**Diary Entry – 12th October**
Bloody hell. Another argument with Mum tonight, same old tune.
“Mum, for God’s sake, not this again!” Emily slammed her palm on the kitchen table. “We agreed you’d help with the loan!”
Her mum, Margaret, stirred her tea calmly. “We agreed on nothing. You decided for me.”
“What do you mean?” Emily gaped. “You said you’d think about it!”
“I did. And I won’t.”
Silence. Emily stared like she’d been slapped. Her husband, James, shifted awkwardly by the fridge, clearly wishing he were anywhere else.
“Mum, we’re struggling,” Emily tried again, softer. “James lost his job. I’m on maternity leave with little Charlotte. The bank won’t wait.”
Margaret set her cup down with a clink. “Should’ve thought of that before taking a loan for that car. I warned you.”
“That rust bucket?” Emily scoffed. “We needed wheels!”
“Buses work fine. I took them for forty years.”
Emily shot up, pacing. “You expect us to drag a baby around on public transport?”
“Why not? I raised you alone, working round the clock. Never begged for help.”
James finally chipped in. “Margaret, we’ll pay you back once I find work.”
“When?” She arched a brow. “A month? Six? The loan’s due every month.”
“I’ll find something. I’ve got qualifications, experience.”
“I’m sure you will. But not soon. And what’ll I live on? The wind?”
Emily spun around. “Your pension’s decent—£1,200! We only need £400 a month. You’d still have £800!”
Margaret pulled out a notepad. “Let’s do sums. Council tax: £300. Meds: £150, more if my back acts up. Food: £250 at least. That’s £700. Then shoes, washing machine breaks, doctor’s visits—”
“You don’t buy clothes every month!”
“And if the boiler gives out? Who’ll fix it?”
“We’ll help then,” James offered.
Margaret smiled thinly. “You’re kind, James, but you’ll have nothing to spare.”
Charlotte wailed from the nursery. Emily stormed off. James stayed, rubbing his neck.
“Margaret, we’re desperate. The bank’s threatening repossession.”
“Good. You bit off more than you could chew.”
“But family helps family.”
“I *have* helped. Raised her, put her through uni, gave her the flat when she married. Now it’s my turn to rest.”
Emily returned, bouncing Charlotte. “Mum, don’t you care about your grandchild? What if we’re evicted?”
“No one’s evicting you. Drama doesn’t suit you.”
“But the loan—”
“They’ll take the car, not the roof over your heads.”
“How will James get to work?”
“Like millions do—tube or bus.”
Emily sat, clutching Charlotte. “You’ve changed. You used to help.”
“When I worked. Now I live on what I’ve earned.”
“But you’ve savings!”
Margaret’s eyes sharpened. “How’d you know that?”
Emily flushed. “I—saw your passbook.”
“In my *locked* drawer?”
“Does it matter? We’re drowning!”
“Those savings are for *my* emergencies. What if I fall ill? Who’ll care for me?”
“We will!”
“With what? My own pension you’ll bleed dry?”
James tried again. “We’ll sign a repayment agreement—”
“Paper’s worthless.”
Charlotte fussed. Emily stood, rocking her. “Fine. Say we messed up. But you’re wise. Won’t you help?”
Margaret sighed. “I will. Not with money.”
Emily’s face fell. “Then how?”
“Sell the car. Buy a cheaper one. Or ask James’ parents.”
“That’s not help—it’s cruelty!”
“It’s sense. Money ruins families.”
“Why won’t you?” Emily’s voice cracked.
Margaret gazed out at the rain. “Because I’ve given enough. Worked double shifts, skipped holidays, paid your uni fees. Gave you the flat. My turn now.”
“That was your *job* as a mum!”
“My job ended at eighteen. Not at funding your mistakes.”
“What’ll you even spend it on?”
“Feeling like a person, not a beggar. Taxis when my knees ache. Presents for Charlotte. Choices.”
“We’re not asking forever!”
“Aren’t you? Next it’ll be a bigger flat, a fancier car. Easier to guilt me than budget.”
James hunched. “We’re not strangers. We’re family.”
“Exactly. Money will rot that. You’ll see me as a wallet. I’ll resent you.”
Emily scoffed. “Since when are you so cold?”
“Since I realised: bail out grown kids, and they never learn.” She turned to James. “Ever thought of temp work? Barista? Courier?”
He reddened. “I’ve a degree—”
“So? My dad dug ditches post-war. Pride feeds no one.”
Emily stood. “Fine. We’ll manage alone. But don’t come crying when you’re old.”
“I won’t. I’ve my nest egg.”
“What if it runs out?”
“Retirement home. Paid for.”
Emily froze. “You’d *choose* that?”
“Better than burdening you. Resentment kills love.”
At the door, Margaret called softly, “Visit often. Just leave money out of it.”
Later, the phone rang. Emily, contrite: “Mum… you were right. James has an interview—warehouse work. We’ll sell the car.”
Margaret smiled. “Good girl.”
“But… would you really go to a home?”
“We’ll see. Life’s about choices.”
**Lesson:** Independence is a gift—to them, and to yourself.
