**A Daughter’s Betrayal**
*—Never thought I’d be a laughingstock at 52, and all because of my own daughter—* Margaret confided bitterly to her friend. *—Worked myself to the bone, saved every penny, took on every odd job just to give Emily everything, and now she accuses me of stealing from her! The whole of Greenvale’s gossiping about it, and she even tracked down her father—hadn’t spoken to the man in fifteen years—just to tattle to him.*
Margaret begged Emily and her ex-husband to stop spreading rumours—it was humiliating. But no use. They kept insisting: *She stole from her own child.* Her friend, baffled, asked:
*—Maggie, I don’t get it! How could you have stolen from her? Start from the beginning.*
*—You know how I raised Emily alone. Remember when my husband left me for another woman? Our girl was barely two. No prizes for guessing how hard it was.*
*—Course I remember. Still don’t know how you managed!*
Margaret let out a heavy sigh, thinking back. After the divorce, she couldn’t stay in their hometown—every corner reminded her of betrayal. Selling her parents’ two-bed flat, she moved with Emily to Greenvale. The money only stretched to a modest place in a decent area. She got Emily into nursery, took on two jobs, and that’s when she met her friend. Life was relentless—extra shifts, exhaustion—but the fresh start kept her going.
She slaved away so Emily wanted for nothing. New clothes, the latest phone, dance lessons, private tutors—whatever the girl asked for. No family to lean on, just Margaret keeping them afloat. She pinched pennies on herself—no new dresses, no holidays—so Emily never felt second-best.
*—You paid for all that yourself?* her friend gaped. *—Thought your ex helped out!*
*—He paid child support,* Margaret admitted. *—But I left that account untouched for five years. Didn’t want a penny from him. Later, I checked—decent sum sitting there, but I was managing fine. Decided to save it. Started setting aside earnings too.*
Emily had everything, so the maintenance money gathered dust. Margaret dreamed of retirement: a cottage, a veg patch, chickens, maybe rabbits. Once Emily married, she’d get the flat, and Margaret would send homemade preserves. True, most of that savings pot was his money, not hers.
*—Brilliant plan!* her friend beamed. *—I’d love a country cottage too. Good on you!*
*—Don’t cheer yet,* Margaret gave a wry smile. *—The second I bought the place, I was over the moon—told Emily straight away. Instant regret. She accused me of robbing her, cut me off completely.*
*—Over money?* her friend gasped. *—Emily’s always been so bright, so kind!*
*—Still is,* Margaret sighed. *—But she’s convinced I stole from her. We rowed for weeks. Then she dug up her dad’s number and ran to him. Now they’re demanding every penny back. My ex called me selfish, said I squashed her future—his money was for her education. Never mind I’d worked double shifts to give her everything. Am I really such a monster?*
Her voice cracked. She remembered denying herself every little luxury so Emily had the best. Every gadget, every seaside trip—paid for by her sweat. Now the daughter she’d loved so fiercely was turning on her. Greenvale buzzed with whispers: *Margaret nicked her girl’s maintenance!* Neighbours muttered, and Emily, instead of defending her, stoked the fire by siding with the dad who’d walked out fifteen years ago.
Her ex, James, didn’t hold back. He’d ring, shouting:
*—You blew Emily’s money! That was her future! How could you?*
Margaret tried explaining she’d provided every necessity, that his payments sat unused till her dream took shape. But James wouldn’t listen. Neither would Emily. Her resentment ran deep, as if her mother had snatched something priceless. Margaret felt gutted. She’d given her all—only to be called a thief.
One evening, in her quiet cottage, the smell of herbs drifting in, Margaret wondered: *Had she messed up? Should she have asked Emily?* But didn’t years of sacrifice prove it was all for her daughter? She wrote Emily a long letter—pouring out her weariness, her cottage dream, how she’d wanted Emily never to lack. No reply. Then, a month later, Emily showed up unannounced.
*—Mum, I was wrong,* she murmured, eyes down. *—I didn’t see how much you’d given me. I’m sorry.*
Margaret hugged her tight, tears of relief spilling. They talked for hours, unpacking the hurt. Emily admitted her dad had stoked her anger, hoping to worm his way back in. Slowly, they patched things up. Greenvale’s gossip died down. Margaret kept her cottage, but now Emily came to help with the garden, and somehow, they ended up closer than ever.
This whole mess? It’s about hurt, forgiveness, and love that weathers storms. Margaret proved even the darkest cracks let in light—if you hold on tight enough.
