The guests had left, but the bitterness lingered.
“Mum, how can you say such things?” Emily flung a dirty plate into the sink with a clatter. “Ungrateful? For what? What exactly am I meant to thank you for?”
“For everything I’ve sacrificed for you! For putting up with your father all those years for the sake of you children! For going without so you could study, dress decently!” Margaret stood in the middle of the kitchen, her cheeks flushed with anger, twisting a tea towel between her hands.
“Stop it!” Emily pressed her fingers to her temples. “The guests only just left, and you’re already at my throat! What did I do wrong? Didn’t welcome your friends properly? Didn’t lay out the china? Didn’t bake the cake?”
“Precisely—you didn’t!” Margaret turned sharply back to the sink and scrubbed a teacup furiously. “Sat there like a stranger while Rosemary went on about her grandchildren. Didn’t say a word when Judith asked how Daniel was. Not even a thank you when they complimented you!”
Emily rubbed her forehead, her head pounding after three hours of forced politeness at the table with her mother’s friends—their endless questions, comparisons, unsolicited advice on how she ought to live. Their perpetual dissatisfaction with everything and everyone.
“I’m thirty-five, Mum. A grown woman. I don’t have to smile and nod every minute.”
“Grown!” Margaret scoffed. “Grown women live on their own, I’ll have you know. Not under their mother’s roof at nearly forty.”
“Thirty-five, not forty! And I’m not leeching off you! I pay my share, buy groceries, clean, cook!”
“Cook!” Margaret spun around, her eyes blazing. “What do you cook? Pasta with sausages? Who made the roast today? The Yorkshire puddings? Who spent all morning cleaning before the guests arrived?”
Emily sank into a chair, exhaustion washing over her. The relentless criticism, the guilt, the never-ending battle to justify herself—it drained her more than any job ever could.
“Fine, Mum. I’m a terrible daughter. What else do you want me to say?”
“I wanted a simple thank you!” Margaret’s palm smacked against the table. “‘Thank you, Mum, for letting me stay here after that good-for-nothing walked out. Thank you for helping with Daniel—taking him to the doctor, picking him up from school.’ But no! You act as if it’s my duty!”
A lump rose in Emily’s throat. Yes, her mother helped with Daniel. Yes, she’d lived in her mother’s house for three years since the divorce. But hadn’t she tried to make up for it? Didn’t she work two jobs to contribute?
“Mum, I *do* thank you—maybe not in words, but in action. I don’t ask you for money. I help around the house.”
“Help!” Her mother sat across from her, still gripping the towel. “Do you know what Rosemary said today? That her Charlotte’s met a new man—well-off, decent. Offered to move her and the kids in straight away. And what have you got? Three years single, back and forth from work like a clock. No life of your own.”
“And what’s that got to do with anything?” Emily shot back. “I can’t order a man from a catalogue! If I meet someone decent, fine. If not, I’ll manage on my own.”
“On your own!” Margaret stood and paced. “Am I immortal? I’m seventy-two. How many years do you think I have left? And you’ll be completely alone, with a child to raise.”
“Daniel’s not a baby—he’s thirteen.”
“Thirteen! The most difficult age! He needs a father’s guidance. And what does he see? A mother working dawn till dusk, and a grandmother doing the raising.”
Emily pushed back from the table. The conversation was veering into familiar territory. Soon her mother would list every mistake, every failed relationship, every job she should’ve taken.
“I’m going to bed, Mum. Early start tomorrow.”
“Of course, run away!” Margaret called after her. “As always, when things get serious! Off you go and hide!”
Emily paused at the door. The words stung—because there was truth in them.
“I’m not running. I’m just tired of this. Nothing I do is ever good enough.”
“Good enough!” Margaret stepped closer. “Then tell me—how should it be? Explain why a woman of thirty-five lives with her mother. Why you’ve no home of your own, no family. Why my grandson’s growing up without a proper father?”
“Because that’s how life turned out!” Emily snapped. “Not everyone’s handed a silver spoon at birth! I had a child to raise, bills to pay—not time to chase after men!”
“Chase after men!” Margaret gasped. “Is that what you call trying to build a future?”
“Enough!” Emily turned on her heel and strode to her room, her mother’s indignant voice still ringing behind her.
She shut the door and leaned against it. The room was quiet. Daniel sat at the desk by the window, doing his maths. He turned when she entered.
“Mum, were you and Grandma arguing again?”
“Just talking, love.”
His sceptical look said it all. At thirteen, he understood far more than he should.
“I heard shouting. You too.”
She ruffled his hair—dark like hers, his father’s grey eyes. Lanky for his age, clever, observant. Too grown-up for thirteen.
“Adults don’t always agree. But we still love each other.”
“What were you arguing about?”
She sat on the edge of the bed. How to explain what she barely understood herself? The resentment, the guilt, the suffocating sense of obligation?
“Grandma thinks I’m not… the best daughter. But I’m trying my hardest.”
“You’re good to me,” he said seriously. “You work hard. Help with my homework. Don’t yell like some mums do.”
“Thanks, Dan.” Her eyes pricked. “Did you like Grandma’s friends today?”
He scrunched his nose.
“They kept bragging about their grandkids. Then started asking why you’re not married. Grandma got upset.”
“Upset?”
“Yeah. When Mrs. Lawson said her daughter remarried, Grandma went red and said how great you are. But they all looked… doubtful.”
Emily sighed. So it wasn’t just her silence at the table. Her mother had felt judged—ashamed of a daughter still unmoored at thirty-five.
“Dan… do you miss having a dad?”
He thought for a long moment.
“Sometimes. When I need help lifting something, or the lads talk about fishing trips. But I know he’s not coming back. And you’re both mum and dad to me.”
Her chest tightened. Thirteen years old, and already so wise. So alone.
“Would you mind if I met someone?”
“Not if he’s nice. Just don’t let him boss you around. Or kick me out.”
“No one’s kicking you out,” she said firmly. “You’re my world.”
Daniel smiled and turned back to his books. Emily stayed on the bed, replaying the day.
The guests had arrived at two. Margaret greeted them in her best dress, hair freshly set at the salon. The table had been laid since morning—roast beef, Yorkshire puddings, Victoria sponge. Rosemary, Judith, and Evelyn—old work friends, all retired, all absorbed in their children’s triumphs.
At first, the talk was harmless: the weather, rising prices, the news. Then Rosemary brought out photos of her grandchildren. Judith countered with her granddaughter’s scholarship, her grandson’s swimming medals. Evelyn boasted of her son’s new flat, his promotion.
Then the eyes turned to Margaret. What could she say? That her divorced daughter lived at home? That her grandson did well in school but had no father? That her joys were small—Daniel’s good marks, occasional help with the chores?
Margaret spoke of Emily’s job, her reliability. But the pity in her friends’ voices was unmistakable.
“No steady man yet?” Judith had asked gently.
“Not yet,” Margaret replied tersely.
“Men these days,” Evelyn sighed. “Either drunk, jobless, or already taken.”
“Maybe she’s too fussy?” Rosemary suggested. “My Charlotte was the same—too picky. Then she realised no one’s perfect. Just needs a decent bloke who’ll take on the kids.”
Emily had sat there, cheeks burning, discussed like goods at market. Judged by women who knew nothing of what she’d endured.
After the divorce, she *had* tried. Dated, hoped, trusted. But it always went wrong. Either the man wouldn’t accept Daniel, or he wasn’t who he claimed to be.
Last year, there was Robert—a widower with two children. Seemed ideal. Understood single parenthood. But after three months, it became clear: he wanted a nanny, not a wife. Expected her to quitAs the rain pattered softly against the window, Emily wrapped her arms around Daniel, knowing that despite the arguments and the struggles, they would always find a way forward—together.
