Just a parasite! Michaels voice booms through the cramped flat, echoing down the narrow hallway. Youre a leech on my neck, you waste my money, and you cant even wash the dishes yourself!
Helen curls up on the sofa, wiping tears from the back of her hand. Smudged makeup spreads across her cheeks, turning her face into a sad mask.
Im tired too! You have no idea how hard it is for a woman to keep a household running!
What household? Theres no household here! Michael hurls a dirty plate onto the linoleum. It shatters into a spray of shards. Its a mess everywhere! Im grinding at the plant like a cursed man, I come home and its a pigsty!
Fourteenyearold Poppy presses her back against the wall of her tiny bedroom, trying not to breathe. These fights happen almost every evening, but she cant get used to them.
You dont love me at all! Youre always picking on me! her mothers voice erupts into a hysterical scream. I never loved you! I married you out of pity!
Clearly not out of love for your laziness! Other wives work, raise children, and you? You stare at the telly from dawn till dusk!
Poppy covers her ears with her palms, but the words still pierce through, sinking into her mind like grime. She hates these nightsher mothers helpless sobs, her fathers angry roars, and herself for being unable to change anything.
I cant take this any longer! Michael snarls, and something heavy crashes to the floor. Enough! Im fed up being a milch cow for both of you!
She hears her father slip into the bedroom, hears a wardrobe creak, then a long silence broken only by her mothers hiccups. Poppy cautiously cracks her door open and peeks into the hallway.
Michael hauls an old sports bag packed with his things from the bedroom. His face is flushed, cheekbones shaking. He doesnt even glance at his daughter as he passes.
Where are you going? Helen jumps from the sofa, smearing fresh lipstick across her cheeks. Mike, wait!
Ive had enough. Im leaving!
You cant! We have a child!
Poppy will stay with you. Deal with your problems yourself. Maybe thatll finally push you to work!
Michael slams the door shut with a loud bang. Helen collapses onto the hallway floor, howling in helplessness. Poppy rushes to her, kneeling beside her.
Mum, calm down
Hes abandoned us! Helen clutches Poppys shoulders, pressing her face to her daughters chest. He left. How can a man do that to his family? How could he walk out on his wife and child?
Poppy runs her fingers through her mothers tangled hair, swallowing her own rising tears. He simply walked out, leaving them alone in the stale, musty flat. Poppy wraps her arms tighter around Helen, and for a moment she sees her father as a monster. How could anyone be so cruel?
Years flash by faster than Poppy ever imagined. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. Each year she sees more clearly what was once hidden behind a childs naïve veil.
Helen never works. She wakes at lunchtime, brews a cup of tea, plops in front of the TV and stays there until late. Poppy returns from school to a filthy flatpiles of dishes in the sink, dust coating the furniture, laundry left undone.
Mum, why dont you even wash the dishes?
Im exhausted. My head hurts.
You sit at home all day!
You think you can tell me what to do? Helen snaps, turning her mouth into a pout. Im your mother!
Poppy learns to keep quiet. She learns to come home from school and immediately tackle the chorescooking, cleaning, washing. On weekends she hands out flyers at the tram stop for £3 a shift. Later she picks up a parttime job as a waitress in a café, evenings and weekends.
The money goes to groceries, utility bills, and the bare essentials. Helen reaches for another bundle of notes, frowning if the amount seems insufficient.
You need to earn more, Ellie. Were short of cash.
Mum, Im still studying. Im already working fifteen hours a week.
So what? I was married at your age.
Poppy bites her tongue until it bleeds. Yes, married to a man who supported her while she lay on the sofa.
After school Poppy enrolls in a parttime university coursefulltime would be unaffordable. She has to work even more. She lands a job in a restaurant with better tips. Her legs ache after each shift, her back throbs, but she keeps going. What else can she do?
Make something decent for dinner, Helen says, eyes glued to the latest drama. Im sick of your pasta.
Mum, Im off to work in half an hour.
Youll manage. I sit here all day, at least treat me to a proper meal.
Poppy boils borscht at half past five in the morning, leaves it on the stove. Helen reheats it for lunch, then returns to the TV without even rinsing her plate.
One day at work Poppy chats with the restaurant manager, Olivia.
Listen, does your mother want to work as a cleaner for us? We just have a vacancy. Good pay, flexible hours. Olivia asks.
Poppys eyes widen.
Seriously? That would be great!
Give me her number, Ill call.
At home Poppy tentatively mentions the opportunity. Helen grimaces as if her daughter has brought home rotten fish.
A cleaner? Are you serious?
Mum, its an honest job. Decent pay, flexible schedule.
I wont be mopping floors!
But were just scraping by! If you helped even a little
Im exhausted at home! Helens voice rises to a shrill pitch. Its hard to even get out of bed! My blood pressure!
Your pressure is from not moving!
How dare you speak to me like that? I gave you life, and you
Poppy clamps her fists, nails digging into her palms. I gave you lifeit becomes her excuse for everything now?
Olivia eventually reaches Helen and convinces her to at least attend the interview. Helen agrees, pressured by Poppys relentless stare. She actually goes to work for a week, returning with a sour expression, grimacing at the mention of duties.
Its a nightmare! Dirt everywhere! They expect me to clean it all!
Mum, youre a cleaner. Thats the point of the job.
Its hard. My back hurts, my legs swell.
On the eighth day Helen simply doesnt show up. She turns off the alarm and sleeps until noon. Olivia even apologises for Helens dismissal.
Ellie, Im sorry. I thought
Everythings fine. Thanks for trying to help.
Poppy finds another spot for her mother as a stallholder in a veg market. The shop manager needs a replacement. Helen agrees, but after three days she returns with a complaint that its cold, the customers are rude, and the wages are tiny.
Mum, you didnt even finish your first paycheck!
I cant! I cant, you hear me? You dont understand how hard it is! My blood pressure!
Poppy feels a wave of fury and steps onto the balcony, standing there for twenty minutes, breathing the chilly air.
She doesnt understand? Shes been slogging twelvehour days, studying, shouldering the entire household. And she still doesnt get it?
The arguments never end. Helen demands more money, better food, new clothes. Poppy tries to explain she physically cant earn more.
Then get another job!
Mum, Im studying! I only get five hours of sleep!
I didnt get enough sleep in my youth either.
You married young! And now you just lie on the sofa!
How dare you!
Helen hurls plates, cups, the TV remote at her daughter. Poppy dodges, feeling a numb indifference grow inside. Shes twentyjust twenty. Yet she already feels like a workhorse pulling an impossible load.
One evening, after an especially brutal shift, Poppy walks in to find her mother surrounded by empty supermarket bags.
You bought a cake? Poppy asks, staring at the towering cream confection on the table.
Yes. I wanted something sweet.
For £15? Mum, we could have stretched that money for a whole week!
This is my money! You gave it to me!
I spent it on food! Proper food! On rice, on meat!
Dont yell at me! Helen crosses her arms, jutting her chin forward. Im fed up with your complaints! Work more if you need money!
Poppy freezes, a ringing filling her ears.
Enough, she forces out through clenched teeth.
What? Helen snaps, eyes drilling into her.
I wont give you another penny. I need it for travel, university, for
For yourself, of course! Selfish! I raised you, sacrificed everything, and you
You never sacrificed! You just lay there! While Dad toiled! While he left! And you keep lying there while I work!
Poppy turns and retreats to her room, slamming the door. She sits on the bed, trembling hands pulling out her phone. She opens job boards for other towns, scanning salaries, locations, conditions. And suddenly it clicksshe can leave. Just pack and go.
The next two weeks drift in a hazy fog. Poppy gathers documents, searches for a rented room, arranges remote callcentre work in a neighboring county. Helen remains oblivious, glued to yet another drama and her endless complaints.
On the final night Poppy hardly sleeps. She packs the essentialsclothes, documents, laptopinto a bag and leaves a note on the kitchen table: I finally understand why Dad left. It was because of you. Now its my turn.
Helen is still asleep when Poppy quietly closes the flats door behind her. She heads for the bus station, feeling both a betrayer and a liberated prisoner.
The first call comes three hours later.
Where are you? Helens voice trembles. Where have you gone?
Ive left, Mum.
How did you leave? Where to?
To another city. I need to start living on my own.
You have no right! her mother screams, so loudly that Poppy pulls the phone away. Im your mother! You owe me!
No, I dont.
Come back right now! You cant abandon me!
I can.
Youre just like your father! Selfish!
Poppy hangs up, blocks the number, plugs in her headphones and cranks up the music to drown out the voices in her head.
The new city greets her with rain and a cold wind. The rented dorm room is tinybed, desk, wardrobebut its hers.
Poppy lies on the bed. Somewhere back in her old life, her father remains a ghost who fled when she was fourteen, and her mother turned her into a milkcow.
Forgive them? No. She cant forgive a father who abandoned her and a mother who used her as a substitute breadwinner for years.
Now she has no family, but she has something else: the right to live the way she chooses, to spend every penny without feeling guilty.
She wipes the damp cheeks, opens her laptop. Tomorrow starts a new lifehard, frightening, and full of unknownsbut finally free.
