Returning from her daughter’s house, Emily stopped by the supermarket on her way home. She was nearing the pedestrian crossing when she spotted Margaret—older now, her shoulders slumped. At first, Emily thought she’d mistaken her for someone else, but after a closer look, she was certain.
“Margaret?” she called out to the woman shuffling slowly along the pavement. A thought flashed through her mind: *She doesn’t look well…*
Margaret lifted her head and smiled, though her smile seemed worn and tired.
“Emily, love! I recognised you straight away, even though it’s been ages.”
They’d once worked together and been close friends, despite the five-year age gap. When Emily retired, Margaret had already been pensioned off but kept working.
“Oh, I can’t wait to retire—not a single day more of work after that,” Emily used to say, while her colleague watched with envy.
“Easy for you,” Margaret would reply. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll have to keep at it—helping the kids, paying off loans.”
After Emily left the job, they hadn’t seen each other again.
“Margaret! It’s been an age,” Emily said warmly.
“Yes, time flies. I’m seventy now—just coming back from the chemist’s. I live nearby these days.”
“Nearby?” Emily was surprised. She knew Margaret had lived in her own cottage out in the countryside. “Did you sell the house?”
“I’m at my sister’s now, in her two-bed flat. We’ve moved Mum in too—she’s ninety-two, needs looking after. The cottage was lovely, but…” She trailed off. “I still can’t get used to the flat—stuffy, hard to breathe in this concrete box. I spent my whole life in a house with a garden.”
“So why did you leave?” They sat on a bench—neither was in any hurry.
Emily and Margaret had been good friends, visiting each other often. Margaret had always been cheerful, her warm smile drawing people in like a magnet. And what a homemaker she’d been! Her place was always spotless, the table laden with homegrown veg, berries from her garden, fresh herbs. She’d been the perfect hostess—back when she still had her husband. But he’d been a difficult man, fond of drink and arguments, though he hadn’t lived long. Margaret was left alone with two children, but she hadn’t grieved much. Yes, it was hard raising a son and daughter single-handedly, but at least there was peace. Before, she’d lived on edge, never knowing what state he’d come home in.
Time passed. The children grew up. Her son married first, renting a flat with his wife. When she fell pregnant, they moved in with Margaret.
“Mum, we’ll stay at yours—you can help with the baby,” her son informed her.
“Well, if that’s what you’ve decided,” she replied.
It stung that he hadn’t asked, but she didn’t object. Her daughter still lived at home too—there was space for everyone. Things got trickier when the grandson arrived. The baby was restless, crying through the nights, leaving everyone exhausted. Margaret went to work with headaches, but what could she do? Babies were babies.
She helped with the child, took him out on weekends to give her daughter-in-law a break. Sometimes, her son and his wife went away for the weekend, leaving the baby with her.
“Why don’t they take him with them?” Emily had once asked when Margaret shared her struggles.
“Oh, they need time off—pubs, fishing trips, weekends away with friends.”
“And you don’t need rest? You work all week too,” Emily had said, baffled.
Years rolled on. One day, her daughter announced:
“Mum, I’m getting married. You’ll have to cover the wedding—we can’t afford it.”
Margaret was stunned. Her daughter insisted her fiancé had no family, though that was a lie—his mother was an alcoholic, his father long gone.
“Couldn’t you skip the wedding?” Margaret suggested.
“Oh, so my brother gets one, but I don’t? I want a white dress too!”
“I’ll have to take out a loan,” Margaret said. “I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Fine, *I’ll* take the loan, but you’ll help pay it back. And we’ll have to live with you—we can’t afford rent *and* repayments.”
Margaret knew she’d have to make room. What else could she do? Her son and his wife weren’t thrilled, but they weren’t leaving either. Having Mum around was convenient—free childcare.
The wedding was held at a local venue—small, but proper, with the bride in white and the groom in a suit. Her son-in-law seemed decent enough, polite and quiet. They all lived together under one roof, in separate rooms—thankfully, the house was spacious. Margaret worried at first: *What if they don’t get along?* But things stayed calm.
Then her son dropped a bombshell:
“Mum, I’m extending the house—a separate entrance for us. You’ll need to help with the loan. Later, we’ll add a second floor. I’ve spoken to my sister—she’s fine with it. They’re not moving out anyway. And they’ll have kids soon. So, Mum—will you help?”
He always did this—decided first, then informed her.
“I suppose I’ll have to,” she said, though she thought, *How many more years of work and debt?*
It took three years, but he did it—the extension, the second floor. Now they had their own grand entrance, a large kitchen and living room downstairs, a staircase leading to bedrooms above. They had two children now, each with their own room—though the youngest still shared with his brother.
Her son and daughter-in-law were delighted. Yet they never invited Margaret over. Not once.
*I helped pay their loan—not even a thank you.*
Margaret was retired but still working when her daughter said:
“Mum, we want to renovate our side—why should my brother have all the upgrades? But money’s tight, the kids are in school now. We’ll need a loan—you’ll have to help. The house needs sorting, especially the second floor. I want it just like his.”
“Love, I thought I’d finally retire,” Margaret sighed. “I’m a pensioner, still dragging myself to work. Thank God your brother’s loan’s paid off.”
“Oh, typical! For *him*, anything—but if *I* ask—”
“Fine, take the loan. I’ll help while I’m still working,” Margaret said wearily. She knew her daughter—better to agree now than endure the sulking.
They remodelled their side too—a smaller kitchen, a living room. The cramped room where Margaret slept was partitioned, and suddenly, she had no space of her own.
“Love, where will *I* sleep?”
“On the sofa in the living room. We’ll toss your old bed—it’s dated anyway. Why fuss?”
Once the renovations were done, everything looked pristine. Her daughter and son-in-law had the upstairs bedroom, the kids their own rooms. Margaret had nowhere to go. The sofa was unbearable. Her son-in-law stayed up late watching telly, her daughter upstairs with her shows, the kids with theirs.
Margaret couldn’t sleep until he switched it off—sometimes he’d sit there nursing a beer.
*Why can’t he go upstairs?*
At sixty-seven, she longed to stop working. But she was still paying off the loan—sometimes handing over her entire wages when her daughter complained, *Mum, we can’t make the payment this month—you cover it. You’ve got your pension.*
She prayed for health. One more year, and she’d be free. At sixty-nine, the debt was finally cleared.
“Love, I’m retiring. My health’s not what it was.”
“And what’ll you do all day? Get under our feet?”
Margaret left without answering. She didn’t want them to see her cry.
She went to her sister’s—a tiny flat in the city.
“Meg, move in with me. There’s no life for you there. I’m alone anyway. I’ve been meaning to bring Mum up from the village—she’s frail, and my sister-in-law won’t care for her.”
“Yes, let’s do that.”
When she returned home to pack, her daughter asked, “Mum, where are you off to?”
“To your aunt’s. We’re bringing your grandmother here.”
“Oh, good. Probably for the best.” Her daughter didn’t hide her relief.
Her son didn’t care either. Now that she wasn’t working, what use was she?
So it was. Years of helping, of loans repaid—and in the end, there was no room left for her in her own home.
“That’s how it is, Emily. Living with my sister now, looking after Mum. The kids don’t even visit—just birthday
