**A Lifelong Burden**
* If youre asking questions like that, maybe you shouldnt have children. And dont listen to anyone. I made that mistake once…* Mum sighed. * All those advisors vanish when it matters, but the burden stays with you forever.*
It sounded like sensible advice, yet it made Emilys insides grow cold and tight. A lump rose in her throat, and her eyes stung. She knew if she didnt end the call now, shed be sobbing into the phone. Worst of all, Mum probably wouldnt even understand why.
* Got it. Thanks, Mum. Ill think about it… Well talk later,* Emily said and hung up.
She pulled a cushion to her chest, hugging it hard as she slumped forward. This wasnt just adviceit was a careless revelation. Emily could almost feel the door to her past swinging open, everything suddenly falling into place.
…When it came to raising her daughter, Margaret had been diligent and precise. She made sure Emily ate well, giving her the best even when she herself went without. Emily had plenty of toys and clothes. Though Mum raised her alone, she still sent her to piano lessons and dance classes.
In short, Emily had everything. Except love.
Margaret never told her she loved her. No hugs, no heart-to-heart talks, no praise. She didnt even scold her. It was as if she felt nothing at all for her own child.
Emily remembered the time she and her desk mate, Charlotte, both failed a maths test. Charlotte was devastated.
* Lucky you. You wont get a lecture at home. Ill be grounded for weeksno phone, no laptop,* Charlotte sighed.
* Youre the lucky one. At least they care enough to shout at you…* Emily muttered.
Charlotte stared at her. Who in their right mind *wanted* to be yelled at?
* You serious? Fine, you can listen to my parents moan at me instead,* Charlotte scoffed. * Be my guest.*
Emily just turned away. Shed have loved that. But Mum never checked her schoolbook. Why bother? Emily was a straight-A student. Until she wasnt.
At first, she thought being «perfect» would make Mum notice herpraise her for piano recitals, top marks, dance performances. But no. Mum reacted with indifference, as if it were only expected.
So Emily faked being ill, complaining of stomach aches, hoping for concern, for care. It workedsort of. Mum did pay more attention. But instead of comfort, there were endless hospital visits, a mild gastritis diagnosis, strict meal plans, and medication schedules. No warmth, no worryjust clinical efficiency.
Desperate, Emily skipped school, failed classes, quit piano and dance, even lashed out rudely.
Nothing.
* Fine, dont study. Your problem,* Mum said flatly one day. * Ill feed you till youre eighteen, then youre on your own. But if you drop out, good luck finding work. Even shop assistants need decent grades.*
When Emily refused chores, Mum simply said no going out until the floors were done. A tantrum got her dismissed with, * Save the drama for your room.*
That night, Emily cried herself to sleep, feeling like a doll Mum dressed and put awaynot a person with feelings.
She pushed further. Once, she stayed at a friends without warning, wondering if Mum would even notice. Maybe shed be relieved?
But Mum called everyone, found her, and brought her homeno shouting, no anger. Just a cold, * Keep this up, and youll end up in care. They wont be as patient as me.*
Shed have preferred smashed plates, screams, even a belt.
Over time, Emily didnt accept itshe just endured. Moving in with her boyfriend, James, helped. Things moved fast; they married within a year. Starved for love, shed rushed in blindly.
Luckily, James was decentsteady, responsible.
* What do you think about kids?* he asked long before the wedding.
Emily froze. Children were the natural next step, but the thought of having her own terrified her. What if she turned out like Mum? What if her child felt as unloved as she had?
* I dont think Im ready,* she admitted.
But life had other plans. She got pregnantunplanned. They didnt own a home, wages barely covered bills.
* Oh, please. Most people have mortgages or nothing,* her friend said when Emily voiced her fears. James wanted the baby too.
* Its your call, but were married, stable. Id like to be a dad.*
Yet the more she heard this, the more she doubted. So she asked Mumand everything changed. Had she been unwanted too?
Margaret said it all so matter-of-factly. No malice. Just facts.
For days, Emily went through the motionswork, dinners, TVbut mechanically. Would she ever hear *I love you*? And what about her own child?
Finally, she went to her mother-in-law, Patricia. Stern but kind, Patricia was everything Mum wasnt.
* Emily? No call?* Patricia frowned, opening the door.
* Just… needed to talk,* Emilys voice wavered.
Patricia didnt pry. She made tea, served bread and jam.
* Theres stew if youre hungry. You and James havent rowed?*
* No,* Emily bit her lip. * Its… Mum.*
And then it all spilled outthe loneliness, the indifference, the desperate need for love.
Patricia listened, then sighed. * I knew things were cold, but not like this. Dont blame her, love. Some people… life hardens them. Shes a bad mother, but not a bad person.*
* How can someone not love their child?*
* It happens. Some dont even love themselves.* Patricia paused. * About the baby… Follow your heart.*
* What if Im like her?*
* You wont. James told me how you nursed that stray cat. People who dont care dont do that.*
* A babys not a cat. What if I fail?*
* Who doesnt? Good mums are the ones who worry. No ones perfect. I wasnt, your mum wasnt, you wont be. But wanting to lovethats what matters.*
Emily smiled faintly. The fear didnt vanish, but the weight eased.
She kept the baby. Pregnancy was roughsickness, mood swings, fear. But James fetched cravings at 2 a.m., rubbed her back, stayed patient. Patricia helped too, teaching her about babies.
Mum called occasionally, asking if she needed anything. After the birth, she brought baby clothesno fuss, no affection.
Years passed. Emilys daughter grewloud, curious, stubborn. There were tantrums, broken toys, exhaustion. But when she was ill, Emily stroked her hair, read stories, fought back tears.
She was ashamed to admit it: she was giving her daughter what shed craved herself.
Things with Mum stayed distant. Emily stopped expecting more. She helped financially, brought groceries, checked on her. Margaret wasnt a good mother or grandmother, but she was *there*. Maybe she couldnt lovebut in her own way, she tried.
Sometimes, thats enough.
*(Lesson learned: Love isnt always instinctive. But wanting to do betterthats what counts. One rainy afternoon, Emily found an old shoebox in the back of Mums closet while helping her rearrange the flat. Inside were hospital wristbandshers from birth, tiny and faded, tucked beneath a folded ultrasound photo. No note, no sentiment. But they were kept. Carefully.
Emily held them in her hands, rain tapping the window, and for the first time, didnt feel emptiness. Just quiet understanding.
That evening, she put her daughter to bed, kissing her forehead, whispering, *I love you,* like she did every night. Then she texted Mum: *Thanks for the raincoat you sent. She loves it.*
Three dots appeared. Paused. Then: *Good.*
It wasnt much. But it was something. And for now, it was enough.
