A Shadow of the Past: The Estrangement
For two years now, Margaret Whitmore has not spoken to her daughter, Emily. A year ago, without warning, Emily stopped answering her calls. She changed the locks on her flat in a quiet riverside town along the Thames and made it clear she no longer wanted her mother in her life. Margaret still cannot accept this rift, her heart twisting in pain at every memory of her daughter.
“Two years without a word,” Margaret sighs, her voice trembling with restrained emotion. “Emily carries on—posting pictures online, meeting friends. But not a call, not a message for me. She’s a grown woman now, with a three-year-old daughter and a husband, living in her own place. I’ve always been strict—with myself, with others, and with Emily too. A parent must set high standards. I wanted her to study well, help around the house, take care of herself.”
Margaret never softened her principles, even after Emily started her own family. She visited regularly, but each time became an ordeal. “How can you live in such a mess?” she’d scold, rearranging cupboards as if Emily were still ten. She pointed out unwashed dishes, criticised her for neglecting the child, and didn’t hesitate to berate Emily’s husband: “Daniel is useless, always broke!” Margaret believed only she could speak the hard truths, no matter how much they stung.
Then, a year ago, everything changed. “I called Emily as usual,” Margaret recalls, her eyes darkening with hurt. “I mentioned my niece’s daughter could already read at four. Emily snapped, ‘Why compare children?’ I was shocked—of course you compare when the difference is obvious. That was our last conversation.” Soon after, Margaret learned Emily had changed the locks and barred her from the house. “I thought it was a phase,” she says. “I waited for her to come to her senses, to apologise. But she never did.”
Months passed, the silence growing heavier. In late July, it was Margaret’s birthday. She hoped for a call that never came. “Not even a word to your own mother!” she exclaims bitterly. The next day, she borrowed a phone and dialled Emily’s number. “I told her—if you won’t speak to me, then leave my flat!” she remembers, her voice shaking with anger.
Six years earlier, before Emily’s wedding, Margaret had transferred the flat’s ownership to her. “Daniel barely earned a penny,” she explains. “I wanted to help them, I had the means. But now? If she’s turned her back on me, she can find another place!” Emily’s reply was sharp—the flat was legally hers, the paperwork settled, and Margaret had no right to evict her. “She said it was her home now, that I had no claim,” Margaret fumes. “Where’s the justice in that?”
Margaret believes she did right. “If she’s so independent, let her prove it!” she says defiantly. “Find a new home if she doesn’t appreciate her mother.” Yet deep down, the pain gnaws at her. She remembers raising Emily, teaching her strength, dreaming of closeness. “I only ever wanted what was best for her,” she whispers, tears welling. “Why did she push me away?”
Emily, for her part, remains silent. Perhaps the constant criticism wore her down. Perhaps she simply wished to shield her family from what she saw as suffocating control. But Margaret refuses to accept this ending. She waits for Emily to reach out—yet with each passing day, hope fades like morning mist over the river.
