. “Why’d you let her in? She abandoned *both* of us!” She turned back to her mother. “You never cared how we lived. But oh—*a hundred quid a year.* Really broke the bank, didn’t it?”
“Let me explain—”
“No. It’s too late for excuses.” Emily pointed at the door. “*Go.*”
“Emily, she’s your *mother*—”
“Where was she when I was sick? *You* sat up with me. *You* brought soup to the hospital. Other kids had their mums kissing them goodnight—” Her voice shattered. She clenched her fists. “*Leave!*”
Her mother’s shoulders slumped. She shuffled past. The cloying scent of cheap perfume clung to her. Emily gagged, yanked the kitchen window open, and gulped the crisp air.
Her nan followed, sighing. “Close that, you’ll catch cold.”
Emily slammed it shut. “Is she gone?”
“Yes. She… her boyfriend took everything. Kicked her out. She’s got nowhere to go.”
“I don’t *care*! I never want to see her again!” Emily collapsed into a chair, sobbing.
Her nan stroked her back. “I know, love. But she’s my daughter. Foolish, but still my blood.”
“Then *you* forgive her. I *won’t*.”
The next day, Emily bought her nan a silk scarf. On the walk home, she spotted her mother lingering near the flat. She walked right past like she hadn’t seen her.
But by Friday, those white boots were back in the hallway. Emily kicked them.
Her mother sat at the kitchen table, gaunt in black trousers and a green jumper. Her nan stirred pasta on the stove.
“Why’s she here?” Emily demanded.
“Just hear her out,” her nan pleaded.
Emily folded her arms. “Fine. Talk.”
The story was the same—love, regret, desperation.
“I’ve got nothing. Nowhere to go. Just let me stay until I find work,” her mother finished.
“And if you *don’t*? If I *hate* seeing you?”
Her mother faltered. Her nan stayed silent.
“Go,” Emily said, and walked out.
Later, her nan sat beside her. “I’m not asking you to love her. But I’m old, love. If something happens to me… you’ll be alone. Give her a *chance.*”
Emily kept her distance. She never forgave. Never tried.
But years later, when her own daughter was born, she let her mother glimpse the baby. Just once.
A tiny crack in the wall. Maybe, one day, it would widen. But not today.
Not yet.