When a Mother Becomes a Guest: Why I No Longer Open the Door
Evelyn arrived in another town—this time to visit her daughter. Margaret greeted her mother politely, as one should, but without warmth. Exhausted by loneliness and strained relations with her own parents, Evelyn decided to stay a few days. That evening, over supper, her daughter suddenly asked:
“Mum, when are you planning to go home?”
“I thought I might stay a bit longer,” Evelyn replied hesitantly.
“I think it’s time you left,” Margaret said firmly.
“So even my own mother is in the way now,” Evelyn muttered bitterly.
“Mum, after what you did, I don’t want you here,” Margaret said unexpectedly.
“What? What did I do?” Evelyn froze, puzzled.
But Margaret remembered everything.
She had only been seven when her parents divorced. After that, she lived with her grandparents, who became her true family. Her mother… Her mother had chosen another life—men, suitors, new love. The girl grew up burdened with guilt, blaming herself for the divorce, for her grandfather working well into his old age, for her grandmother always stuck at the stove. When Evelyn’s life was smooth, she might call or even visit with a cake. But when trouble came, she locked herself away, lashed out, and disappeared.
There had been many men in her life, but one—Oliver—was the last straw. Slippery, smug, unbearable. When Evelyn tried moving him into her parents’ house, they gave her a choice: him or her family. She chose him.
“Your mother lives on the other side of town now,” her grandmother told thirteen-year-old Margaret flatly.
“And me?”
“You stay with us. It’ll be all right, love. We’ll manage.”
But Margaret knew—her mother had betrayed her.
At first, Evelyn didn’t visit at all. Then she’d turn up in the kitchen, take jars of preserves, and vanish again. A girl grows up needing someone to talk to—first love, first heartbreak—but her grandmother wouldn’t understand, and her grandfather was silent. And her mother? She was busy with her new life until Oliver left her. She returned broken, pitiful, but instead of holding her daughter, she shut herself away again. Even when she took up with another man—Arthur—it was the same. He was tedious, useless, and brazen. He moved into her parents’ home, refused to help, even avoided her grandfather, who carried everything alone.
Margaret grew distant. She left for university in another city, seldom visiting. Her mother kept changing men, talking of fresh starts, making plans behind her daughter’s back. Then came the news: Margaret had inherited a flat from her father’s parents. Unexpected, but decisive. She took ownership without hesitation and moved out.
Her mother found out by chance. Immediately, she declared:
“Brilliant! I’ll move in with you, help with the repairs—find a proper job in the city, too.”
“You never asked if I wanted that,” Margaret said calmly. “I don’t plan to live with you.”
“That’s ungrateful! Without me, you wouldn’t even exist!” Evelyn snapped.
But Margaret stayed silent. She remembered being small, lonely, abandoned. Her mother had left her then—she didn’t need her now.
Evelyn was hurt but didn’t stop trying. She called, visited “just for the day,” stayed for weeks. Margaret endured it until finally saying:
“Mum, it’s time you went home. I have my own life. Go help Gran and Grandad instead.”
“I’m in the way now, am I?” Evelyn sneered. “Of course. When you were a child, you needed me. Now I’m just a nuisance.”
“No, Mum. You made your choice when you left me for a man. I grew up. Thank you for teaching me not to depend on anyone.”
Evelyn left. She complained to her parents, who pitied her but understood their granddaughter. They had been there when she cried at night. Her mother… She had distanced herself long ago. Later, another man appeared—Michael. Seemed serious, respectable. She wanted Margaret to meet him.
“Come by,” Margaret said.
She welcomed them politely. Spoke with Michael, saw he was no better than the rest. Four months later, it all fell apart. Evelyn mentioned moving in again. Again, Margaret refused.
“Don’t bring it up anymore,” she said. “There’s no room for you. Not in my home, not in my life.”
And that was the end of it.
Margaret lives in her own flat now. Renovated it with friends. Works, builds her life—no hysterics, no grudges, no mother.
Because not everyone who brings you into this world gets to stay in it.
