“Baldy, Wake Up!” – My Husband’s Hilarious New Morning Routine After My Dramatic Head Shave to Battle Scalp Troubles

Author Emily TaylorReading 3 minViews 1

Oi, Baldy, wake up! Thats how my husband started waking me up in the mornings.

Last year, I decided to take a leap Id never considered before.

Not too long ago, I noticed bumps dotting my scalp, almost like a rash. My head was unbearably itchy, and my hair was falling out at an alarming rate.

Trips to the dermatologist and the trichologist led nowhere. The consultant even told me vitamins were pointless, insisting theyd never helped anyone. Then, strangely enough, I stumbled upon a piece suggesting that shaving your head completely makes your hair follicles stronger. I wrestled with the idea for ages. Even after my son nervously admitted hed be scared to see me bald, I chose to go for it anyway

I asked my husband to run the clippers over my head first and finish off with a razor. He did as I said, though he clearly didnt believe Id go through with it. When it was done and I looked in the mirror, I was honestly surprised I have a perfectly shaped head!

The worst bit was stepping outside with no hair its freezing! And when my hair started growing back, it all prickled and stuck to my pillow, which was honestly awful.

After the head shave, my husband took to waking me with a cheeky, Oi, Baldy, wake up! which cracked me up every time. I really was the baldest in the family. At first, the kids looked astonished, but soon enough, my son decided he fancied sporting the look too.

Mum told me not to visit her without a hat on, insisting she couldnt bear to look at me otherwise. My daughter begged me to keep a beanie on when going to the school meeting, while my husband just dryly remarked that, if I went hatless, everyone would forget what the meeting was for and that my daughters friends would be jealous of having such a stylish mum.

Funny thing is, after shaving my head, the bumps disappeared all on their own. My daughter giggles constantly, telling me she never knows what to expect from me next. One day, I even overheard her whispering to her brother that she reckoned Id go and get a tattoo on my bald head

Its been quite a ride, but I have to admit Ive learned so much about myself, and a little about facing life head-on, too.

There Won’t Be a Wedding — Why are you so quiet today? — asked Tanya. — We agreed to go furniture shopping for the bedroom on Saturday. But you seem down. What’s wrong? Denis knew: it was now or never. He had to say it now. — Tanya… there’s something I need to say. About the wedding. Tanya had waited for this conversation for a long time. She and Denis had agreed to keep things low-key, but she could tell Denis wanted to plan a real wedding for her—with lots of guests, a videographer, organisers… How she waited for this talk! — Let’s not drag this out, please. I think I know what you’re about to say, — Tanya smiled. But Denis said: — Let’s postpone… Let’s postpone the wedding. This was not the conversation she thought they’d have. — Postpone? — she was in shock. — What’s with the sudden change? Why? We just talked about invitations… You picked them out yourself! We discussed the guest list! You’ve changed your mind about marrying me? She half expected him to say he’d fallen out of love, just like in a soap opera. But Denis didn’t follow the script. — It’s just… money’s tight, — he mumbled. — My pay’s been delayed. We can’t really save up. And… we’ve only lived together six months. Isn’t it a bit soon? — “A bit soon?” — Tanya choked. — Denis, we’ve dated three years! Three years together, six months sharing a flat, and you think it’s “too soon”? Denis didn’t look as afraid anymore. — Don’t start, Tanya. I don’t want a row. It’s just… a pause. I haven’t changed my mind about marrying you, but weddings are expensive. — Fine… Then let’s just register quietly, just us two, and then celebrate with friends. — Tanya, then we won’t have a real wedding. — Oh, let it go! — But you’ve always dreamed— — I’ll live! Strange excuses he comes up with. — Tanya… — Tell me the truth. Is something wrong? Are you not sure you love me? Or… have you met someone else? Because “the wedding is expensive” isn’t convincing. Denis shook his head. — No, Tanya, I swear. I just want everything to be perfect, you know? And right now, I can’t give you a perfect wedding. And, yes, six months. We’re still getting used to living together—maybe we need to figure out if we’re really right for each other… His logic made sense, but Tanya’s gut told her otherwise. It was rare for Denis to try so hard to convince her of anything, and it had been his idea to get married quickly in the first place. But she pretended to buy it. After that conversation, Denis became the perfect boyfriend—paying attention to details he once ignored, as if making up for cancelling the wedding. At the shops, he always asked what she wanted… he’d do the dishes every day… But he always looked glum. Not thoughtful—actually gloomy, sighing late at night, staring at the ceiling, brushing off Tanya’s questions with, “Just tired, is all.” Tanya tried not to push. “Later, later, later,” her inner voice whispered. A few weeks later, they were invited to Denis’ parents’ house. Tanya didn’t really want to go. Denis never brought up the wedding any more, and she knew his parents would ask—awkward. But she had to go. Inevitably, the wedding came up. — So, when will you finally make us happy? — his mother asked, once Tanya’s dad left for the TV. — We’ve already picked out a venue—table for twenty. What date should we book? Denis looked as sour as Tanya. What was there to book? There’d be nothing. — Mum, I told you. It’s postponed, — he croaked. — Postponed? Why? No money? Denis, as a man, you should have thought ahead! After dinner, while the men inspected a half-broken speaker, Tanya went to tidy herself up in the bathroom. It was spotless, like an operating theatre. Not even her mother-in-law’s cosmetics, except for the shower gel and shampoo—she kept hers in her room. Tanya always wondered how she had the energy to lug it all about. Tanya dried her face and suddenly listened… The bathroom walls always seemed to carry secrets. Denis had gone to the kitchen and was talking to his mum. And Tanya heard… — …Denis, you’re not thinking of breaking up with Tanya? Tanya froze. What? She didn’t kid herself that she’d misheard. Carefully, she pressed her ear to the wall. — Mum, I told you. It’s postponed, but we’re still together. — “Postponed”—such an excuse! — Galina Sergevna snapped. — I can see how unhappy you are. Why do you need her? She’s not wife material—wives listen to their husbands, but her… Why get married if you’ll only divorce in a year? — I love her, Mum, — Denis said quietly. Tanya even felt a pang of affection. But his mum’s next words cut that short. — You say you love her? She’s sly, Denis. I told you! And she’s already turned you against us, before you’re even married. You stopped helping your sister, you don’t come to the cottage… She’s changing you—and not for the better. Tanya stuck to the cold tiles in disbelief. Turned him against them? When? She always tried to be as polite as possible, even when Anatoly Petrovich tore apart her new haircut. She’d been hurt, but said nothing! She couldn’t think of a single time she’s purposely turned Denis against his family. On the contrary—she always encouraged him to visit, knowing how much they meant to him. And it hit her: the wedding wasn’t postponed for money. It was his mum’s doing—all her lies. His mum didn’t want the wedding! Tanya hurried in. — Oh, Tanya! — his mum put on her sweetest face. — We were just saying you shouldn’t delay registering. I know youth is fleeting, but I don’t approve of living together without the knot. How nice of her. — Of course, Galina Sergevna, — Tanya said. — We won’t delay for long. As soon as we’ve saved a little—we’ll go straight to the registry, won’t we, Denis? — Yes, Tanya, we’re basically married already, — he chimed in. That night, driving home, Denis tried to cuddle her, but Tanya kept pulling away. She didn’t know how to start talking about it. Should she even ask? If Denis hadn’t dumped her under pressure from his parents, then he must love her… But he’d still cancelled the wedding. — You acted strange when your mum started talking, — Tanya said, watching the river lights disappear in the distance. — Me? No, she just… pushes about weddings and… — Don’t lie. She’s NOT pushing you for a wedding. She’s against it. She said I turned you against her and wants us to break up. Denis gripped the wheel. — So you heard? Tanya, she’s scared her little boy will forget her once he’s married off. Classic mother-in-law behaviour. Don’t take it personally. She’ll get over herself. Tanya didn’t mind his mother’s possessiveness—she was worried about Denis himself. He hadn’t defended her, just agreed, to keep the peace. The wedding question hung unresolved. Denis still moped about, but now, when Tanya hinted at the future, he’d just say: “Maybe, later…” Then Tanya saw Denis’s unlocked phone. “I’ll just check the time,” she told herself. “Just the time—not messages. Well, maybe just one quick look…” His sister’s message was at the top. Vera—just two years younger than Tanya, but still acting like she was twelve. No job, no studies, still lives with mum and dad, on their tab. The message was blunt: — Figures, I won’t see my money. She’s got you under her thumb again. Go on then, if some girl’s more important than your own family. Tanya re-read it. “Under her thumb.” And suddenly she remembered… Before the wedding was cancelled, Vera had rung Denis—as usual, to ask for money. Tanya had said, exasperated: — Denis, she’s twenty-seven, still living off her parents and begging you for money for treats. Maybe she should start working? Our budget’s not endless. Tanya wouldn’t have interfered, but it was their shared budget now—she contributed as much as Denis, and never signed up to sponsor his family. Denis had agreed, reluctantly: “You’re right, Tanya. She needs to stop.” Now it was clear who had turned everyone against Tanya. She took Denis’s phone, opened Vera’s chat, forwarded the message to herself for proof, and put the phone right back. Denis was just brushing snow from his coat: — Got bread, and your favourite chocolate, nuts and all. I was thinking, Tanya, maybe we could… — Denis, — Tanya interrupted. — Who were you expecting—someone else? — he joked. But Tanya didn’t laugh. — What does Vera mean in her messages? — Tanya asked. Denis hesitated, then tried a classic deflection: — You going through my phone while I’m out?? Classic defensive move—shift the blame. — Denis, that’s not the point. I want an explanation. Now. Denis stood for a moment, his face cycling through emotions: anger, then panic. — Look, Tanya—it’s nothing. She’s just upset, she’s still a child. — Upset about what? That I asked her to grow up? — Tanya pressed. — She’s used to asking her brother for help. Getting out of that habit is hard. Don’t worry—it’ll pass. — She turned your family against me? — …yeah, — Denis admitted. — I tried to explain to them it’s our money now, and Vera should be… But Mum hit the roof—said you’ve got me wrapped round your finger, that I’m abandoning them. But I don’t think that… — But you cancelled our wedding… Okay—she poisoned your family against me. I get it. I can’t talk to them. But what about you? Do you even want to marry me, or is it just easier than telling your mum “no”? — Of course I want to marry you! Just… not now. Maybe later, when things have settled down… So there it was. — You know what, Denis? I’ve realised something… I don’t want to marry a man who isn’t sure of his feelings and jumps every time his sister sneezes. Good thing the wedding’s off.

Blatant Nerve: “Nat, tell me honestly,” Kieran whined, “What’s the cosmic difference who we rent the cottage to—family or strangers? Money’s money.” Natasha finished hanging the laundry on the rack. If only he’d help instead of moaning. “Kol, darling, the difference is that when it comes to family, you can never actually get the money out of them.” “You mean Dave? That’s not fair—he’s my brother! He’ll pay, I promise. He’s not even asking for a discount. He’ll take it for the full price, all summer long, and we won’t have to deal with advertising.” “This is a seaside cottage, Kol. I could fill it in five minutes.” “What I don’t get is why you’re so dead against renting to family?” “With strangers it’s simple: contract, deposit—don’t pay, you’re out, end of. With family it’s always, ‘Oh Natasha, you know the kids… We’ll wire it later… Oops, we broke the telly but you won’t charge us, will you?’ Trust me, I’ve seen it all before. You don’t know how it ends.” Natasha’s parents had let to all the so-called friends and family who happily ‘forgot’ to pay. She’d learned her lesson: no mates or relatives in the rental. “And how did it end?” her husband asked. “With family never paying, or even apologizing! As if, ‘What, it’s so hard to let us have a little holiday?’ Sorry, but the cottage is a business, not a free family B&B.” Recently, Dave had decided a summer by the sea was just what the doctor ordered for his wife and three kids. Work was slow, so why not? Natasha was sure he had no intention to pay. “Dave’s not asking for a favour!” Kieran insisted. “He’ll pay.” They always promise to pay. “Why even risk it? There’s always a queue of people ready to pay the market rate. They’ll sign the contract and I can sleep easy. No friends, no family. Business is business.” Natasha’s logic was airtight, but Kieran had one more card to play. “Fine. You don’t trust Dave—but you trust me, yeah?” She paused. “I do. So?” “If Dave tries to stiff us, I’ll pay you the rent myself,” he blurted. “Brilliant. You’ll pay me from our joint account.” “Um… no, I’ll take an extra job. Evenings, weekends—whatever I earn goes to you, so it’ll be your money, not ours. Deal?” Natasha hadn’t expected it to be this important to him. Maybe she should trust him if he trusted Dave that much… “You’ll talk anyone ‘round,” she said. “It’s all on you then. Alright.” Summer was still months away. Natasha tried to be optimistic. June arrived—and trouble with it. Kieran called Dave every few days, gently nudging about the first month’s rent. Every time, Dave had a reason. “Yeah, Kieran, no worries! Money? Ah, just waiting on a big client, should clear by the end of the month. Sorry, mate, but it’s coming. Don’t stress!” End of June. No money. Natasha gave it a month, no nagging. This was Kieran’s deal. But after another round of stalling, she asked, “Well? Has he paid?” “They haven’t transferred his payment yet. Soon, he promised!” Same old excuse. “Told you—family always have a reason not to pay up,” she sighed. “It’s just bad luck!” Kieran pleaded. “He’s not doing it on purpose. Sometimes you just have to wait!” “Right—until September, when they pack up and say, ‘Thanks for the lovely holiday, we’ll settle up later’?” “Kieran, you promised. Where’s that second job?” He wilted. “Give him a couple more weeks. If nothing comes, I’ll pay—if it means that much to you.” “I didn’t force you to take responsibility. You wanted to. Prove you were right about your brother!” The atmosphere cooled. July, heatwave. Natasha caught Kieran browsing jobs online, but never dialling. “Look at the calendar, Kol. Two-thirds of the summer’s gone, and we’ve seen not a penny.” “It’s just… he still can’t pay. But he will! He promised to give us a bit extra for the inconvenience.” “I don’t believe it. You put your name to it—now it’s your problem.” He mumbled about back pain, none of the jobs were suitable. “Not exactly great ads… I can’t lug boxes with my back.” “Better send your brother to lug boxes, then. You promised. Either look for a job now, or I’ll call Dave and say if I don’t get half the money by Friday, his family’s out by law and I’ll chase what’s owed through court.” Ice-cold sweat. “Don’t call Dave! Everyone’ll look at me like I’m the villain! What would I tell Mum? Suing my own brother? No one will understand.” Dave didn’t want to pay, Kieran didn’t want to keep his word, and now suddenly it was Natasha’s fault. “So much for caring about your own husband! Don’t you mind sending me to work two jobs just to pay you back?” “I never asked, Kieran! You insisted!” “I didn’t know Dave would rip us off!” “I did,” Natasha answered. “Because I’ve seen it before. You just wouldn’t listen.” “I’ve got the message!” He played the martyr. “But you, Natasha, you care more about your precious money than my wellbeing! What if I have a heart attack working extra? Still want your rent?” “I’m not forcing you—I’m just holding to the deal you made.” “FINE! I’ll take another job and pay for Dave—if you care about money more than me! There you go!” The deal crumbled, but Natasha got her way. Kieran did shifts as a courier, shooting wolves’ eyes at her each night. “It’s all because of you,” he muttered once. “All because of me?” “Yes!” “Well, maybe now you’ll understand—you can be generous with my cash, but it’s different shelling out yourself.” Natasha still hoped Dave might find a conscience and pay up himself. Miraculously, he rang—her, not Kieran. Maybe he’d finally transfer the money? “Natasha, I’ve got a small problem…” “I’ve no time for problems, Dave. You owe July and we’re still waiting. It’s Kieran’s problem now, not mine.” “Yeah, Kieran told me! Poor fella. But listen—the car’s broken down and I spent the rent money fixing it. Got to get the family home somehow, but I’ll sort you out… sometime, yeah?” Predictable. Natasha hung up. Kieran saw from her face. “Okay,” he admitted, “I shouldn’t have trusted him so much. But you could cut me some slack! Instead of support you just rub it in…” “Oh, I’m supposed to giggle and say, ‘Never mind, let them have a free holiday while I somehow get by’? You insisted you’d pay!” “Yeah, I did! But I didn’t think you’d let me work myself into exhaustion. Don’t you care about me?” “Does your brother?” “He’s not bad, things just… happened…” “Right. He’s not bad—rips me off, lets you take the blame. But I’m the baddie for demanding what’s mine?” Kieran looked away. Looks like a rocky patch ahead in their marriage.

Shameless Beyond Belief “Come on, Kate, just tell me honestly,” Nick whined, “What’s the big cosmic difference if we rent the house to friends or strangers? The money’s the same.” Kate finished hanging the laundry, wishing Nick would quit complaining and help instead. “My darling Nick,” she replied, “The difference is you can never actually get the money out of family.” “You mean Dave?” Nick bristled at the implication, “Dave’s my brother! He’ll pay, I swear. He’s not even asking for a discount! He’ll rent the place at full price. For the whole summer. And we won’t have to go looking for tenants.” “Nick, it’s a seaside house. I could find tenants in five minutes.” “Explain why you’re so dead set on renting to strangers?” “It’s simple: with strangers, there’s a contract, upfront payment, and if they don’t pay—they’re out, end of. With family, it never ends—‘Oh, Katie, you know how it is, we’ve got kids… We’ll pay you later… Oh, we broke the telly, but you’re not actually going to charge us, are you?’ I’ve seen enough of it to last a lifetime. You don’t know how those stories end.” Kate’s parents had owned the seaside cottage before her. They lived right there in Brighton, and the house was the perfect little side hustle. Kate stuck to their formula—rent the place out, but, under no circumstances, to friends or family. She’d seen her parents get burned too often. “And how do those stories end?” her husband pressed. “With relatives not paying, and not even apologising! As if it’s no big deal to let them stay for free. Nope. Business is business, Nick. Not a free B&B for your lot.” Dave, Nick’s brother, had decided a three-month seaside holiday was just what the doctor ordered for his wife and their three children. Summer was slow for work, so a little family getaway sounded perfect. Kate had her suspicions that Dave wasn’t planning to pay at all. “But Dave isn’t asking to stay for free!” Nick insisted, “He said he’ll pay.” “They always promise.” “So why bother? We always have a queue of people ready to pay market rate. Folks who turn up, sign the contract, pay up front—I get to sleep easy. No friends. No family. Business is business.” Kate’s logic was hard to argue with, but Nick wasn’t finished. “Fine. Don’t believe Dave. But do you trust me?” Kate waited. “I do. And?” “If Dave tries anything dodgy, I’ll pay you myself.” Nick blurted it out, all puffed up like a hero. Kate rolled her eyes. “Brilliant. You’ll pay me using our joint account.” “I… I mean… I’ll pick up some extra work. Evenings, weekends, whatever I can get. Whatever I make, I’ll give it straight to you. Not our money, just yours. Deal?” Kate didn’t realise it mattered so much to Nick. Maybe, if he trusts his brother that much, she should too… “You could talk the hind leg off a donkey,” she said, “You’re responsible for this. Fine.” Summer was months away. Kate had time to breathe and maybe even try to believe in Nick just a little. June rolled round. Trouble arrived on day one. Nick called Dave every three days, gently reminding him to pay up at least for the first month. Dave always had a reassuring answer: “Yeah, Nick, all in hand! The money? Ah, just waiting on a big invoice from a client. Should be here end of the month. As soon as it lands, you’ll have it. Sorry, just one of those things. Don’t worry!” June ended. Still no money. Kate bit her tongue for a month, said nothing, didn’t nag, didn’t scold. Nick had begged her to let him handle it—so she did. She was trying not to dent his confidence, but after another upbeat post-call with Dave, she couldn’t resist: “Any luck? Has he paid?” “Dave’s still waiting on that payment from the client. Should be any day now!” And still, the excuse hadn’t evolved. “Told you so. Relatives always have excellent reasons to pay late.” “Kate, it’s just a one-off!” Nick protested, “He’s not doing it on purpose, honest! It just happened this way. Give it a bit longer.” “Sure. Let’s wait ‘til September, when they pack up their three suitcases and cheerfully leave, saying, ‘thanks for the lovely holiday, we’ll settle up soon!’?” “Kate, you’re not losing anything. I’ll just take an extra job.” “You? Right now?” Nick wilted. “Give him a couple more weeks. If nothing changes… I’ll pay up myself. If it’s that important to you.” “I didn’t force you to promise anything. You insisted—to prove your brother’s a man of his word. So prove it!” The atmosphere at home soured; Nick spoke to Kate with a joyless gloom. July. The heat was suffocating. Evenings found Kate watching as Nick scrolled through job listings online, but phoned no one. “Nick, it’s the 30th today. Two-thirds of summer gone, still not a penny rent,” she reminded him. “Still waiting on Dave’s payment… But—” “‘As soon as.’ Right?” “He’ll pay! He promised the minute the money comes in, we’re first on his list! He’ll throw in a little extra for making us wait.” “I’m done believing. You vouched for him. You said: ‘I’ll pay.’ So pay up. Where’s that job?” Nick’s enthusiasm for side hustling seemed to be wearing thin. It was easier to promise than to work double. Doing double shifts wasn’t quite so heroic. “I’ll find something. But there’s not much about… Not going to start lugging boxes with my back, am I?” “Maybe you should tell your brother to start carrying boxes to pay his debts. You promised me. Either you find work right now, or I ring Dave and tell him if I don’t see half the rent by Friday, his family’s out—by the book—and I’ll chase the rest through Small Claims Court.” Nick broke out in a cold sweat. “Don’t call Dave! Court? What will the family think of me? How’ll I tell Mum—took my own brother to court, Kate? Nobody’ll understand.” Dave didn’t want to pay, Nick didn’t want to keep his word, but suing his brother was unthinkable—so he decided Kate was the villain in all this. “Some wife you are! Don’t care that I’ll be working myself into the ground, just to pay you back.” “I didn’t twist your arm, Nick! This was your idea!” “But how was I to know Dave would do this?” “I did,” Kate replied, “Because I’ve seen it happen. Over and over. You didn’t listen.” “I get it!” Nick snapped, “But you’re just ruthless, Kate! You’d have me run myself ragged for the sake of, what, some money? My health means nothing as long as you get paid?” “I’m not making you—I just want the deal you insisted on to be kept.” “Fine!” Nick shouted, “I’ll get another job just to pay you for Dave’s holiday, fine? If that’s what you want—enjoy your blood money!” The deal fell apart on Nick’s terms, yet Kate got what she wanted—Nick started moonlighting. Yet her heart felt heavy, and Nick glared at her with a wolfish resentment every evening when he’d finished a courier shift. “This is all your fault,” he spat one night. “My fault?” “Yes!” “Well, maybe you’ll realise—you can’t buy being the nice guy if paying the bill falls to me. Put your own money on the line for your brother, and see if you learn something.” Kate honestly hoped Dave’s conscience would kick in and he’d pay. Just as she thought it, the phone rang—Dave calling her, not Nick. Surely, this was it—a payment at last? “Kate, got a bit of a situation…” “Dave, I don’t have time. You owed August’s rent already, we’re still waiting for July. Not my problem anymore—it’s Nick’s, since he vouched for you.” “Yeah, Nick told me! Poor guy—listen, bit of a snag—the car broke down while we were here, spent the lot getting it fixed. Need cash to get the family home, so I’ll just have to pay you later…. hope that’s all right?” Predictable. Kate hung up. Nick saw it all written on her face. “Fine,” he admitted, “I was wrong to trust him like that. But you—you never let me make a single mistake. Instead of supporting me, you just pile in…” “Should I have smiled and said, ‘No worries, let them have a free holiday, I’ll just grin and bear it’? You made the deal that you’d cover his debt!” “Yes, I did!” Nick sulked, “But you agreed way too quickly to me working myself into the ground! Don’t you give a toss about me?” “Does your brother give a toss about you?” “He’s not a bad guy, he just got unlucky…” “Great. He’s not a bad guy, as he rips me off and leaves you holding the bag. But me—I’m the villain, because I want what’s owed?” Nick fell silent. Looks like rough weather ahead for their marriage.

Every Man for Himself “Mum, you have no idea what the property market’s like right now,” Max fidgeted nervously with a pile of printouts, stacking them into a neat pile and then fanning them out again across the kitchen table, “Prices are going up every week. If we don’t put down a deposit now, someone else will snap up this flat.” Lydia slid a mug of cold tea towards her son and sat down opposite. Floorplans, numbers, repayment graphs flashed across the papers. A three-bedroom in a new build: a children’s room for Timothy and Sophie—finally, the children would have separate bedrooms. “How much are you short?” “Eight hundred and twenty thousand,” Max rubbed his brow. “I know it’s a lot. But Anya’s fretting, the kids are growing up, and we’re still living out of suitcases in rented places…” Lydia looked at her son and saw the same boy who used to bring her bouquets of dandelions. Thirty-two years old, father of two, and the same little frown line he’d get as a child whenever he worried over undone homework. “I do have some savings. They’re in my account.” “Mum, I’ll pay you back, I promise. As soon as things settle down, I’ll start saving up.” She laid her hand—hardened from years of cooking and cleaning—over his. “Max, it’s for your children—my grandchildren. Don’t be silly about paying me back. Family is more important than money.” At the bank, Lydia filled out the forms in her tidy hand, polished by three decades as an accountant. Eight hundred and twenty thousand—nearly everything she’d saved in recent years. For a rainy day, just in case, ‘you never know’. Max hugged her tightly at the counter, not caring about the queue. “You’re the best, you really are. I won’t forget this.” Lydia patted his back. “Go now. Anya’s probably waiting.” …The first months after the move blurred into a dizzying carousel of trips across town. Lydia would arrive with shopping bags from Sainsbury’s—chicken, buckwheat, oil, children’s yoghurts. She helped Anya hang curtains, unpack furniture, scrub construction dust from windowsills. “Timothy, careful with that screwdriver!” she’d call, hanging curtains and explaining to her daughter-in-law how to make cabbage rolls. Anya nodded, scrolling on her phone. Max would appear at night, exhausted from work, wolf down his mum’s food and disappear into the bedroom. “Thanks, Mum,” he’d call over his shoulder. “Don’t know what we’d do without you.” …Six months later, her son’s name flashed up on her mobile. “Mum, look, bit of an issue…the mortgage payment’s clashed with car repairs this month. We’re thirty-five thousand short.” Lydia transferred the money, asking no questions. It’s difficult for young families, she told herself. They’ll get back on their feet—maybe they’ll repay her, maybe not. Did it matter, for family? Years swept by, faster than water slipping through her fingers. Timothy turned seven, and Lydia gave him the Lego set he’d begged for all year. Sophie twirled in a shimmery pink princess dress. “Gran, you’re the best!” Sophie hugged her, smelling of children’s shampoo and sweets. Every weekend, Lydia would take the grandchildren—or whisk them off to the theatre, funfair, ice rink. She bought ice cream, toys, books. The pockets of her old coat always bulged with sweets and wipes. Five years passed like this—her generous, voluntary servitude. Mortgage help—“Mum, we’re broke this month.” Sick days with the kids—“Mum, we can’t get time off work.” Groceries—“Mum, you’re going shopping anyway.” Gratitude became rare… …That morning, she stared at the damp stains spreading across her kitchen ceiling. She’d been flooded; her flat was now unlivable. She called her son. “Max, I need help with some repairs. I’ve been flooded and don’t know when I’ll get paid back…” “Mum,” he cut her off, “you know my priorities are different right now. The kids’ clubs, activities, Anya’s on a course…” “I’m not asking much. Just to help find some tradesmen, or at least…” “I really don’t have time for this, Mum, especially not for things like that,” Max repeated, as if he hadn’t heard her. “Let’s talk about it later. Speak soon, yeah?” The dial tone… Lydia set her phone down. The display flashed with last year’s Christmas photo—her, Timothy, Sophie. All smiling. The money he’d taken without a second thought. The weekends she’d given to his children. All the time, energy, love—that was “then.” Now, it was “other priorities.” A cold drop from the ceiling landed on her hand. Next day, Anya called—rare enough to make Lydia wary. “Mrs Parker, Max told me about your conversation,” Anya sounded annoyed. “You do understand, everyone must sort out their own problems these days. We manage our mortgage on our own…” Lydia almost laughed. The mortgage she’d covered every third month. The deposit, nearly all from her savings. “Of course, Ann,” Lydia replied evenly. “Everyone for themselves.” “Glad we agree. Max was worried you were upset—you aren’t, are you?” “No. Not at all.” The dial tone… Lydia stared at her phone as if it were some strange insect. She walked to the window, but looked away immediately—nothing outside could comfort her. Nights became endless hours when the ceiling pressed down and thoughts wouldn’t let her rest. Lydia lay awake, counting the last five years like rosary beads. She’d taught her son herself: Mum was an inexhaustible resource. In the morning, Lydia called the estate agent. “I’d like to list my country cottage for sale. Hampshire, six acres, with electricity.” The house she and her late husband had built over twenty years. Apple trees she planted whilst pregnant with Max. The veranda, where so many summer evenings were spent. A buyer was found within a month. Lydia signed the papers, refusing to dwell on what she was selling. The money landed, and she methodically allocated it: repairs to her flat, a new savings account, a small emergency fund. The builders moved in the next week. Lydia chose the tiles, wallpaper, fixtures herself. For the first time in decades, she spent on herself, not saving “for a rainy day,” not worrying who in the family would need help. Max didn’t call—two weeks, three, a month. Lydia kept her silence too. The first call came when the renovations were finished. A new kitchen gleamed, the windows sealed out the draught, pipes no longer reminded her of themselves with rust stains. “Mum, why haven’t you been over? Sophie’s been asking.” “I’ve been busy.” “With what?” “Life, Max. My own life.” She visited the next week. Brought the grandchildren books—good gifts, but not extravagant. Stayed two hours for tea, chatted about the weather and Timothy’s homework. Declined to stay for dinner. “Mum, could you watch the kids Saturday? Anya and I – ” “I can’t. I’ve plans.” Lydia saw his face fall. He did not understand. Not yet. Months passed, and understanding came—slow, painful. Without Mum’s help, the mortgage ate up a third of their budget. Without a free babysitter, there was no one to take the children. Meanwhile, Lydia opened a high-interest savings account. Bought herself a new winter coat—good, warm, not just a sale bargain. Spent two weeks at a spa. Joined a Nordic walking class. She remembered how Anya’s parents always kept their distance—polite cards at Christmas and dutiful visits, no money, no help, no sacrifice. And no complaints from Anya. Maybe they’d been right all along? Rare meetings with her grandchildren turned into formalities. Lydia arrived bearing modest gifts, talked about school and friends, left after a couple of hours—no overnights, no weekend stays. Once Timothy asked, “Gran, why don’t you take us to the park anymore?” “Gran has things to do now, Tim.” The boy didn’t get it. But Max, standing in the doorway, seemed to start to. Lydia returned home to her newly renovated flat, smelling of fresh paint and new furniture. She brewed good tea, sat in a comfortable armchair—one she bought with her own money. Guilt? Yes, it washed over her some nights. But less and less. Because Lydia had finally learned a simple truth: love isn’t sacrifice—certainly not when the sacrifice goes unnoticed and unappreciated. She chose herself. For the first time in thirty-two years of motherhood…