The weight of my decision presses down on me like a leaden sky. Three sleepless nights have left me hollow, gnawed at by guilt sharper than a winter wind. I stand on the edge, torn between duty and dreadmy pregnancy nearing its end, life poised to change forever. After the wedding, I moved with my husband to a new city, leaving behind my childhood home in a quiet village near Manchester, now miles and memories away. My parents remain there, visits rarecounted on one handwhether they come to us or we to them.
One evening, Mum sat with me in our small London flat, cradling a cup of tea. She spoke of her own struggles when I was bornhow shed wept from exhaustion, how only Grans help had kept her from breaking. Her words struck deep. I saw myself in her place: lost, overwhelmed, a newborn in my trembling arms. Before I could stop myself, I blurted, *”Mum, why not stay with us after the baby comes? Just for a bitto help me find my feet.”* Her face lit up, bright as sunrise, but then*”Oh, love, your dad and I would *adore* a year with you! Well let out our place, put the extra toward your bills.”*
Ice flooded my veins. A *year*? With Dad? Id imagined Mum alone, for a fortnight, a month at mostnot this. Dads habits flashed before me: his pipe smoke curling through the flat, the balcony door yawning open in January drafts. I pictured my baby coughing, chilled, while I fretted helplessly. And the noisehim bored, the telly blaring war films, or worse, dragging my husband off to the pub till all hours. I need Tom *here*, not pulled away by well-meant pints.
Gathering courage, I told her, *”Just you, Mum. A month, no longer.”* Her smile died. *”Without your father, I wont come at all,”* she snapped, storming out, leaving silence thick as fog. Now, I lie awake, Tom breathing softly beside me, and wonder: Was I cruel? Should I have swallowed my fears for her sake? But the thought of that yearchaos, smoke, endless compromisetightens my chest like a vise.
Guilt whispers Im selfish, pushing away her love. Yet my heart screams: *This is my child, my home to protect.* What if Im wrong? What if Ive robbed her of joy, of being needed when I might need her most? Or am I right to guard these fragile boundaries before they crumble? The questions swirl, a tempest with no shore in sight. I need claritya beaconbefore the dark swallows me whole.
