Little Maisie could never understand why her parents didnt love her.
She annoyed her father, and her mother seemed to go through the motions of caring for hermore concerned with her husbands moods than her daughters needs.
Her paternal grandmother, Margaret Thompson, would insist Dad worked hard, Mum had her hands full, and they only wanted the best for Maisie. But the truth came out when she was eight, overhearing a bitter row between them.
“Susan, this soup is *inedible*!” her father bellowed. “Cant you do anything right?”
“Colin, I tasted it! It was fine!” her mother protested weakly.
“Everythings *fine* with you, isnt it? Couldnt even give me a son. The lads at work laughcalling me cursed!”
Maisie doubted anyone dared mock himher father was a stern, weathered lorry driver whod seen enough of lifebut the venom in his voice, the resentment toward his wife *because of her*, made her stomach twist.
Now she knew why they sent her to Grans whenever he returned from a long haulhe couldnt stand the sight of his *”not-son.”*
At Grans, life was warm. They baked, sewed, did homework together. Yet the ache remainedwhy couldnt her parents love her?
Then, not long after that fight, Colin and Susan announced they were moving to London.
“Stuck in a rut here,” her father declared. “Fresh start. Maybe a sonll come along.”
Of course, Mum agreed.
There was just one problemthey werent taking Maisie.
“Youll stay with Gran. Well fetch you later,” her mother muttered, avoiding her eyes.
“Good. I *want* to stay,” Maisie lied, chin high, heart cracking.
Fine. She had Gran. Friends. Teachers who cared.
Let her parents rot.
By the time Maisie turned ten, Colin and Susan had their golden childa son, Oliver.
Her father announced it via video callneither had visited in years. Mum rang occasionally; Dad “sent his regards.” Theyd wire Gran small sums, but Maisie was *her* burden.
Then, a year later, Mum arrived unannounced.
“Darling, youre coming with us!” she chirped. “Youll *adore* your brother!”
“Im not leaving Gran,” Maisie said flatly.
“Dont be selfish! Youre old enough to help!”
“Help *what*?” Gran cut in. “Free babysitting? Over my dead body.”
“Shes *my* daughter!” Susan snapped.
Gran stood taller. “Try it. Ill report you for abandonment. See how fast they strip your rights.”
The argument raged, but Maisie missed mostGran sent her to the shops. When she returned, Mum never mentioned moving again. She left the next day.
A decade passed. Maisie finished school, college, landed an accounting job through Grans old friend, Albert. She fell for a driver named James, planned a weddinguntil Gran died.
Her parents showed for the funeral. Oliver stayed home”too young for such gloom.”
Maisie was numb. Gran was *everything*.
Then, at the wake, her fathers voice cut through her grief.
“Place is a dump,” Colin mused, eyeing the flat. “Wont fetch much.”
“Colin*not now*,” Susan hissed.
“We need the money. Olivers future”
“Planning to sell *my* home?” Albert asked coldly.
“*Our* home. Oliver needs a flat. Thisll cover the deposit.”
Maisie stared out the window.
“Kicking your own daughter out?” Albert said.
“Shes *grown*! Let her husband house her!”
Albert smirked. “Margaret saw you coming. The flats *Maisies*. Legally.”
Colin paled. “You turned Gran against me?” he spat at Maisie.
“*No*,” she said, voice like steel.
“Have a heart! Olivers the *son*! Well pay youfifty grand”
“*No.*”
“Little *bitch*”
“Leave, or I call the police.”
He hated cops. They left.
Four years later, Maisie and James married, had a daughter, Lucy. Money was tight, but they were happyuntil her mother called.
“*You* killed him!” Susan screamed. “If youd just given up that *bloody flat*, he wouldnt have worked himself to death!”
Maisies voice was ice. “You need help with the funeral?”
“I need *nothing*! Olivers an orphan because of *you*!” The line went dead.
“You know this isnt your fault,” James murmured.
Maisie exhaled. “I know.”
A year later, Susan reappearedolder, bitter.
“We need money. Olivers university fees,” she demanded.
Maisie laughed. “*No.*”
“Margaret poisoned you. Just like she *hated* me”
“*Speak ill of Gran again, and Ill throw you out.*”
Susan sneered. “Well *sue* you. The law says you *must* help family!”
The court date came. Susan sobbed, spinning tales of sacrifice.
Maisie told the *truth*.
The judge ruled against Susantheir finances werent desperate.
Susan left with one last hate-filled glare.
Maisie knew shed be back.
But she wouldnt give an inch.
