When I was just eleven, my mum decided to remarry. Her new husband didn’t fancy having me around, so off I went to live with my nan. Mum couldn’t be bothered with us—her new bloke was all that mattered. Nan and I scraped by on her pension, pennies pinched and all. Nan never did like my mum much. Lucky for me, I took after my dad.
Money was tight, but we made it work. Nan became my mum, dad, and best mate rolled into one. I’d ask her advice, spill my secrets, and she was the first to hear about my school crush and all the teenage drama. She had my back through every wobble.
Then I started uni, and Nan passed away. No other family left. The house became mine. Just as I’d sorted the paperwork, guess who turned up? Mum. Haven’t seen her in years.
She reckoned we should swap. They were stuck in a poky two-bed flat, while I had a proper house—too much space for one, apparently. When I said no, she went off like a firework.
“You ungrateful cow! I gave birth to you!”
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I wasn’t having it. “Nan raised me. Where were you? You tossed me out like yesterday’s chips the second you got married. So no, I don’t owe you a thing.”
Five more years passed. I got married, had a kid. We lived happily in my house—well, as happily as anyone does between nappies and bills. Then Mum showed up again. No way was I letting her waltz back in. Who does that? Abandons you, then rocks up like nothing happened?
My little boy peeked out. “Mum, who’s that?”
Mum piped up before I could stop her. “I’m your gran! Can I come in? Your mum won’t let me.”
“But I’ve never seen you before. Mum, is she telling the truth? Why didn’t I know her?”
“Sweetheart, go to your room. We’ll talk later.” I turned to Mum. “What d’you want? I’ve got no time for this.”
She plonked herself down, waterworks in full swing. Said she’d been conned—sold her flat to buy a new one, but her husband ran off with the cash. Now she’s homeless and suddenly remembers me.
“Let me stay. You’re my only kid. You can’t leave me on the streets. You’re a good person. I gave birth to you!”
I let her kip on the sofa—couldn’t have her sleeping rough. Next morning, I rang Auntie Pam, Mum’s cousin who lives out in the countryside. Told her my husband would drop Mum off tomorrow. Villages always need extra hands. Let her sort herself out there. I won’t have her in my house. Nan raised me.
Before she left, Mum went nuclear. “Why are you so heartless? I gave birth to you!”
Right. And why am I so “heartless,” I wonder?
