No Longer Welcome: How a Daughter Rejected Her Mother Because of Her Appearance Sorry, Mum, please don’t come over right now, alright? — my daughter said quietly, almost offhandedly, as she laced up her trainers in the hallway. — Thank you for everything, honestly, but right now… right now it’s better if you stay home, have a rest. I already had my bag in hand and was pulling on my coat, ready as usual to head over and look after my granddaughter while my daughter went to her yoga class. It was always our routine — I’d arrive, watch the baby, and then head back to my little studio flat. But today something was different. After she spoke, I just stood there, frozen. Had something happened? Had I done something wrong? Not put the baby to bed properly? Chosen the wrong babygrow? Fed her at the wrong time? Or maybe just looked at her the wrong way? But no, it was something much more banal — and hurtful. It was about her in-laws. Wealthy, influential, well connected — they’d suddenly decided to come over every day to “see” their granddaughter. With serious faces, they’d unpack gifts and sit in the living room at the table they’d bought themselves. They’d given the young couple the flat, too. The furniture, the tea — all from them. They brought over a caddy of posh Darjeeling and made themselves at home. And apparently now my granddaughter was “theirs”, too. And me… I was just excess. Me, a railway worker after 30 years of service, an ordinary woman, no titles, no jewels, no fancy hair or fashionable clothes. — Just look at yourself, Mum, — my daughter said. — You’ve put on weight. Your hair’s gone grey. You look… scruffy. Those jumpers, so tasteless. And you always smell like trains. Do you understand? I was silent. What could I possibly say? When she left, I looked in the mirror. Yes, I saw a woman with tired eyes, little lines by her mouth, in a stretched-out jumper, cheeks round and flushed with shame. Disgust at myself hit me like a rainstorm on a clear day. I went out for air and felt my throat tighten as traitorous, bitter tears pricked my eyes and slid hotly down my cheeks. Then I returned to my little flat on the edge of town, sat down on the sofa, and picked up my old phone with all its saved photos. There was my daughter — just a little girl. With ribbons on her first day at school. Her graduation, her diploma, her wedding, and now my granddaughter — smiling in her cot. My whole life in these pictures. Everything I had lived for. Everything I had poured my energy into. And now, if they said “don’t come,” then so it should be. My time was over. I’d played my role. Now, I should keep out of the way. Not be a burden. Not spoil their life with my unbecoming looks. If I was ever needed — they’d call. Maybe they’d call. Some time went by. Then, one day, the phone rang. — Mum… — her voice was strained. — Could you come over? The nanny’s quit, the in-laws… well, they’ve shown their true colours. André’s out with his mates, I’m all alone. I was silent for a moment. Then answered calmly: — Sorry, love. I can’t right now. I need to look after myself for a while. To become “worthy”, as you said. When that day comes — maybe I’ll be there. I hung up and, for the first time in a long while, I smiled. Sadly, but proudly.

Sorry, Mum, could you not come over for a bit, yeah? My daughter said it so quietly, just as she was slipping her trainers on in the hallway. Thanks for everything, honestly, but right now its better if you just stay at home and rest.

I already had my handbag in hand and my coat halfway on, getting ready, as usual, to pop round and look after my granddaughter while my daughter went off to yoga. It was always the routine Id show up, babysit, then toddle back to my little studio flat. But today, something was different. Her words left me standing there, rooted to the spot.

Had I done something wrong? Put the baby down the wrong way? Chosen the wrong babygro? Fed her at the wrong time? Smiled at her the wrong way?

But no. The real reason was much more ordinary and much more hurtful.

It was about her in-laws. They were wealthy, well-connected, and suddenly decided theyd start coming over every day to see their granddaughter. All serious, handing out presents, sitting by the living room table theyd bought themselves, in the flat theyd basically given the young couple.

The sofa, the tea all provided by them. They even brought over an expensive tin of posh tea and seemed to make themselves at home in every room. Apparently, my granddaughter was now theirs too. And me? I wasnt needed.

Me, who worked on the trains for thirty years. Just an ordinary woman: no titles, no flash jewellery, not much of a fashion sense.

Look at yourself, Mum, my daughter said, barely meeting my eyes. Youve put on weight. Your hairs gone grey. You look scruffy. Those jumpers you wear are awful. And you smell like the train. Cant you see?

I just stayed quiet. What could I say to that?

When shed gone, I went over to the mirror. Looking back at me: a woman with tired eyes, creases around her mouth, a baggy old jumper, and cheeks gone red from embarrassment. Suddenly, this wave of shame washed over me, out of the blue like a raincloud on a sunny day. I had to get out and get some air, but as soon as I stepped outside, I felt the lump rise in my throat and tears pricked my eyes. Bitter, stinging tears poured down my face.

Eventually, I went back to my cosy little flat on the edge of town. I curled up on the sofa and picked up my old mobile the one still full of photos. There was my daughter as a little girl, hair done up with a ribbon on her first day at school. Her prom, her graduation, her wedding. And now my granddaughter, beaming from her cot.

My whole life in those pictures. Everything Id ever cared about. Every bit of me Id given to them. And now, being told not to come round Well, I suppose thats how it goes. My moment had passed. Id played my part. Now I just needed to keep quiet, not be a burden. Not embarrass her with how I looked. If they needed me theyd call. Maybe.

Some time slipped by. Then, one day, the phone rang.

Mum Her voice was tight, on the edge. Can you come over, please? The nannys quit, and my in-laws well, theyve shown their true selves. And James is out with his friends, Im on my own.

I paused, just for a second. Then I replied, as calmly as I could:

Sorry, love. Right now, I cant. I need to look after myself. Become presentable, like you said. Maybe, when the time comes Ill see about coming over.

I hung up, and for the first time in ages, I managed a little smile. Sad but proud, too.