**Diary Entry 12th October**
«I wont live with some strangers grandmother,» my son said, staring me straight in the eye.
«Mum, you tell him yourself! Im tired of explaining!» Helen nervously fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth, refusing to look up.
«Whats there to explain?» Edward set his tea mug down and sat across from her. «Ive made myself clearIm moving out next week. Ive rented a flat, paid the deposit.»
«Son, but what about us here» Helen began, but Edward cut her off with a sharp wave.
«Mum, Im twenty-seven! Dont you think its time I lived on my own?»
A muffled cough came from the next room, followed by the clatter of something falling and muttered complaints.
«You see?» Helen sighed. «Shes dropped something again. Id better check.»
«Dont,» Edward put a hand on her shoulder. «Let her deal with it. Youre not her carer.»
«Eddie, shes elderly»
«Mum, stop this!» His voice hardened. «Shes nothing to you. Absolutely nothing! Dads mother, who never had a kind word for you in her life.»
Helen winced, as if stung. It was trueMargaret Wilkins had never accepted her. Twenty-eight years ago, when she and John married, his mother had been cold, dismissive. Shed told neighbours her son couldve done better, that Helen came from «the wrong sort,» that she had a nasty temper. After Edward was born, shed declared shed raise the boy herself because his mother was «too dim to manage.»
«Remember what she called you?» Edward pressed, seeing hed struck a nerve. *»That Helen of yours.»* Not even by namejust *»that one.»* And when Dad died»
«Stop,» Helen whispered. «Dont bring that up.»
But he wouldnt let it go. Three years had passed since Johns funeral, but the memories still hurt. Margaret had outright claimed the house belonged to *her* son, meaning it was now *hers.* That Helen and her «little Eddie» ought to find somewhere else. That shed suffered enough from «this outsider in my home.»
«And who picked her up off the floor when she had that stroke?» Edward went on. «Who called the ambulance? Who stayed at the hospital?»
«Thats enough,» Helen stood, clearing the dishes.
«Its *not* enough! You *see* what she doesbangs things at night, drops pans so you cant sleep, blasts the telly. All those snide remarks about ‘scraps for dinner’ or ‘wrong pills'»
From Margarets room came a shout: *»Helen! Helen, get in here!»*
Helen moved automatically, but Edward grabbed her wrist.
«No. If she needs something, she can get up herself.»
«Eddie, shes ill»
«Ill? Shes fitter than both of us! Shes just used to bossing people. Dad waited on her hand and foot, and now you do.»
*»Helen!»* The voice turned shrill. *»Are you deaf?»*
Helen pulled free and went. Margaret lay in bed, blankets tucked to her chin. A newspaper sprawled on the floor.
«Pick that up,» she nodded at it. «I want to read.»
«Margaret, your glasses are there»
«Of course they are! Think Im blind?» The old woman shoved them on. «And bring tea. *Properly* hot this time. Yesterdays was dishwater.»
Silently, Helen lifted the paper, set it on the bedside table, and went to boil the kettle. Edward sat glowering at the kitchen table.
«Running to her again?»
«Dont start,» Helen said wearily.
«Mum, listen,» Edward pulled his chair closer. «Im moving. And youre coming with me.»
Helen froze, kettle in hand.
«What?»
«Its simple. Two-bedroom flatplenty of space. Youll finally live without constant rows and nagging.»
«And *her*?»
«She can manage. People reap what they sow.»
«Eddie, I *cant*shell be completely alone!»
«Good! Maybe then shell realise what lifes like without you.»
Helen set the kettle down, gripping the counter. Guilt and relief tangled in her chest.
«Mum, remember what she said after Dads funeral?» Edwards voice softened. *»You can start packingthis is my house now.»* Remember?
Helen nodded. Shed never forget. Theyd just returned from the cemetery, changed out of black, sat with teawhen Margaret, silent all day, announced everything would change. That Helen and Edward were «in the way.» That they should «find their own place.»
«And who said *no* that day?» Edward pressed. «Who swore theyd care for her anyway?»
«I did,» Helen admitted. «But it was different then. Shed just lost her son»
«Mum, its been *three years!* Three years of cooking, cleaning, doctor visitsand what thanks have you had? *None.* Just complaints. Soup too salty, laundry done wrong, wrong prescriptions. And last week, telling Mrs. Thompson were ‘strangers waiting for her to die’?»
*»Helen! Wheres my tea?»*
«Coming!» Helen called, but Edward blocked her path.
«No. Sit down.»
«Eddie»
«We need to talk. Properly.»
Reluctantly, Helen sat. Edward took her hands.
«Mum, I *wont* live with a woman who despises us. And neither should you. Youre fifty-twoyouve decades ahead. Why waste them on someone who treats you like dirt?»
«Shes not *just anyone,* Eddie. Shes your grandmother.»
Edward laughed bitterly. «Grandmother? Shes *never* liked me. Remember her telling everyone I took after you with my nasty temper? Or when I got into uni? Waste of moneyhell amount to nothing.»
Helen stayed quiet. She remembered. John had brushed it off*»Mums tough, but fair deep down.»*
*»Helen!»* Margarets voice turned venomous. *»Have you died out there?»*
Edward stormed to her room. Helen heard him snap:
«Gran, Mums busy. If you want tea, make it yourself.»
*»How dare you speak to me like that? Fetch your mother!»*
«I wont. And were leaving next week.»
*»Leaving?»*
«New flat. Mum and me.»
Silence. Then Margarets shaky voice: *»And me?»*
«Youll stay here. Alone. Like you always wanted.»
«*Edward!*» Helen called, but he returned triumphant.
«Done. Now she can stew.»
«You shouldnt havewe shouldve discussed»
«Discussed *what?* Weve talked this to death! You *said* you couldnt take her digs anymore!»
True. Especially after Margaret called her a «freeloader» in front of the neighbours.
«But shes old, shes frail»
«Shes seventy-five, not ancient! She milks it.»
Whimpers came from the bedroom. Helen stood, but Edward shook his head.
«Dont. Its an act. Tears first, guilt-trip next.»
«But what if shes truly upset?»
«Truly?» He scoffed. «Where were *her* tears when she kicked us out? Where was *her* pity?»
Helen remembered. Margaret had been ice that day. Not a single sobjust cold triumph.
«And after her stroke? Who saved her? Who called the ambulance, stayed at hospital, ran for meds?»
«I did.»
«Exactly. And once she recovered? Back to *this is too salty* and *youre useless.*»
The whimpers stopped.
«See?» Edward nodded at the quiet. «No audience, no performance.»
Helen drank water slowly. Edward was right. Margaret had never loved her, never valued her. Always criticising, humiliating her. After Johns death, shed tried to throw them out.
But abandoning an old woman Wasnt that cruel?
«Mum, I know its hard,» Edward said gently. «Youre kind. But think of *you.* Dont you want to *live?*»
Helen nodded. She did. Without tension, without daily barbs, without waking up braced for blame.
«Remember how it was before? When Dad was alive? We talked, went to the theatre. When did you last go *anywhere?*»
She hadnt. Just work, house, Margarets appointments. Her friend Liz invited her to cinema twicebut she couldnt leave Margaret alone.
«Mum, lets *try.* A month in the new place. If she *genuinely* cant cope, well decide then.»
«And if something happens?»
«Shes got a phone. Neighbours. She can hire help if shell pay for it.»
Footsteps shuffled down the hall. Margaret appeared in the doorway, leaning heavily.
«So,» she rasped, «youre dumping me?»
«Gran, no ones *dumping* you,» Edward said calmly. «Were moving out.»
*»How will I manage? Im sick!»*
«Youre not as helpless as you pretend,» Edward said. «Three years ago, you *wanted* us gone. Remember?»
Margaret blinked, thrown.
«Thatthat was different»
«How?» Edward stepped closer. «Same house, same people. What changed?»
*»Im frail now! I need help!»*
«Then maybe you shouldve thought of that sooner,» Edwards voice turned steely. «Before tormenting the woman whos looked after you.»
Margaret turned to Helen.
«Helen, you *wont* leave me? You *know* I need»
Helen said nothing. Pity warred with years of hurt.
«Mum,» Edward murmured, «tell her the truth. How exhausted you are. How it *wounds* you to hear youre a stranger here.»
*»I never said that!»* Margaret cried.
«No? What did you tell Mrs. Thompson? *Living with outsiders who want me dead?*»
Margaret faltered.
«II didnt mean»
«Then what *did* you mean?» Edward pressed. «Mums been here thirty years. Thirty years of your cruelty. And you *still* call her an outsider?»
Helen walked to the window, heart heavy.
«Margaret,» she said quietly, «do you recall what you said three years ago?»
«Helen, I was grieving»
*»Start packingthis is my house.* Remember? Or *Ive suffered enough from these strangers.* Recall that?»
Silence.
Margaret sank onto a chair, suddenly frail.
«But Im *ill*»
«You are,» Helen agreed. «But why must help come from those youve spurned?»
Margaret twisted her dressing gown, silent.
«Margaret,» Helen faced her, «youve spent decades making me feel unwelcome. Why should I stay *now,* when it suits *you?*»
*»Because its right!»* Margaret whispered.
«Right for *whom?*» Edward cut in. «You? What about *us?* A lifetime of your scorn?»
Margaret looked up, eyes wet.
«Eddie, youre my *grandson*»
«A grandson you *never* loved. One you said would come to nothing.»
«I didnt think youd remember»
«We remember *everything.*»
Something in Helen snappeda tension held too long.
«Margaret,» she said firmly, «we *are* leaving. Next week.»
The old woman flinched.
«Helen»
«Not *Helen.* Mrs. Wilkins. And yes, youll live alone. As you wished.»
*»But how?»*
«How were *we* to live when you threw us out?» Helen sat across from her. «Wed have managed, wouldnt we?»
Margaret bent forward, suddenly small.
«Perhaps I was wrong»
«Its too late,» Helen said. «Weve decided.»
And she *had.* Right then, watching Margaret shrink before her. She deserved her own life. Peace. Mornings without dread.
Edward squeezed her shoulder. «Mum Im proud of you.»
Helen noddedand smiled properly for the first time in years.
**Lesson learned:** Kindness shouldnt cost your soul. Some bridges *need* burning.
