My Daughter Ignored My CallsUntil I Found Out Her Secret
My daughter, Emily, used to ring me every week, even if just for a quick chat. Those calls were our little traditionwed discuss Sunday roasts, her job in marketing, or whatever novel she was buried in. Sometimes shed phone from Tesco just to ask, «Mum, how long for the beef in the oven again?» and Id chuckle because shed asked me that a hundred times.
But around mid-March, the calls dried up.
At first, I put it down to work stress. Maybe deadlines. Or maybe she and her husband, Oliver, had popped off to the Lake District. A week passed, then another. I sent a few texts*How are you, love? Miss you. Give me a ring when you can.* All left unread. Birthdays and bank holidays came and went without a peep.
This wasnt like her, and I knewsomewhere deepsomething wasnt right.
Turns out, my instincts were spot on.
It was my son, William, who finally broke the silence. One evening, he called and mentioned hed spoken to her briefly. «Shes alright,» he said, but his voice didnt sound sure. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, «Though she said Oliver doesnt want her working anymore. Or driving. Said its ‘less hassle’ this way.»
My stomach dropped.
William brushed it off, saying maybe Oliver just fancied traditional roles, that I was reading too much into it. But Im her mother. I know my girl. Shes stubborn as a mule in the best waybuilt her career from the ground up, pulled all-nighters, chased every dream she ever had. She wouldnt just roll over and give that up. Not without a bloody good reason.
That night, I barely slept. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, running through every awful possibility. What if she was being controlled? What if she was too scared to tell us? What if she wasnt safe?
By dawn, I knew what I had to do.
The next morning, I hopped in my car and drove straight to her flat in Manchesterfour hours without a break. Every mile weighed heavier than the last. My mind conjured up every grim scenario. No plan, just a mothers gut screaming that my girl needed me.
When she finally opened the door, I hardly knew her.
She looked gaunt. Dark circles under her eyes, like she hadnt slept in months. She forced a weak smile that didnt reach her eyes. And she kept glancing over her shoulder, as if waiting for someone to barge 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 stepped aside. «Come in, Mum.»
The second I walked in, my jaw hit the floor. The place looked like a bomb had gone off. The sofa cushions were shredded, the curtains were in tatters, and there was strawactual strawstrewn across the kitchen tiles.
I froze. «What in Gods name happened here?»
Before she could reply, something moved in the corner of my eye. I turnedand there, in the middle of the mess, sat the most adorable little spaniel pup, tail wagging, gnawing on a chew toy like it hadnt a care in the world.
I blinked. «Is that a goat in your loo?»
She gave a sheepish nod. «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 ten animals: two pygmy goats, three kittens, two puppies, and a pair of rascally rabbits with a taste for upholstery.
I stood there, stunnedfour hours of panicking, imagining kidnappings and controlling husbandsonly to find my daughter had become a full-time pet mum.
I started laughing. First a giggle, then full-on belly laughs until tears streamed down my face. She joined in, and soon we were both wheezing with laughter.
All that dread, all those sleepless nightsand it all boiled down to a flat full of fur, love, and absolute mayhem.
That day, I stayed to help tidy up, feed the menagerie, and, of course, cuddle the spaniel who started it all.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, she gave me a soft smile and said, «You always know when to turn up, Mum.»
Suppose a mothers intuition never failseven when it leads you straight to a lounge full of goats.
