We were only trying to do whats best
What do you mean, a music school? Mum tossed the brochure Id brought home from school on the table, her voice clipped. Absolutely not. Dont even think about it.
I hovered in the doorway of the kitchen, clutching my school bag to my chest as if it could shield me from the tight lump rising in my throat. The air felt thick, heavy with the sharp tang of stewed tea and disappointment.
Mum, I really want to…
She wants, does she? Mum sneered. You dont know whats good for you. Youll study accountancy. A respected profession, steady pay. Youll always have money.
Dad sat at the table, stirring his tea, offering no comment. But I knew well enough in our house, his silence meant he agreed with Mum. It always did.
Dad, I tried, turning towards him, clinging to a shred of hope. You told me before that I had a gift for music.
He glanced up, met Mums glare, then returned his gaze to his mug.
Your mothers right, Sarah. Musics not a proper job. Its just a hobby, really.
Hot, angry tears welled up and spilled over before I could stop them. I wiped my face with the sleeve of my school cardigan, smearing my cheeks and feeling stupid for crying.
There you go, blubbing again, Mum pursed her lips. Look at your cousin Grace. Shes an accountant now, by the way. Owns a flat, decent husband, living like a proper adult. Dont you want the same? Or would you rather play your guitar in the streets all your life?
Grace. Always Grace. Aunt Margarets darling, her favourite, forever the paragon. Grace got married at twenty-five. And I, Sarah, apparently cant even wash dishes right.
Mum, I dont want to be like Grace, I whispered. I want to make music.
Thats enough, Dad pushed his plate away and stood up with a groan. Thats settled. Youll be applying for economics, end of. We know whats best.
I looked at both of them Mum with her permanent scowl and Dad already halfway out of the kitchen. Together, they formed a solid wall, impossible to breach. I had neither money nor a say in this house. Only a dream crushed on the cold kitchen lino, alongside the colourful brochure.
I nodded, picked up the crumpled leaflet, straightened the pages, and dropped it in the bin.
Five years of university blurred into one endless grey smudge. I trudged to lectures, memorised balance sheets, survived exams. I never understood any of it, never cared. Debits, credits, ledgers meaningless numbers piling in my head, weighing me down.
Mum beamed at my graduation as if shed earned the degree herself. She took photos of me by the college pillars, phoned Aunt Margaret, boasted about her clever Sarah.
Have you got a job lined up already? Aunt Margaret asked, and Mums smile stretched like a cats.
Of course! Sarahs joining a good firm. Just you wait our girl will go far.
Our girl. As if I was some family project.
The first day at work was everything I feared a poky office with no windows, a humming screen, a mountain of reports, the smell of cheap instant coffee. Two women, both over forty, gossiped about supermarket bargains and someones messy divorce.
I spent the day staring at spreadsheets. The numbers danced and merged into mush. By the time I left, my head was pounding and I wanted to cry.
My first pay cheque arrived on the 28th. I checked my bank account, did the maths in my head. Enough for a bedsit on the outskirts, if I scrimped on food and bought nothing extra. Barely enough, but it would do.
That evening, I quietly packed my belongings in my battered suitcase. Mum came in just as I pulled the zip closed.
Whats this, then?
Im moving out.
She stared, confused; then colour rose in her cheeks.
Where would you go? Have you lost your mind?
No, I lifted the suitcase. Ive made up my mind.
What about the flat? And the car? She clung to the doorframe as if the world was tilting. Your father and I had everything planned out! Youd save a deposit, get a mortgage, settle down, marry well…
Thats your plan, not mine, I sidestepped her, stepping into the hall. This is my life. Not yours.
Dad broke his silence.
Dont be daft, Sarah. Where will you go?
Anywhere.
I opened the front door, stepped into the mild evening air, and heard it swing shut behind me, rattling with the breeze.
My suitcase bounced against my shins as I hurried down the steps. A dog barked somewhere in the distance; a radio blasted out pop music from a window above. Just another ordinary night on an ordinary street.
I walked out into the chill and headed for the bus stop. My pay in my pocket, my things in a suitcase and for the first time, my future was open, strange, and mine alone.
The first few months, my phone never stopped ringing. Mum sent endless messages, veering between ultimatums and begging. Dad called in the evenings, just as I unlocked the door of my tiny bedsit after work.
Come home, hed say, voice hollow. Enoughs enough. Were family.
I listened, shaking my head even though he couldnt see.
Im not coming back, Dad.
Then youre no daughter of ours, Mum barked when she grabbed the phone. Forget you ever had parents. Dont ever think of coming home.
The call cut off. I put the phone on the sill, staring at the city lights flickering outside. I didnt cry, didnt even feel angry. Just a ringing emptiness beneath my ribs, which gradually dissolved over time.
Ten years whooshed past in a blink. Three flat-shares, five jobs, countless sleepless nights learning music production software. I taught myself, working through the small hours. I took every gig, every menial job, composing jingles for adverts, music for student films anything at all. Bit by bit, I broke through.
Now, my name rolled in the credits for three feature films and two TV dramas on prime-time BBC. My home studio filled a whole room in a sunny flat, and for three months now Id worn a wedding ring on my finger.
James popped his head in as I tweaked a track, placing a fresh cup of tea by my keyboard.
Someones ringing downstairs, he said, kissing the top of my head. Were not expecting anyone, are we?
The buzzer blared again. Then again insistent, determined, as though whoever stood at the door knew I was there.
I took off my headphones and glanced at the entry phones screen. A man and a woman, older now, both looking worn my parents. I knew them at once, despite the years. Mums hair had faded grey and Dad had grown heavier.
I pressed the button to answer.
What do you want?
Sarah, Mum leaned towards the camera. Darling, its us. Please, let us in.
I hesitated. James came closer, resting a gentle hand on my shoulder.
Your family? he murmured.
Yeah.
I spoke into the intercom again.
How did you find my address?
Through people we know, Mum rushed out. Grace saw your wedding photos online, it mentioned where you live, and, well…
I see.
I let the words hang, watching them fidget on the tiny screen. Ten years they hadnt called, wrote nothing, didnt care if I was safe. Now here they were, outside my building, peering into the camera.
Ill come down, I told James softly. Wait here.
I paused at the ground floor entrance, bracing myself. I opened the door but blocked the way, not inviting them in.
Sarah, Mum gushed, youve become so beautiful! Were so proud of you! Your wedding was stunning we saw the pictures; your husbands such a catch, they say hes from a wonderful family…
Why are you here?
Mum blinked, glancing at Dad. He coughed and dug his hands into his jacket pockets.
Were your parents, he started. Whatever happened, thats all in the past. Youve done well for yourself now. Maybe you could lend a hand.
Lend a hand?
Yes, he shrugged. Place needs fixing up bathrooms knackered. And weve never been on a proper holiday, would be lovely to see the seaside for once. You can afford it now, with your job and James…
Mum hissed at him, tugging his sleeve, but Dad just tutted.
Why not? Shes our daughter. Its her duty to help, isnt it?
I leaned against the doorframe, folding my arms, a bitter smile pulling at my lips.
My duty, is it? Thats rich. Ten years ago, you said I wasnt your daughter, told me to forget my family. And now that Ive made something of myself, suddenly Im family again.
We only wanted you to see sense, Mum rushed. To come home. We just wanted whats best for you…
Best, I echoed. The truth is, everything I have now is because I didnt forget my dream. Because I refused to be an accountant. I didnt waste my life on balance sheets in an airless office. I chose my own way, and look at me now.
I gestured vaguely at the clean lobby behind me.
So what do you want? Money for a new bathroom? A trip to Brighton? Is that it? After ten years of silence, youre here now to ask for favours?
Oh, come off it, muttered Dad. Lets not drag up the past.
Im not dragging anything up. Just stating facts. You cut me off because I wouldnt follow your plan. Now that my lifes better than you imagined, you suddenly remember I exist? Convenient.
Mum dabbed her nose, her eyes shining with tears.
But were your parents, darling. We loved you, we raised you…
You said you wanted whats best, I interrupted, and she fell quiet. Then go. Forget my address. Live your life as though you never had a daughter like you said, all those years ago.
I stepped back and began to close the door. Dad made a move as if to speak, but hesitated under my stare.
Sarah
Goodbye.
The latch clicked quietly behind me.
I climbed the stairs to my flat and slipped inside. James met me anxiously in the hall.
Is everything alright?
Yes, I breathed out, letting myself lean into his warm arms. Now it is.
He stroked my back, holding me wordlessly. And I thought, yes, Ive finally surpassed cousin Grace. I have it all flat, husband, career worth having. But it was never about that.
It took me ten years to get here. I stumbled, got up, worked until the stars blurred. But I am happy now. Truly, breathtakingly happy. And that, I realised, is all that really matters.
