“You have nothing to say to me.” Emily flung out her hand, pointing to the door. “Get out!”
She stormed out of college, walking in the opposite direction of the bus stop. Mother’s Day was just days away, and she still hadn’t bought a gift for her gran. She couldn’t decide. Hurrying toward the shops, a muffled ringtone chimed from her bag. Emily stopped and fished out her phone. Gran.
“Gran, I’ll be home soon,” she said.
“Alright,” came the quiet reply.
Something in her voice felt off—guilty, almost.
“Are you okay?” Emily pressed before the call cut.
“I’m fine. Just… come home soon.” The line went dead.
Emily tucked the phone away, turned, and rushed for the bus stop, heart pounding. *Why would she say that? Something’s wrong. Why wouldn’t she just tell me?* She needed to call back—she’d go mad with worry otherwise. But just then, her bus pulled in, and she sprinted to catch it.
*Maybe her purse got stolen. Or her blood pressure’s spiked. God, why’s this bus so slow? Every bloody traffic light…* She glared out the window, knuckles white around the seat in front.
Finally, her stop. She bolted off the bus and toward the house. The flat’s light was on—broad daylight—and her stomach twisted. She ran up the path, digging through her bag for keys.
“Where *are* they?” she hissed.
The lock clicked. The door swung open. Gran stood there.
“Were you waiting behind the door?” Emily gasped.
“Come in,” Gran said, stepping aside.
Emily scanned her face. Gran was nervous—rare for her.
“What’s happened?”
Gran glanced toward the living room, then leaned in, whispering, “We’ve got visitors.”
“Who?” Emily matched her tone, dread creeping in.
Images flashed—people who could rattle unflappable Gran. Relatives? Debt collectors?
“You’ll see.” Gran nudged her. “Take your coat off.”
Emily peeled off her jacket, then froze. A stranger’s coat hung on the rack. Beneath it—white knee-high boots, the kind she’d only ever window-shopped for. She kicked off her shoes, staring.
“Gran?”
Gran only looked back, anxious, then opened the living room door. Emily smoothed her hair and stepped in first.
The room blazed with light—no usual lamp. A woman in black rose from the sofa. Sharp collarbones jutted from her dress, her dark hair half-falling from a messy bun. She looked exhausted—or ill. Or fresh from a funeral.
At the sight of Emily, she forced a smile.
Recognition burned.
*Mum.* The word flickered and died. Just a stranger now. Fourteen years vanished between them—but she knew.
The woman’s smile faltered at whatever showed on Emily’s face.
What had she expected? Embraces? Tears?
She’d been pretty once. Now, black drained her, age clinging like a shadow. *Thirty-nine*, Emily calculated. But she looked older. Life had chipped away at her.
“Hello, love,” the woman said. “You’re so grown… beautiful.” Her eyes darted to Gran. “Gran said you’ve got a boyfriend.”
Emily shot Gran a glare. *Already gossiping?* Gran looked down.
The woman stepped forward—Emily retreated.
“Why are you here?” Her voice was ice and fire.
“I’ve come back. Your birthday’s soon.”
“Two weeks. Cutting it fine, aren’t you?” Emily’s chin lifted. “Why now? Why not a single call? A letter?”
“Emily, she sent money,” Gran murmured.
“Oh, yes. A whole grand. Kept us in pasta and rice for months. Why not wire it again? Why show up?” She scoffed. “Don’t want your guilt money. Or *you*. Get out.”
The woman didn’t move.
“Every time I came home from school,” Emily went on, voice cracking, “Gran would lie, say you’d called. I played along—for *her*. Turned out, you never even rang.”
A pause. Then, softer: “I used to tell my friends you’d sent stacks of cash. That you were saving for a flat to bring me home.” A bitter laugh. “I believed it.”
“I *did* think of you—”
“Don’t.”
The woman flinched.
“After GCSEs, I learned tailoring. Sewed nights away while my mates went out. *I* helped Gran. *Me*.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t call me *love*!”
Silence rang.
“Did he ditch you?” Emily pressed. “Found someone younger? Serves you right. Now you know how it feels.”
“Emily,” Gran warned.
She silenced her with a look.
“You let her in? She forgot you too.” Emily turned back. “Look at you—dressed like mourning. Where was this sorrow when we needed you?”
“Please, let me explain—”
“No. There’s nothing left to say.” Emily pointed to the door. “Get. Out.”
Gran touched her arm. “She’s your *mother*—”
“And where was she when I was sick? You sat up crying. Alone. Other kids had their mums. *I* had you.” Her voice broke. “*Leave.*”
The woman sagged. Moved toward the door.
Emily caught the cloying stench of cheap perfume, the living room thick with it. She flung open the kitchen window, gulping air.
Gran followed. “She’s got nowhere to go—”
“I don’t care.”
“He took everything. Money, jewellery—”
“Never. I’ll never forgive her.” Emily collapsed at the table, sobbing. Gran’s hand rubbed her back.
“She’s still my daughter,” Gran whispered.
“She left *me*!”
“People make mistakes—”
“She didn’t *want* me.”
Gran sighed. “She’s on the lease. She’s staying.”
Emily’s head snapped up. “What?”
“I can’t turn her out.”
Helpless, Emily whispered, “What do we *do*?”
Gran said nothing.
——
Next day, Emily bought Gran a silk scarf. On her way back, she spotted her mother—walked right past. The woman called out—Emily didn’t slow.
But by Friday, those white boots were in the hallway again. She kicked them.
Dinner smelled of garlic. The woman sat at the table—black trousers, green jumper, ghost-pale. Gran stirred pasta.
“Why’s she here?” Emily blocked the doorway.
Gran turned off the hob. “Hear her out.”
“Too late for that.”
“Even criminals get a defence.”
Emily folded her arms. “Fine. Talk.”
Same sob story—love, recklessness, ruin.
“I’ve no money. Nowhere to go. Just till I find work—”
Emily cut in: “And if you don’t?”
The woman faltered.
“Go.” Emily walked out.
Later, Gran sat beside her on the bed.
“You don’t have to love her. But I’m old. If something happens… you’ll be alone.”
*So that’s it.* “You gave her rent money?”
“She’s my child.”
“She’ll be back.” Gran didn’t deny it.
When Dan returned from visiting his parents, Emily told him everything.
“Gran’s right,” he said. “Give her a chance—from a distance. Once I graduate, we’ll move. You’ll be free.”
Emily clung to him. “She’s a *stranger*.”
——
On her birthday, Emily tossed the unopened gift in the bin. Over time, she allowed brief visits—only when she wasn’t home.
Years later, degree in hand, daughter in arms, she finally let her mother glimpse the baby.
Not forgiveness. Just—acknowledgement.
A single step.
