**Diary Entry**
*12th September*
*”You wanted himyou deal with him.”*
Thats what Oliver said this morning when I asked him to take his little brother, Alfie, to his first day at school.
*”Mum, you had him for yourselves, not for me. You sort it out. I need to sleepuni starts next week.”*
I hadnt expected such pushback. *”Oliver, Im not asking much. Just this once. Its his first dayall the other kids will have their parents there…”*
*”Exactly,”* he cut in. *”Parents. Where were mine at my assemblies? Always with the little one. Let him go alonehe wont break.”*
I faltered. *”Not always… Only a couple of times. It wasnt intentional…”*
*”Well, now its his turn to manage alone,”* Oliver said flatly, sipping his tea.
I was stunned. We provide for himclothes, food, pocket moneyyet he refuses to lift a finger for the family.
*”Look,”* I said, frowning. *”You live in this house. Families help each other. Your dad and I do everythingcooking, cleaning, even your laundry. The least you could do is pitch in.”*
*”I never asked you to clean my room. And I dont need your money. Im eighteennot a child, not a babysitter. My opinion should count for something.”*
With that, he grabbed his mug and left. I sat there, heavy-hearted, realising my son had become selfish.
*When did this happen?*
My first marriage was a disaster. Olivers father never grew upmore interested in lounging about, gaming, scrolling on his phone. He worked sporadically, earning pennies. Eventually, I left, moving back in with Mum.
When I remarried, Oliver was fiveyoung enough to accept James as his dad. And when Alfie was born, Oliver was ten. Thats when things started unravelling, though I didnt see it then.
That year, Oliver went to his first day of school alone. I was still recovering from childbirth, James was working, and the grandparents were either miles away or at their cottage.
*”Olly, love, youre a big boyyoull manage, wont you?”* Id asked guiltily. *”Id love to go with you, but you see how it is…”*
*”Yeah. I see,”* hed muttered.
At the time, I thought he was fine. But he remembered.
Three years later, it happened againI missed his parent-teacher meeting because Alfie had picked up a bug. And Alfie was *always* ill. Once, he brought home chickenpox just before Olivers school trip to York. Oliver had to stay home.
*”Mum, I get it, but Im sick of catching everything. Cant you keep him quarantined?”* he snapped as I dabbed calamine lotion on him.
*”Were a familywe share a home. I cant just isolate him.”*
I understood his frustration. But what could I do?
Gradually, Oliver stopped helpingdelaying chores, doing them half-heartedly. At first, I brushed it off as teenage moodiness. Then came the arguments.
*”Why should I clean the lounge when I never use it? Thats your and Alfies messyou sort it.”*
*”But I cook and clean the kitchen you *do* use,”* I countered.
*”You wipe every speck off the counter. If I lived alone, I wouldnt bother. You want it spotlessyou do it.”*
Sometimes I made him help. Sometimes I let it goeasier than fighting. But now, here we were: no grandparents nearby, James away on business, and Oliver refusing to take Alfie to school.
*What now?*
I called James.
*”Right. Wants to be an adult? Fine. Let him try,”* he said tersely. *”See how he manages without us driving him everywhere, picking up his parcels.”*
I panicked. James was stubbornhe loved Oliver but wouldnt hesitate to lay down the law.
Luckily, my friend Sarahwhose son goes to the same schoolstepped in, taking Alfie and even treating the kids to ice cream after.
*”Sarah, thank youyoure a lifesaver,”* I said later.
*”Dont mention it. Mums have to stick together.”*
Over tea, I confided in her about Oliver. At twenty-six, she remembered being his age.
*”Honestly? I get him,”* she admitted. *”I was always roped into looking after my younger siblings. Maybe youre pushing too hard. He doesnt see the point in scrubbing floors while living at home. And Alfie? Well, he *is* yours.”*
*”But fairness matters! Everyone should help.”*
*”To you, a clean house is a duty. To him, its your choice. I was the same. Youve got two options: stop helping him entirelycold waror let him go. Rent him a flat. Let him figure it out.”*
*”What if he drops out? Or cuts contact?”*
*”If he wants to leave, he will. I married young to escape my family. It worked for us.”*
After much thought, James and I rented Oliver a flattwo months, just round the corner. Stocked the fridge, handed him the keys.
*”So thats it? Youre kicking me out?”* he scoffed.
*”Not at all,”* James said firmly. *”Youre always welcomebut as a guest, if you wont pull your weight.”*
*”Who said I dont want to live with you?”*
*”Living together means give *and* take. Well always help youwe love you. But it cant be one-sided.”*
Grumbling, Oliver left. For a month, he barely spoke. Then, slowly, questions trickled in*How do I clean the oven? What washing powder should I use?* Once, he even asked how to make soup.
I invited him over, showed him, fed him, sent him home with groceries.
*”We miss you,”* I said as he left.
He didnt replyjust hugged me tightly.
By the third month, he asked to talk. The rent was uphed been struggling.
*”I want to come home,”* he said. *”But on fair terms. Alfies your responsibilitynot mine.”*
A year ago, Id have argued. Now, I saw his point.
*”Hes still your brother,”* James grumbled.
*”Enough,”* I cut in. *”Olivers right. He doesnt have to help with Alfie. But housework is non-negotiable.”*
We laid out terms: bathroom once a week, hoovering alternate days, dusting monthly. His room was his own.
The tension lifted. Oliver relaxed. *”Deal. Ill even cook sometimeseasier than doing it alone.”*
That night, we ate togetherproperly, for the first time in months. Just shepherds pie, but it felt like a feast. No resentment. No bitterness.
*Hes finally grown up,* I realised.
And maybejust maybeso have I.
