You’re Not Welcome: How a Daughter Rejected Her Mother Because of Her Appearance
I’m Sorry, Mum… Please Don’t Come Over Right Now — whispered my daughter quietly, almost offhand, as she laced up her trainers in the hallway. — Thank you for everything, really, but right now… it’s best if you stay home and rest.
I already had my bag in hand and was slipping on my coat, ready as usual to go look after my granddaughter while my daughter went off to yoga. It was always so well-rehearsed — I’d arrive, babysit, then catch the bus home to my little bedsit. But today, everything was different. After her words, I just stood there, frozen.
Had something happened? Had I put the baby down wrong? Buttoned up the wrong babygrow? Fed her at the wrong time? Or maybe, just maybe… was I simply caught looking “wrong”?
But no, the truth was much more ordinary — and hurtful.
It was about her in-laws. Wealthy, influential, holding all the right positions, they’d suddenly decided to visit their granddaughter every day. With serious faces, they unwrapped presents and sat at the dining table they’d picked out themselves. They’d gifted the young couple the flat as well.
The furniture, the tea — all from them. They brought over posh Darjeeling and made themselves at home. Apparently now claiming my granddaughter as “theirs”. And me… I was in the way.
Me, the retired railway worker with thirty years’ service, just an ordinary woman, no titles or frills, no fancy clothes or designer hairstyle.
“Mum, look at yourself,” said my daughter. “You’ve put on weight. Your hair’s gone grey. You look… untidy. Those jumpers are hideous. And you smell like the train. Do you understand?”
I stayed silent. What can you say to that?
After she’d left, I stared into the mirror. I saw a woman with tired eyes, lines around her mouth, a stretched out pullover, and red cheeks burning with embarrassment. Disgust at myself welled up inside me, sudden as a downpour on a sunny day. I went out for some air as my throat clenched tight and traitorous, bitter tears slid down my face.
Then I returned to my tiny flat on the edge of town. I sat on the sofa and scrolled through old photos on my brick of a mobile. My daughter — just a little girl, with a hair ribbon at her first day of school. Prom. Graduation. Her wedding. My granddaughter, smiling from her cot.
My whole life in these pictures. Everything I’d lived for. Everything I’d poured myself into. And now, being told “don’t come over”, well, maybe that’s how it’s meant to be. My time had passed. I’d played my part. Now my job was to keep out of the way. Not to be a burden. Not to upset their lives with my unfashionable face. If they needed me, they’d call. Maybe.
Some weeks passed. Then one day, the phone rang.
“Mum…” her voice sounded strained. “Could you come by? The nanny’s quit, the in-laws… well, they’re showing their true colours. André’s out with his mates. I’m on my own.”
I paused for a moment. Then answered calmly:
“I’m sorry, love. I can’t just now. I need to look after myself. Become ‘worthy’, as you put it. If that ever happens — maybe then I’ll come.”
I hung up. And for the first time in ages, I smiled. Sadly. But with pride. Forgive me, Mum, but please dont come over just now, all right? my daughter said, quietly and rather
Ive retired now, and this enormous feeling of loneliness has crept into my lifea sort of loneliness I
FOREBODING In the languid hours of the night, Emily stirred in her bed, the shifting shadows on the ceiling
A Secret In a small town on the edge of the countrysidemore a village than a town, reallythere once lived
The plates with untouched dinner sat on the table, chilled and heavy under the low kitchen light.
I remember the evening I stepped out of my sons home, leaving behind a piping hot casserole and my apron
Ive retired now, and this enormous feeling of loneliness has crept into my lifea sort of loneliness I
My Husband’s Mistress Was Stunning—I’d Have Chosen Her Myself If I Were a Man. You Know the Type: Confident Women Who Walk with Poise, Meet Your Gaze, and Command Respect Without Flash or Fuss. She Was Exactly Who I’d Have Picked—My Complete Opposite. Because Me? I’m Always Rushing, Barking at the Kids and My Husband, Never on Top of Anything, Swamped at Work, Bosses Never Satisfied—Living in Permanent Trousers and Jumpers Because Who Has Time to Iron a Blouse? Her Lover, on the Other Hand, Had It All—That Figure, That Stature, Those Legs, That Hair, Those Eyes, That Face! And Ever Since I Found Out—Saw Them Together by Chance in a Café, My Husband Holding Her Hands and Kissing Her Fingers While I Sat Hidden in the Corner—I Haven’t Been Able to Catch My Breath. I Thought I’d Panic, But Inside It Was Just… Empty. That Evening, I Almost Asked Him Directly—So, How’s Your Mistress? She’s Gorgeous, Can’t Blame You, I’d Have Fallen for Her Too. But I Didn’t Say a Word. Maybe There’s Nothing Physical Yet—Just Chemistry, That Dangerous Unity of Breath and Thought. Maybe I Only Imagine It All. I Even Tried Googling What Women Do When They Catch Their Husbands Cheating, But Found No Answers. So, Do I Divorce Him? Tolerate It? What For? Funny—A Couple of Years Back, When Our Friends Went Through the Same Thing, My Husband Insisted a Real Man Would Confess, Take Responsibility, Provide for His Family. It’s Easy to Be Principled from a Distance. In Reality, All Certainty Vanishes. Eventually, I Confronted Them—Sat at Their Table in That Café, Looked at Both of Them, and Said: Well, Now What? We’ve Got Kids, a Shared Home, Elderly Parents to Think Of. You’re Both Clever—You’ll Work Something Out. Then I Walked Out in My One Properly Ironed Dress, Thinking I Should Wear It More Often. My husbands mistress was absolutely stunning. Honestly, if I were a man, Id probably pick her too.
Gone to the Dogs “Emily, have you completely stopped vaccuuming? My eyes are watering from the dust.
I retired recently, and the feeling of being utterly alone has begun to creep in. Only now, in my later
