It’s been two years since I last heard my daughter’s voice. Emily posts photos on social media, chats with her friends, and carries on with her life—just not with me. No calls, no texts. Emily’s a grown woman now, with a two-year-old daughter and a husband of her own, living in a flat in Manchester. I’ve always been strict—with myself and everyone else. Emily was no exception.
Being a parent means having standards. I wanted her to do well in school, help around the house, take care of herself. And even now, with her own family, I can’t ignore her missteps. When I visited, I’d notice the mess straight away: clothes strewn about, dishes piled in the sink, cupboards in disarray. “How can you live like this?” I’d ask, rearranging her haphazardly folded jumpers. Emily would sigh like a teenager and start tidying—just to shut me up.
Her little girl is growing up in a chaotic room, the washing-up sits for days, and her husband, in my opinion, is utterly useless. Who else but her own mother would tell her the truth? But a year ago, everything changed. Emily suddenly stopped answering my calls. The day before, I’d mentioned how my niece’s three-year-old was already reading. Emily frowned and asked why I was comparing her child to others.
How could I *not* compare when the difference was so glaring? That was our last conversation. Later, I found out she’d changed the locks and didn’t want to see me. I thought it was just a passing tantrum. She’d come to her senses and apologise. But time passed, and she stayed silent.
In August, it was my birthday. I waited for even a text, but Emily didn’t spare a thought for her mother. The next day, my temper got the better of me, and I rang her from a different number. “If you don’t want to speak to me,” I snapped, “then get out of my flat!”
Here’s the thing—six years ago, just before her wedding, I signed the flat over to Emily. Her husband was earning peanuts, and I wanted to help the young couple—I had the means. But now that she’s cut me out of her life, she can jolly well find somewhere else to live! Emily’s reply was ice-cold: the paperwork’s all legal, the flat’s hers, and no one’s making her leave.
Am I wrong? If she’s so independent, let her prove it by moving out! I gave her everything, and what did I get in return? Nothing. My heart aches, but I won’t forgive such betrayal.
