Lucy, are you certain this is the right moment for a baby?
Margaret set her teacup down and stared across the kitchen at her daughter, who perched opposite her with the look of someone already bracing for bad news.
Mum, weve been over this before.
Exactly why were talking again. You and James have only been married a year. Hes just starting to climb the ladder at his firm, while you havent even made senior manager at yours. Youre barely making ends meet, and now you want a child
Lucy rolled her eyes, a gesture Margaret recognized from her teenage years. Back then it meant back off; now it seemed to say, what do you know?
Everythings fine, Mum. James earns well. Well manage. And remember that old saying about the rabbit and the meadow?
Yes, Ive heard the rabbit tale, but a child isnt a plush bunny you can put on a shelf when you tire of it. A good salary only matters if theres a safety net. Good also means you dont have to scramble for money for nappies and formula if the company starts making cuts.
Margaret shrugged and turned toward the window, her body language declaring the conversation over. Lucy knew her mothers silent victory: silence meant shed won the argument. Margaret sighed. A twentyfiveyearold woman still took every bit of advice as a personal attack.
Lucy, Im not trying to forbid anything youre an adult, after all. Just think about it. A year or two wont change anything, but a little stability would help.
Ill decide when to have a baby.
The finality in Lucys voice left Margaret shaking her head. Pressing further would be pointless; sometimes people have to learn the hard way, especially when theyre your own children.
Nine months later, Lucy called from the maternity ward.
Mum, its a girl! Twohundred and fiftytwo centimetres! Shes beautiful, you have no idea!
Lucys voice rang with joy, and Margaret didnt bring up the argument from a year ago. Why? The baby was already here, healthy and wanted. The rest were details that would smooth themselves out over time.
Or maybe not.
Margaret visited every week, bringing apples, sometimes a readymade roast. In the first months Lucy could barely find time for a shower, let alone stand at the stove. Margaret helped but kept her distance, offering no unsolicited advice, never commenting on whether the baby was put to bed at seven or ten, never judging the pricey organic formula Lucy chose.
A daughters family was still a mystery, even when it was your own.
The little Poppy grew, gurgling, learning to grasp her rattle with chubby fingers. Margaret watched, feeling the strange mix of loving someone deeply while knowing she was just a guestwelcome, but still a guest.
Lucy flourished in motherhood, though shed lost a few pounds from sleepless nights and endless errands. Dark circles settled under her eyes, yet she smiled with a brightness Margaret hadnt seen since school days. Margaret felt genuine joy for her.
Six months after Poppys birth, Lucy turned up at Margarets flat with a look that screamed this wont end well.
Mum, weve got a problem.
Margaret ushered her into the kitchen, set the kettle on. Lucy sat, fingers intertwined, staring at the table.
Were short of money. Completely.
On what?
Everything. Bills, nappies, formula, groceries. You know how pricey everything is!
Margaret remembered trying to explain basic budgeting to Lucy a year earlier.
Did James get that promotion?
He did, but it still isnt enough. I need to go back to work, Mum. We cant survive like this.
Makes sense.
The only problem is I cant find a place for Poppy. Crèches wont take a child under eighteen months, and a nanny costs more than my salary.
Margaret fell silent, feeling the weight of the conversation settle like a stone in her chest.
Mum, could you… look after Poppy while Im at work?
Lucy, I have a job.
But you could take a leave or use your unused holidays.
Margaret shook her head slowly. Lucys eyes shone with hope, and for a heartbeat Margaret felt a pang of guilt.
No, Lucy. I wont quit my job to watch your child.
But why? Shes my granddaughter!
Lucy’s voice cracked with a mixture of demand and wounded childlike pleading, like a fiveyearold begging for a doll.
Because I have my own life, my own work, my own plans.
What plans, Mum? Youre fiftyfive!
Margaret felt the sting of the comment but didnt flinch. Shed long ago accepted that to Lucy she existed only as Mum, a role that supposedly required no personal ambitions.
Thats why I wont waste my remaining years changing nappies.
Lucy jabbed her cup forward, sending tea splashing onto the tablecloth.
Youre selfish.
Perhaps.
Youre a terrible mother!
And thats possible too.
Margaret saw Lucys eyes well upanger, hurt, everything at once. Lucy had never been able to lose, even as a child shed thrown checkers at the wall when she was losing.
The weeks that followed turned into a relentless loop of the same accusations: Youre a bad mother. Youre a bad grandmother. How could you? Im your daughter. Poppy is your granddaughter.
One night Margaret could take no more.
Tell me exactly what Ive done wrong. Why do you think Im a bad person?
Lucy froze, not expecting that sudden turn.
Youre refusing to help!
Thats not a sin, its my choice. And what kind of mother was I when you were growing up?
You you Lucy choked. You were always at work!
I was at work because I fed you, clothed you. Remember the best nursery in town? The dresses from the childrens department while other girls were wearing handmedowns?
Lucy fell silent.
Remember university? The private one I funded for five years so you could get a decent degree.
Mum
The flat I gave you for your wedding? Twobedroom, prime location. The car?
Lucys face flushed, half shame, half fury.
Thats different.
No, it isnt. As a mother I gave you everything I could, maybe even more than I should have.
And now, when I truly need help, you turn away!
Margaret inhaled deeply.
Lucy, I warned you a year ago. I said, Hold on, stand on your own feet. You said you knew when to have a child. That was your choice.
So now you punish me for it?
No. I just wont pay for it with my own life.
Lucy sprang from her seat, tears brimming, lips trembling.
Ill never forget how you treated me!
Maybe. Or maybe one day youll understand when youre a grandmother yourself.
Lucy left without a goodbye.
Two months of silence followed. Margarets calls went unanswered, texts ignored. She saw Poppy only in the photographs Lucy posted online, because Lucy never blocked her.
In the evenings Margaret scrolled through the pictures: tiny Poppy learning to sit, then to crawl, smiling at the camera, reaching for toys. She grew up without her.
It hurt, yes. But Margaret didnt regret her decision. She thought about how quickly people grow accustomed to comfort, how quickly asks become demands.
Lucy had always been a taker, a demander. While Margaret gave, everything was fine. The moment she said no, mother turned into a monster.
Perhaps someday Lucy will grasp responsibility for her own choices, maybe finally be mature enough by thirty.
Until then Margaret kept living: going to work, meeting friends, planning a summer break, waiting. Patiently, without spite, without a desire for revenge.
She simply waited for her daughter to outgrow this childish selfishness. She had always been patient.
