My Daughter Stopped Answering My CallsThen I Found Out Her Secret
My daughter used to ring me every week without fail, even if just for a quick chat. Those calls were our little traditionwed talk about Sunday roasts, her job in London, or the novel she was reading. Sometimes shed phone from the Tesco just to ask, «Mum, how long for the beef again?» and Id chuckle because shed asked me the same thing a hundred times before.
But in early spring, the calls dried up.
At first, I assumed she was swamped. Work projects, perhaps. Or maybe she and her husband, Oliver, had gone off to the Lake District for a break. A week passed, then another. I sent texts*How are you, love? Miss you. Give me a ring when you can.* None were opened. Birthdays and bank holidays came and went without a peep.
This wasnt like her, and deep down, I knewsomething wasnt right.
My instincts were spot on.
It was my son, James, who finally filled me in. One evening, he called and mentioned hed spoken to her briefly. «Shes alright,» he said, but his voice didnt reassure me. Then, almost as an aside, he added, «Though she said Oliver doesnt want her working anymore. Or driving. Says its less hassle this way.»
My stomach dropped.
James brushed it off, saying maybe Oliver just preferred traditional roles, that I was reading too much into it. But Im her mum. I know my girl. Shes fiercely independent, determined in the best way. Shed built her career from nothing, put in the hours, chased every goal she ever set. She wouldnt just agree to give that upnot without a proper row.
That night, I hardly slept a wink. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, running through every terrible possibility. What if he was controlling her? What if she was too scared to tell us? What if she was in real trouble?
By dawn, Id made up my mind.
The next morning, I got in my car and drove straight to her flat in Manchesterfour hours without a break. Every mile felt heavier than the last. My mind conjured up every grim scenario imaginable. I had no strategy, just a mothers gut screaming that my daughter needed me.
When she finally opened the door, I barely knew her.
She looked gaunt. Dark circles hung under her eyes, like she hadnt slept in months. She managed a weak smile that didnt reach her gaze. And she kept glancing over her shoulder, as if waiting for someone to cut in. Or worselistening for footsteps.
My pulse raced. I stepped closer and whispered, «Youre coming with me. Now.»
She hesitated, then sighed. «I cant. Not yet.»
That threw me. My stomach knotted. «Why? Whats going on, love?»
She didnt answer straight away. Finally, she moved aside. «Come in, Mum.»
The second I stepped inside, my jaw hit the floor. The place looked like it had been hit by a hurricane. The sofa cushions were gone, the curtains were in tatters, and there was strawactual strawstrewn across the kitchen tiles.
I froze. «What in blazes happened here?»
Before she could reply, something darted past my feet. I turnedand there, in the middle of the madness, sat the most adorable little terrier pup, tail wagging, gnawing on a chew toy like he hadnt a care in the world.
I blinked. «Is that a sheep in your loo?»
She nodded sheepishly. «Two, actually.»
Turns out she and Oliver had signed up to foster rescue animals»just for a fortnight,» she said. But a fortnight had turned into a dozen creatures: two sheep, four kittens, three pups, and a pair of cheeky rabbits with a taste for home décor.
I stood there, stunnedfour hours of panic, imagining the worstonly to discover my daughter had simply become a full-time fur-mum.
I started laughing. First a snicker, then proper belly laughs until tears streamed down my face. She joined in, and soon we were both cackling and crying at the same time.
All that dread, all those dark thoughtsand it all boiled down to a house bursting with love, fluff, and absolute mayhem.
That day, I stayed to help tidy up, feed the menagerie, and, of course, snuggle the pup whod started it all.
As the sun dipped below the rooftops, she smiled at me and said softly, «You always know when to turn up, Mum.»
I suppose a mothers intuition never really failseven when it leads you straight into a lounge full of sheep.
