Three sleepless nights have left my mind tangled in guilt, gnawing at me like a starving beast, refusing me even a moments peace. I stand on the edge of a cliff, torn between duty and dread. Im eight months pregnant, and my life is about to change forever. After the wedding, I moved to my husbands hometownleaving my parents behind in our quiet village outside Manchester, hundreds of miles away. We see them so rarelyeither they visit us, or we visit themand those moments are few enough to count on one hand.
Recently, during one such visit, Mum and I sat in my small kitchen nursing cups of tea. She reminisced about how hard it had been when I was bornhow shed struggled alone with a newborn, how exhaustion had nearly broken her, saved only by my grandmother stepping in. Her words struck deepI pictured myself in her place, lost and overwhelmed with my own child. Before I could think, I blurted out, Mum, why dont you come stay with us after the babys born? Just for a little while, to help me settle in? Her face lit up as if Id handed her a second chance at life. But then she dropped the bomb: Oh, love, your dad and I would *love* to stay a whole year! Well even let out our flat to help you with expenses.
My blood ran cold. Her words echoed in my skull like a warning bell. I adore my dadhe means the world to mebut Id only asked for *her*, and just for a few weeks, maybe a month at most. Not a year. Not both of them. Instantly, my mind conjured the worstDad stepping onto the balcony for his endless cigarettes. I tolerate the smell when its just us, but with a baby? I cant let that smoke cling to my childs tiny lungs. And in winter? The balcony door constantly swinging open, letting in freezing drafts while my newborn coughs in the chill.
And thats not all. Dad gets restless herehe either blasts old war films on the telly or drags my husband to the pub till all hours. I dont begrudge him a drink, but Ill need my husband *here*, not out playing drinking games with his father-in-law. The thought of a year of noise and smoke and chaos made my chest tighten with panic.
I forced myself to speak plainly: Mum, I only meant *you*just for a month, no longer. Her face darkened, eyes flashing with hurt. I wont come without your father, she snapped. Its both of us or neither. Then she left, slamming the door on my guilt. Now I lie awake in the dark, my soul split in two. Did I do the right thing? Was I too harsh? Should I have swallowed my fears to make her happy? But how would I survive a year of that when just the thought of it suffocates me?
Conscience whispers that Im selfishthat she only wants to help. But my heart screams: *I cant do it. I have to protect my child, my home, this fragile new life.* I dont know whats right. I stare at the ceiling, listening to my husbands steady breaths beside me, and wonderam I wrong? Is Mum right? Or am I right to hold my ground before their wishes smother mine? The questions pull me under, and Im drowning, desperate for someone to drag me back into the light.
