**Diary Entry**
Mum lives off my moneythose words chilled me to the bone. Mum is a burdenI still remember the day I read my sons message, freezing the blood in my veins. My life in that Manchester flat had been turned upside down, and the pain in his words still echoes in my heart.
Years ago, my son Edward and his wife, Emily, moved in with me right after their wedding. We celebrated the births of their children together, weathered illnesses, and watched their first steps. Emily was on maternity leave with their first, then their second and third. When she couldnt manage, I took sick leave to care for my grandchildren. The house became a whirlwind of chorescooking, cleaning, laughter, and tears. There was no rest, but I grew used to the chaos.
I waited for my pension like a lifeline, counting the days on the calendar, dreaming of peace. But the harmony lasted only half a year. Every morning, I drove Edward and Emily to work, made the children breakfast, fed them, took them to nursery and school. With the youngest, I strolled in the park, then returned home to cook lunch, wash up, and tidy. In the evenings, I took them to music lessons.
My days were meticulously planned. Still, I stole moments for my passionreading and embroidery. It was my refuge, a quiet corner in all the madness. Then one day, a message from Edward left me stunned, unable to believe what I was reading.
At first, I thought it was a cruel joke. Later, Edward admitted hed sent it by mistake, not meant for me. But it was too latehis words burned my soul: Mum is a burden, and were still spending money on her medicine. I told him I forgave him, but I couldnt live under the same roof anymore.
How could he write such a thing? Every penny of my pension went towards the household. Most of my medicine was free as a pensioner. But his words revealed the truth of what he felt. I stayed silent, made no scene. Instead, I rented a small flat and moved out, saying Id be better off alone.
The rent ate nearly all my pension. I was left with barely enough, but I refused to ask Edward for help. Before retiring, Id bought myself a laptop, despite Emilys comments that Id never manage. But I did. A friends daughter taught me to use it.
I began photographing my embroidery and posting it online. I asked old colleagues to recommend me. Within a week, my hobby brought in the first bit of moneymodest sums, but enough to prove I wouldnt vanish or humiliate myself before my son.
A month later, a neighbour asked if Id teach her granddaughter to sew and embroiderfor a fee. The girl was my first pupil. Soon, two more joined. Their parents paid generously, and slowly, my life began to right itself.
But the wound in my heart hasnt healed. I hardly speak to Edwards family now. We only see each other at gatherings.
