My daughter stopped speaking to me a whole year ago. She left home to live with a man I couldn’t accept. I knew him too wellunpredictable, moody as the English weather, always finding an excuse not to get a job. But she was besotted and told me I “didn’t understand her,” that life with him would be different. Those were her last words to me before she walked out that rainy evening, never once looking back. He blocked me everywhere, never even letting me say goodbye.
For months, all I heard about her came from Mrs. Jenkins next door, who told me my daughter was posting picturesarms around him, smiling, writing how she’d finally “found a home.” My heart ached, but I stayed silent. I knew sooner or later his true colours would show. And so they did. The happy pictures vanished. No more photos of her dressed up with friends at cosy pubs or wandering around the city. One day, I saw she was selling her clothes and furniture online, and I just knew something was very wrong.
Two weeks ago, my phone finally rang. Her name flashed on the screen, and I was struck dumb. I picked up, my voice shaking, half-expecting another angry lecture about how I “interfere in her life.” But it wasn’t that. She was crying. She told me hed thrown her out. But what gutted me most was hearing: “Mum I’ve got nowhere to go.”
I asked her why she hadn’t come sooner, why she’d stayed silent for a year. She said she was too ashamed to admit Id been right. That the relationship was nothing like shed dreamed. “I dont want to be alone for Christmas,” she sobbed. It cut me to the core, remembering our Christmases togethersinging carols, roasting the turkey, decorating the nativity set. To realise she was living a life so far from her dreams shattered me.
That same evening, she came home. Just one small, sad, empty suitcase in hand, and a look in her eyes like her spirit had been broken. I didnt embrace her at firstnot because I didnt want to, but because I wasnt sure she was ready. Then, suddenly, she clung to me, whispering, “Mum, please forgive me. I dont want to be alone for Christmas.”
It was an embrace wed both been waiting for all year. I sat her down, gave her a warm meal, and let her speak. The words poured out, pent up like steam from a kettle left too long on the hob.
She told me how hed checked her phone, made her feel worthless, assured her over and over that, without him, no one would ever love her. She admitted that many times she’d nearly called me, but pride held her back. She said, “I thought if I called you, it would mean admitting Id failed.”
I told her that coming home isnt failingstaying somewhere that destroys you, thats the real failure. She wept like a little girl.
Today, shes heresleeping soundly for the first time in months. I dont know what the future holds. I dont know if shell go back to him or finally see she deserves a better life.
But I do know one thing: this Christmas, she wont be alone.
Because, truly, what else could a mother do?
