**A Cross to Bear**
«If youre asking questions like that, maybe you shouldnt have children at all. And dont listen to anyone. I listened once…» Mum sighed. «All those advisers vanish when it matters, and youre left with a cross to bear for life.»
It sounded like sensible advice, but inside, Emily felt everything turn cold and heavy. A lump rose in her throat, her eyes stung. She knew if she didnt end the call now, shed sob into the phone. The worst part? Mum probably wouldnt even understand why.
«Got it. Thanks, Mum. Ill think about it… Well talk later,» Emily said, hanging up.
She pulled a pillow against her chest and hunched over. This wasnt just adviceit was a careless revelation. She could almost feel the door to her past swinging open, everything clicking into place.
…Mum, Margaret, had been diligent in raising her. She made sure Emily ate well, even if it meant skipping meals herself. Emily had toys, clothes, extracurricularspiano lessons, dance classes. A single mother, yet she provided everything.
Except love.
Margaret never said «I love you.» No hugs, no heart-to-hearts, no praise. Not even scolding. Just indifference.
Emily remembered failing a maths test with her desk mate, Sophie, who was devastated.
«Lucky you. You wont get an earful at home. Ill be grounded for weeks,» Sophie groaned.
«Youre the lucky one. At least they care enough to shout,» Emily muttered.
Sophie stared. Who in their right mind wanted to be yelled at?
«Lost your mind? Fine, take my scolding for me,» Sophie laughed. «Be my guest.»
Emily turned away. Shed have welcomed it, but Mum never checked her schoolbook. Why bother? Emily was a straight-A student. Until she wasnt.
At first, she thought being «good enough» would earn Mums attention. Perfect grades, piano recitals, dance performances. But no. Mums reaction was always the samepolite, as if it were expected.
Then Emily faked illness, complaining of stomach pains. She wanted concern, care. A low move, but how else could she get noticed?
It half-worked. Mum took her to doctors, diagnosed mild gastritis, doled out medicine on schedule, enforced a strict diet. No comfort, no worryjust clinical efficiency.
So Emily escalated. Skipped school, failed classes, quit piano, refused chores, even mouthed off.
Nothing.
«Dont want to study? Your choice,» Mum said calmly one day. «Ill feed you till eighteen, then youre on your own. But if youre expelled, good luck finding work. Even shop assistants need GCSEs.»
About chores, Mums rule was simple: no clean floors, no going out. Emily tried a tantrumMum just pointed to the door.
«Save the theatrics for your room,» she said, shutting herself in hers.
That was the end of tantrums. Emily cried half the night, feeling abandoned. Like she was a doll Mum dressed and put to bed, not a person with feelings.
She pushed further. Once, she stayed at a friends overnight without warning, wonderingwould Mum panic? Forget she existed?
No. Margaret called everyone, found her, brought her home. No shouting, no reproach.
«Keep this up, and youll end up in police custody. They wont coddle youtheyll say Ive failed, and off to care you go,» Mum stated coldly.
Shed have preferred broken dishes, screaming, even a belt.
Over time, Emily didnt accept itjust adapted. Moving in with her fiancé, James, helped. Their relationship moved fast; they married within six months. Starved for love, Emily lost all caution.
Luckily, James was decentsteady, with plans.
«What do you think about kids?» he asked long before the wedding.
Emily froze. Children were the logical next step, but the idea terrified her. What if she was a bad mother? What if her child felt as she had?
«I dont think Im ready,» she admitted.
But plans change. Emily got pregnantbad timing. No house, rising costs outpacing their wages.
«Please. Half our friends are in debt or renting. People manage,» her mate said.
James wanted the baby too.
«Your call, but were married, stable. Id like to be a dad.»
The more she heard it, the more she doubted. So she asked Mumand got an answer that upended everything. Had she been unwanted too?
Margaret said it without malice. Just facts. As they say, the truth cuts deepest.
Emily shut down for days. She went to work, cooked dinner, watched films with James, but mechanically. Could she really go her whole life without hearing «I love you» from Mum? And what about her own child?
Finally, she went to her mother-in-law, Helen. Strict but warm, Helen drew her in. She might grumble about «kids these days» or dust on the shelves, but it beat indifference.
«Emily? No call first?» Helen asked, opening the door.
«Just… needed to see you,» Emilys voice cracked.
Helen didnt pry. She made tea, set out bread and jam.
«Theres stew if youre hungry. You and James havent rowed?»
«No. Its… Mum.»
And the floodgates opened. Emily spilled it allthe lonely childhood, the failed tests, the fear of being unloved, the guilt.
Helen listened, frowning. When Emily finished, Helen exhaled sharply. Had she overshared?
«Listen, love,» Helen said after a pause. «I knew you two were distant, but not like this. Dont hold it against her, alright? I dont think shes cruel. Maybe life hardened her. Maybe shes just… not a mother at heart. But shes not evil.»
«Not evil? How can you not love your child?»
«Some cant. Its awful, but it happens. Sometimes they cant even love themselves.» Helen sighed. «About the baby… Follow your heart.»
«What if Im like her?»
«You wont. James told me how you nursed that stray cat. People who cant love dont do that.»
«A baby isnt a cat. What if I fail?»
«Think any mother gets it right first try? Secretgood mums are the ones who worry. We all mess up. I did, your mum did, you will. And its not the end. Wanting to love matters, even when you stumble. Hatold you not to listen to anyone, then lectured you myself.» She smiled.
Emily smiled backsmall, but real. The fear didnt vanish, but it eased. With Helen, she felt warmth, not the usual chill.
She kept the baby. The pregnancy was roughmorning sickness, mood swings, fear. But James fetched oranges at 2 a.m., rubbed her back, weathered her storms. Helen helped too, attending appointments, teaching her to care for a newborn.
Mum called rarely, just asking if she needed anything. After the birth, she brought a bag of baby clothesnothing more.
Years passed. Emilys daughter grewcurious, loud, stubborn. She screamed, broke toys, threw fits. Emily got tired, sometimes angry, but when her girl was ill, she sat by her bed, stroked her hair, read stories. She couldnt explain why she cried then.
She was ashamed to admit it: she was giving her daughter what shed once craved.
Things with Mum didnt warm, but they endured. Emily stopped expecting the impossible. She helped Margaret nowmoney, groceries, checking her blood pressure. Margaret wasnt a good mother or grandmother, but she was there. Maybe she couldnt love, but she tried, in her way. Sometimes, thats enough.
**Lesson learned: Love isnt always instinctive. Some learn it late. Some never do. But breaking the cycle? Thats worth every stumble. One evening, as Emily rocked her daughter to sleep, the little girl murmured, «Love you, Mummy,» against her chest. Emily froze, tears spilling silently. She hadnt said it firstshe still struggled with the wordsbut she held her close, breathing her in, memorizing the warmth. Later, she texted James: *I think Im learning how.* And for the first time, the past didnt feel like a wound, but a warning shed outrun.
