«Darling, I was just thinking,» her mother began, her voice light but calculating. «Why do you need three bedrooms? One seems more than enough, doesnt it? Little Sophie sleeps with you anyway.»
At first, Olivia didnt grasp the implication. She assumed her mother was angling to offload some «precious» heirlooma scuffed armchair or an outdated sideboard cluttering her own home.
«Well… yes, we dont really use the other rooms,» Olivia answered cautiously.
«Exactly,» her mother pressed, triumphant. «So, Ive decided to rent them out. Ill find quiet, respectable tenants. No point letting good space go to waste. You understand, dont you? I let you move in, and now Im left scraping by on pennies.»
Olivia froze. Disbelief gave way to a cold, splintering dread. Visions erupted in her mindstrangers in her kitchen, noise, chaos, a revolving door of guestsall while her three-month-old daughter slept nearby. Maybe it wouldnt be that bad. But it was a gamble. And Olivia refused to risk her childs safety.
«Mum… what do you mean, tenants? I have a baby! I dont want strangers in my home.»
«Oh, dont be dramatic,» her mother scoffed. «You grew up in a shared flat, and you turned out fine. Ive already been generous, charging you barely anything while you save. What else am I supposed to do? Go begging in the streets?»
Olivia clenched her jaw. Betrayal, sharp and bitter, coiled in her chest. Her mother would never dream of renting out rooms in her own house. But here? No hesitation.
Swallowing her hurt, Olivia forced herself to focus. Sophie came first.
«Fine. If its that important to you… well pay you for this month,» she said stiffly. «Well figure something out after that.»
She half-expected her mother to back downto say she couldnt take money from her own daughter, especially now. But
«Good. Ill charge you the family ratefour hundred pounds,» her mother said breezily. «Just give me two weeks notice if you decide to leave. And youll need to show the flat to new tenants. No point leaving it empty.»
«Fine,» Olivia hissed, slamming the phone down.
She opened her banking app, her fingers trembling as she transferred the money. The moment she hit «send,» something shifted. Whatever remained of their relationship had just turned transactional.
…Margaret had always been like this. Olivias mother had a knack for twisting situations to her advantageonly this time, it cut deeper.
At ten, Olivia discovered her godmother had sent lavish gifts every Christmas and birthdayplush ponies, robotic dogs, designer dolls. Margaret had taken credit for them all, never adding so much as a card of her own.
It stung, but faintly. Olivia knew it was wrong, yet she hadnt felt the full weight of it. Her godmother, however, had. After that, gifts came through Olivias grandmother instead.
Then there was Aunt Dianes visit. She hadnt planned to stay with themjust needed a place for a week while sorting paperwork. Shed already booked a hotel, but Margaret intervened.
«Why rough it in some dingy place with your girl? Stay with me. Its not a five-star suite, but its decent.»
Aunt Diane resisted but finally agreed. Conscientious to a fault, she stocked their fridge to bursting on the first day.
«Our treat for the food, yours for the cooking,» shed said warmly. «Well be out all day anywayqueues, museums, sightseeing.»
They left at dawn and returned late, never a burden. Yet on the third day, Margaret announced:
«Diane, Ive overestimated myself. Maybe call that hotel?»
Aunt Diane never forgave her. The hotel refused to reinstate her booking, forcing a frantic scramble for alternatives. Olivia never saw her or her cousin again.
Back then, Olivia believed her mother was just tired of guests. Now, she understood: Margaret had wanted a free holiday at someone elses expense. Once the fridge was full, her hospitality evaporated.
Before, Olivia had only suffered indirectly. Teachers side-eyed her because Margaret refused school donations and made scenes. Birthday invites never cameofficially because «who knows what those parents are like,» but really, gifts cost money.
Yet none of it compared to the flat.
Olivia and James had known each other since schoolfriends first, then something deeper. Hed even given up his dream for her: medical school in another city. He stayed, and they both studied psychology instead. Olivia became a school counselor; James went into HR. They married, saved for a mortgage, planned childrenlater, when they had their own place.
But life had other plans.
Two pink lines. Joy and terror twisted together. A babywanted, but not now. Not when they were so close.
«Your choice,» James had said. He wanted this too. But the numbers didnt lie.
Enter Margaret.
«Whats there to think about?» shed declared. «God sends the babe, Hell send the bread! Live in my second flatyour grandmothers. Save the rest. Dont you dare end this pregnancy! What if you cant have children after?»
Her offer tipped the scales. However difficult, Olivia believed they had a good relationship. A mother helping her daughternoble, beautiful. If only the kindness had lasted.
Now, Olivia didnt know where to turn. What if tomorrow Margaret demanded more? Or moved strangers in? Nothing would surprise her.
That evening, James listened, jaw tight. When Olivia broke down, he pulled her close.
«Dont worry. Ill fix this. Faster than a month.»
And he did.
Days later, they visited his mother, Eleanor. Nothing unusualthey dropped by often. Eleanor had known Olivia over a decade, taking them both to the park as children.
At some point, Eleanor took Olivias hand.
«Sweetheart, James told me. Dont be afraid. Ill help with the deposit. Youre good kidsindependent. At your age, some still live off their parents.»
Her voice was quiet, no grand pronouncements like Margarets. But the warmth in her eyesOlivia sobbed into her hands. The contrast was unbearable. Her own mother, squeezing them dry. Her mother-in-law, offering salvation.
They moved in with Eleanor while finalizing the mortgage. James packed their things while Olivia returned the keys. She didnt go upstairs. Couldnt face Margaret. Just dropped them in the mailbox and texted.
«You didnt come up?» Margaret sounded puzzled.
«Wasnt it obvious?»
«Well… you chose to leave. No one forced you. Youre the one who got upset.»
After that, Olivia cut contact. She had no energy for it anywaypaperwork, signatures, renovations. She freelanced to ease the mortgage strain. Hard, yes. But for the first time, she felt part of something real.
Now, she focused on her familyJames, Sophie, Eleanor. The woman whod given them not just money, but hope. As for Margaret… Well, you dont choose your parents. Sometimes, family isnt blood. Its the ones who stand by you. Or at least dont stab you in the back.
