**The Retort**
“Emily, who is that woman?” John whispered, careful not to be overheard by fellow passengers.
“What woman?” Emily looked up from her phone, momentarily pausing her message to a friend.
“Over there… by the last window. She keeps staring at us. I’d even say she’s shamelessly gawking.”
Emily sat up slightly to get a glimpse of the woman John referred to, and her expression changed instantly. Then she recovered quickly, feigned complete indifference, and shrugged her shoulders.
“No idea.”
“Don’t lie,” John said, clearly annoyed. “I saw your face when you noticed her. Who is she?”
“She’s my mum,” Emily admitted after a brief pause, realizing it might be best to be truthful. Just in case.
“Your mother?” John’s surprise was evident. “You told me you didn’t have a mum.”
“That’s right…”
“I don’t understand,” John stared curiously at his wife’s face. “Care to explain?”
“Let’s discuss it at home…”
“Aren’t you even going to approach her? Does she live here? In our town?”
“Please, John, let’s talk about it at home,” Emily pleaded, her voice trembling, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Fine,” John replied curtly and turned to look out the window, clearly offended.
Emily didn’t comfort him, relieved, at least for a while, to have some peace. Or rather, attempted peace, as memories from childhood resurfaced in her mind…
***
Emily didn’t remember her father. Her mother always described him as a “terrible” person. Emily was told she was lucky to have a wonderful person in her life – her stepfather.
She remembered him clearly since about the age of eight, though she didn’t see what was so wonderful about him. He was rude, mean, greedy. “Why does mum love him so?” thought little Emily, hiding in some corner to avoid Uncle Pete finding her.
He never hit her, never openly bullied her. But he also didn’t see her as a person. He never called her by name, just looked right through her.
He would talk to his wife about Emily as if she weren’t there, saying things like:
“The girl has no manners…”
“Your daughter disrupts my rest…”
“Explain to her it’s too early to be hanging around with boys.”
“Have you seen her report card? I’m embarrassed she’s living under my roof!”
“Under his roof! And what about the fact this is our apartment with mum?” teenage Emily would think, remembering vividly how they had moved in after grandma’s passing.
Once, after another thousand and first time hearing that phrase, Emily couldn’t hold back and blurted out to his face:
“It’s not me, but you living in our house! If you don’t like it, leave! No one will cry after you!”
Her stepfather lunged at her as if to silence her, but stopped short. He turned sharply to his wife, forcing out:
“Make it so I don’t see her anymore!”
Her mother grabbed Emily’s arm and pulled her out of the room, saying:
“Of course, dear, everything will be as you want…”
Emily’s mother always looked at him like he was a deity. She obeyed him unconditionally, served him, spoke with an excessively saccharine voice, and did everything she could to please him.
But why? Emily couldn’t understand.
In one thing, however, she was certain: if her stepfather wished, her mother would easily throw her out.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Emily’s mother hissed at her daughter that day. “Don’t you dare speak like that to your father!”
“He’s not my father!” Emily shouted. “And he’ll never be!”
“That doesn’t matter! He feeds you, clothes you, and you… Ungrateful!”
“I never asked to be born!” Emily cried through tears. “I never asked to be raised! You should have given me away so you wouldn’t have been burdened!”
“We should have!” her mother shouted back. “But no one took you! And your father ran away as soon as you were born! You’ve ruined my entire life!”
Hearing those words from her mother, Emily felt such hatred that she forcefully pushed her mother aside and dashed out of the house.
Nobody chased after her. During the week she was gone, nobody showed any concern about her whereabouts or well-being.
Emily was fifteen then…
What could she do? Nothing.
Her friends each took turns sheltering her for a few days, but that didn’t solve the problem. She had no choice but to return.
With trembling hands, Emily unlocked the front door…
“Oh, you’ve returned?” was all her mother said. “Go to your room and don’t come out until I call you…”
“Seems she persuaded him,” Emily thought and swiftly slipped back to her room.
From that day on, her stepfather wouldn’t speak another word about Emily. He acted as though she didn’t exist…
Of course, her mother went along with it: she didn’t call Emily to the table, didn’t inquire about her affairs, didn’t attempt to talk to her.
Emily clearly understood they’d made some decision regarding her. It seemed they just waited for her to finish school…
And she wasn’t wrong. As soon as Emily got her certificate, her mother hinted it was high time for her to prepare for independent living.
“Once you turn eighteen, you’ll enter the world on your own,” she declared, and then slipped back into silence.
Emily pondered it over and decided to apply to university. Firstly, she could relieve the family of her presence, and secondly, out-of-town students received accommodation. That meant, for at least the next five years, she’d have a place to live…
Emily didn’t get into university. Well, she did, but only the paid courses. She knew no one would pay for her education, but she informed them anyway:
“Mum, congratulate me, I’m a student now.”
Her mother looked at her indifferently:
“And?”
“But I have to pay for tuition… It’s not much…”
“Don’t even think about it. You won’t get a penny for your whims! Haven’t your father and I spent enough on you? All you ever gave us in return were headaches! And now we’re supposed to pay for your studies?”
“Sorry. Of course, you’re not,” Emily responded. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
“Exactly: you shouldn’t have. Now start looking for a flat.”
“Mum, I have nothing to pay with…”
“Get a job, or what’s this – wanting to study! You’ve got a month… Then you’re out.”
“A month isn’t enough,” Emily pleaded, hoping to soften her mother. “Can I stay with you at least six more months?”
“How long? Six months? No way. I’ve already barely convinced your father to tolerate your presence. Besides, we’ve planned a renovation. We want to turn your room into a bedroom. In a nutshell: one month, no more…”
And so Emily rented an apartment. It could only loosely be called one. A tiny annex in a private area. No amenities. A wood-burning stove. But it was cheap…
When she left her family home, her mother gave her a fork, spoon, plate, mug, table knife, and a small pot. After reconsidering, she added: a towel and an old set of sheets.
“Take this too,” she said, avoiding eye contact and handing Emily a small bag, “Good luck, dear. I hope you grow up and understand me.”
“Thanks, mum,” Emily replied. “Can I collect my winter clothes later?”
“Just don’t delay, or you might not find them here…”
“You wouldn’t throw them out, would you?”
“I wouldn’t, but your father might not like it. You understand…”
“I understand,” Emily hugged her mother, “Well, I’m off…”
And so, at eighteen, Emily embarked on an independent life. With her mother’s blessing…
The money her mother gave lasted until the first paycheck. Emily saved every penny, even avoiding public transport by walking to the factory.
Receiving her first paycheck, she felt like a rich person! She bought grains, pasta in bulk, a bottle of vegetable oil, and a whole bucket of potatoes. She needed to purchase shampoo, soap, toothpaste…
After buying all necessities, Emily calculated her remaining funds and, setting aside a small sum in a pretty envelope, decided: slowly but surely, to save for her own place.
Emily visited her mother about a month later: to see her (still naively believing her mother would be glad) and collect warm clothes, as the summer was over and it was turning autumnally cool outside.
A young man opened the door.
“Hey, did you get the door wrong?” he asked cheerfully.
“I’m actually here for mum,” Emily said, taken aback.
“Oh… You must be Emily? Come on in. Mum’s not here, but you can wait for her.”
“I will,” Emily said decisively, making her way to the kitchen.
The young man tried to strike up a conversation, but Emily gave him such a look that he retreated quickly.
Her mother returned, showing no particular joy. When Emily inquired about the young man, her mother replied:
“That’s Oliver. My husband’s son from his first marriage.”
“Why is he living with you? You were planning a renovation.”
“He won’t be here long. Just settling in the city, finding a job, then he’ll move to a private place.”
“Got it,” Emily said, “I grabbed my boots and coat…”
“Take everything. Don’t leave anything. I’m tired of moving it around.”
“When did you get tired of it, mum? I’ve only been gone two months.”
“Don’t get smart,” her mother snapped. “If you’re here, take everything with you.”
“Won’t you even ask how I’m doing?”
“I’m not interested,” her mum said, evidently avoiding speaking in Oliver’s presence.
“Well, you haven’t surprised me,” Emily responded calmly, heading to the hallway…
“Need a hand with that huge bag?” Oliver popped up out of nowhere. “How will you manage it?”
“I’ll manage,” Emily retorted, leaving the apartment…
She returned a couple of months later. This time for a down jacket. Once again, Oliver opened the door. This time her mum was home too. On Emily’s question:
“Is he still here?” her mother erupted:
“None of your business! He’ll stay as long as he wants! He’s visiting his father in the end!”
“And I lived here with mum,” Emily noted, “but that didn’t seem to save me.”
“Don’t compare! This is different!”
“Different how?” Emily asked, unwaveringly. “What’s the difference?”
“I don’t have to explain myself to you!” her mother shouted. “This is my house, and I’ll decide who lives here.”
“I see.”
“What do you see?!”
“That a stranger is more important to you than your own daughter,” Emily said confidently and calmly, finally breaking her mother’s composed demeanor.
“I don’t have a daughter!” she blurted. “And Oliver’s the son of my beloved man! He’s more than a son to me!”
“Congratulations,” Emily looked at her mum as if seeing a stranger, “In that case, I don’t have a mother anymore.”
She left. Certain it was for good.
For four years, Emily kept silent. No calls, no visits.
And now, this encounter…
***
While Emily was lost in thoughts, her mother stood up from her seat and approached her daughter.
John rose, offering her his seat.
“Hello,” Emily heard that painfully familiar voice she tried hard to forget.
“Hi,” Emily managed to reply.
“Who’s he?” her mum nodded towards John.
“My husband.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
“We’re doing well too. Dad’s working, and Oliver found a girlfriend. She’s lovely and calm. The wedding’s next month. You know, I’m going to be a grandmother soon. What a joy! We decided to give the baby your room. We’re already decorating. Bought the most expensive wallpaper, with childish designs. Also, we’re planning to buy a cottage nearby. Fresh air and vitamins for the baby, you see. We’re searching for something affordable, with a livable little house and ideally, near a river or lake…”
Emily listened to these elaborations, utterly perplexed at why this stranger, in essence, was telling her all this.
“And when did you get married?”
“Two years ago,” Emily answered automatically.
“Planning kids?”
“Our son is almost a year old.”
“Then I have a grandson?”
“Do you?” Emily finally turned to her mother.
“I do,” her mother hesitated momentarily. “You’re my daughter after all.”
“You seem mistaken, lady. My mother died four years ago…”
Her mother went pale, stood up quietly, and headed for the exit.
Emily turned to the window: she felt no pity for… that woman.
John had been quietly observing and listening all along.
Suddenly, he realized: they were perfect strangers!
And he resolved not to probe Emily about her past. The thought of peering into it frightened him…
