**Diary Entry**
Mums words caught me off guard. «Love, Ive been thinking Why do you need three bedrooms? One seems plenty, doesnt it? Little Sophie sleeps with you anyway.»
At first, I didnt grasp what she was getting at. I assumed she wanted to dump another one of her so-called «treasures» on ussome battered armchair or an old sideboard cluttering up her place.
«Right Well, we dont really use the other rooms,» I admitted cautiously.
«Exactly! So Ive decided to rent them out. Ill find quiet, decent tenants. No point letting good space go to waste, is there? You know how it isI let you stay there, and now Im barely scraping by.»
My blood ran cold. At first, I thought Id misheard. Then everything inside me froze and cracked. Visions flooded my mindstrangers in our kitchen, noise, chaos, endless guestsall while my three-month-old daughter slept nearby. Maybe it wouldnt be so bad, but it was a gamble. And I wasnt about to risk my babys safety.
«Mum What do you mean, tenants? I have a child! I dont want strangers in the house.»
«Oh, dont be dramatic. You grew up in a shared flat, and you turned out fine,» she dismissed me. «Ive already cut you a dealnot charging full whack, waiting for you to save up. What am I supposed to do? Starve?»
I clenched my jaw. Betrayal stung, sharp and unexpected. Shed never rent out rooms in her own place. But ours? Fair game.
Still, I pushed the hurt aside. Sophie mattered more.
«Fine, if its that important Well pay you for this month,» I said finally. «Well figure something out after.»
I half-expected her to back downsay she couldnt take money from her own daughter, especially now. Maybe even offer us the month rent-free. But
«Good. Ill charge you family ratesthree hundred quid,» she said breezily. «Just give me two weeks notice if you move out. Ill need time to line up new tenants. Oh, and youll have to show them around. Keep things seamless, you know?»
«Right,» I hissed, hanging up.
I opened my banking app and sent the money. The moment I tapped «Confirm,» something shifted. Our relationship had turned transactional.
Mum had always been like this. She had a knack for twisting things to her advantagejust never so harshly before.
When I was ten, I found out my godmother had sent lavish birthday and Christmas giftsa giant plush pony, a robotic dog, trendy dolls. Mum passed them off as her own. No extras from her.
It stung, but only a little. I knew it was wrong, but I didnt feel the full weight of it. My godmother, though, stopped sending gifts through Mum and switched to Nan.
Then there was Auntie Claire and my cousin Lily. Theyd planned a short stay in the city to sort paperwork, already booked a hoteluntil Mum intervened.
«Why rough it in some dodgy place with a child? Stay with us! Its not the Ritz, but well manage.»
Auntie Claire resisted but eventually agreed. She was properdidnt want to burden anyoneso she stocked our fridge to the brim.
«Foods on us, cookings on you,» she joked. «Well be out all dayqueues, museums, you know how it is.»
They left early, returned late. No trouble. But on day three, Mum announced,
«Claire, Ive overestimated myself. Maybe ring that hotel?»
Auntie Claire was livid. The hotel wouldnt take them back, so they scrambled for a B&B. I never saw them again.
Back then, I believed Mum was just tired. Now I saw the truthshed wanted free meals. Once she got them, she booted them out.
Before, Id only suffered indirectly. Teachers side-eyed me because Mum refused school donations and made scenes. I missed birthday partiesofficially because «you never know about other parents,» really because gifts cost money. But none of it compared to the flat.
Tom and I had known each other since school. Friends first, then something deeper. He even gave up his dream for mewanted to study medicine up north but stayed because I wouldnt follow.
We both studied psychology instead. I became a school counsellor, Tom went into HR. We married, saved for a mortgage. Kids? Later, once we had our own place.
Life had other plans. An unplanned pregnancy.
Those two lines left me torn. A baby with the man I lovedbut now? When we were so close to our deposit?
«Your call,» Tom said. He wanted the baby too but knew the timing was awful.
Enter Mum.
«Whats to think?» she declared. «Where God closes a door, He opens a window! Stay in Nans old flat. Save up. Dont you dare get rid of itwhat if you cant have kids later?»
Her offer tipped the scales. We had our differences, but I thought we were close. A mother helping her daughterhow noble. If only shed meant it.
Now, I didnt know where to turn. What if Mum decided £300 wasnt enough? Or moved in her mates? Id believe anything.
That night, I told Tom. He held me as I cried.
«Dont worry. Ill sort it. Faster than a month,» he promised.
And he did.
Days later, we visited his mum, Margaret. Nothing unusualwe dropped by often. Shed known me since I was a kid, taking Tom and me to the park.
At one point, she took my hand.
«Love, Tom told me. Dont fretIll help with the deposit. Youre good kidsindependent. Some your age still lean on their parents.»
Her quiet warmth broke me. The contrastmy own mother squeezing us out, Toms mum offering a lifeline. I sobbed into my hands.
We moved in with Margaret while sorting the mortgage. Tom packed our things. I returned the keys to Mumjust dropped them in her mailbox. No goodbyes.
«You didnt come up?» she texted.
«Was it not obvious?»
«Well You chose to leave. No one forced you. Youre the one who got offended.»
After that, I cut contact. Life was too busypaperwork, signatures, renovations. I freelanced to ease the mortgage strain. Hard, but it felt like building something real.
Now, my familyTom, Sophie, Margaretis my focus. She gave us more than money: faith, support, a future. As for Mum? Well, you dont choose family. Sometimes, the ones who matter most arent bloodtheyre the ones who stand by you, or at least dont stab you in the back.
