Mum adored the actress Judi Dench, so she named her daughter after her.
Dad left when Judy was eight. Life got harder, but at least the daily shouting stopped. Judy was old enough to know why her parents fought.
Mum screamed that Dad couldn’t keep his eyes off other women. What Judy couldn’t fathom was why those women—young, pretty—would bother with a married man who had a kid.
*”Enough. I’m sick of your nonsense. Rather spend time with mates than listen to this,”* Dad yelled before slamming the door.
Judy was relieved when he wasn’t home. No tears, no shouting. Besides, he barely paid her any mind—always at work until she was asleep or off with his friends on weekends.
One night, the row was worse than ever. Broken plates, glass shattering.
*”You don’t care about us, about your own daughter! You’re leaving me, but you’re abandoning her too—just running after skirts!”*
*”Fine, I’ll take her with me,”* Dad shot back.
*”Oh, and your new wife won’t mind? She’s already got a son running wild—proper little troublemaker.”*
Judy clamped her hands over her ears, trembling. Then—silence. When she finally lowered them, she didn’t dare leave her room. Mum came in later, eyes puffy.
*”Scared? Don’t be.”* She hugged Judy tight.
*”Where’s Dad? Did he leave? For that other lady?”*
*”You heard? Sorry, love—I forgot you were there. We’ll manage, won’t we? Fancy some tea? Biscuits?”*
*”Yeah.”*
*”Wait here. I’ll tidy up, then fetch you.”*
Judy waited, then peeked out. Mum was sweeping broken bits, silently crying. She slipped back unseen.
That summer, Mum sent her to Dad’s mum. Gran was kind, always scolding her son. Judy missed Mum, but Gran said she needed time to find a proper dad for her.
*”Don’t want one. Just Mum,”* Judy insisted.
Mum picked her up at summer’s end. They hugged for ages, Judy clinging to her side.
*”Go pack your things,”* Gran said, shooing her off. At first, Judy ignored the grown-ups’ talk—
*”When will you tell her?”* Gran’s voice carried.
*”I will. Thanks for your help.”* Mum’s reply was evasive.
*”Mum! I don’t wanna stay! Take me home!”* Judy burst in, panicked she’d be left behind.
Mum took her back to London. But now, Mum smiled absently often—which made Judy happy too.
Then one day, Mum brought a man home. *”This is Uncle Stephen. He’ll live with us now.”*
Some girls at school had stepdads. *”Mine’s brilliant—buys me whatever I want!”* bragged Lucy. Nadia scowled; hers was strict, never bought a thing. Judy worried Stephen would be like that. But he brought sweets, ice cream—Mum looked happier. Judy relaxed, though she kept her distance.
Life didn’t change much—no shouting, but fewer bedtime stories.
*”You’re big now. Read to yourself.”* The light clicked off, but she’d hear them talking downstairs.
Once, Mum asked if she wanted a brother or sister.
*”Neither.”*
Six months later, baby Rosie arrived—loud, always in Mum’s arms. Judy burned with jealousy.
*”She loves you, pet. But Rosie’s tiny—needs more care now. You’ll play together later,”* Stephen said.
Judy watched the squirming baby, still feeling like an outsider. But who asked kids what they wanted?
Rosie grew. Mum asked Judy to play with her, walk her. Slowly, a big-sister pride flickered—like playing with a live doll.
Then Stephen died in his sleep. *”Blood clot,”* the doctor said. Mum shut down, grieving—until one day at the park.
Rosie shoved a boy off the slide. He pushed back—she fell, head bleeding. Judy sprinted home with her.
Mum sprang to action, cleaning the cut. Judy tried explaining, but Rosie wailed, *”She pushed me!”*
Mum rounded on Judy, screaming until she locked herself in her room, sobbing.
After that, Mum barely saw her. Judy realised: Mum had loved Stephen. Rosie was all she had left. And Judy? Just a reminder of Dad’s betrayal.
When she confronted Mum, the reply stung. *”You’re older. Your dad’s alive—Rosie’s an orphan.”*
*”Alive? He vanished! Sent child support, that’s it!”*
Useless. Mum poured all her love into Rosie.
So Judy pulled away. Met a bloke, Dan, and left home. Mum didn’t seem to mind.
Dan worked while studying. They rented a flat. Judy visited, bringing Rosie sweets. Mum asked perfunctory questions, then gushed about Rosie—making Judy feel invisible.
They married when she was pregnant with twins, got a mortgage. Between the boys, she barely saw Mum, who never visited.
Only once did Mum call—to moan about Rosie skipping school, staying out late. *”If her dad had lived—”*
*”If mine hadn’t left, there’d be no Rosie. You’d have loved me.”*
Mum called her a selfish cow. No more calls.
Then Mum got sick. Cancer, caught by chance. Judy helped, visiting daily—between chemo, work, the twins.
Rosie was never home. *”She’s young—got uni, lads…”* Mum excused.
*”She could wait! What if you needed help?”*
Judy considered moving Mum in—but the boys’ room was too cramped. Mum refused anyway. *”What about Rosie?”*
Rosie had endless excuses. Once, she wrinkled her nose. *”Stinks of meds in here. Can’t breathe.”*
Mum could barely walk. Sometimes didn’t make the loo.
*”Take her if you like cleaning piss,”* Rosie sneered.
*”She’s your mum! You should care for her!”*
Judy arranged hospice care, visiting daily while Mum asked for Rosie.
They sent Mum home to die. Judy moved in, leaving Dan and the boys.
Once, Mum handed her a folder. *”Important.”* Judy forgot about it.
*”Mum’s dying. Come say goodbye,”* she begged Rosie.
*”Later.”*
Rosie never came.
At the funeral, Rosie showed up. Later, Judy opened the folder—a will leaving everything to her. She checked twice.
Rosie stormed in with her boyfriend, scowling. *”Can’t live here—smells. I’ll sell it.”*
*”It’s mine. Mum left it to me.”*
*”Liar! You pressured her! She loved me!”*
*”Where were you when she was sick? She asked for you every day.”*
Rosie threatened court, then switched tack—crying about rented flats, regrets.
*”Don’t give in,”* Dan said. *”She didn’t shed a tear at the funeral. Think of our boys.”*
They sold the flat. Rosie whined the money wasn’t enough.
*”Your bloke can help. I’ve got a family.”*
Judy had always felt like the outsider. Now she knew it was true.
Rosie blocked her calls.
When parents split, they don’t think about the kids. But kids remember—the jealousy, the pain. Half a flat’s price? Maybe that’s the cost of a mother’s love, withheld.
