**Diary Entry 12th November**
«You have to help meyoure my mum!»
«Emily, back again?» Margaret sighed, shrugging off her coat as she watched her daughter rummage through the fridge. «If you were just going to keep coming back, why move out at all? Maybe it wasnt the best idea…»
Emily spun around, clutching a pack of sausages to her chest.
«Mum! You scared me half to death, creeping in like that!» She huffed but then flashed her most disarming smile. «Just popped by to check on you, thats all.»
Margaret set her grocery bags on the table and studied her daughter. At twenty-four, Emily looked every bit the grown woman, yet her eyes still held that childish, helpless glint.
«Came to check on me or the fridge?» Margaret asked gently.
Emily flushed, staring at her shoes. After a silent beat, she blurted out in one breath,
«Look, Mum, my paycheck vanished suspiciously fast. Ive got a week till the next one, and the cupboards are bare. Thats the long and short of it.»
Margaret swallowed a heavy sigh. Emily had rushed into independence, desperate to prove she could manage. But who could stop her? Young people always charge headfirst into freedom, never counting the cost.
«Dont say ‘I told you so,'» Emily cut in, raising a hand. «I just miscalculated, thats all. Itll be finenext month, Ill be bringing *you* gifts and ordering your groceries. Youll see!»
Margaret shook her head. Her daughters stubborn optimism hadnt faded with time.
«Take what you need, love. Dont fret.»
She watched as Emily methodically emptied the fridgesausages, cheese, cream, vegall vanishing into her oversized tote. From the cupboards went packets of rice and pasta, and from the pantry, a hefty bag of potatoes.
«Thisll last me the week!» Emily cheered, planting a loud kiss on Margarets cheek. «Ta, Mum! Youre the best!»
Margaret walked her to the door, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
Silence settled over the flat. Margaret leaned against the wall, remembering herself at Emilys agejuggling work, a husband, and a toddler. How had she managed it all? These days, even a trip to the shops left her drained.
«Where did my youth go? Flown by without so much as a goodbye…» she whispered, catching her reflection in the hallway mirror. Wrinkles at her eyes, silver streaking her once-rich chestnut hair. Time was relentless. Her best years had slipped away in work and worrystudies, jobs, raising Emily. She regretted nothing, but sometimes the loneliness ached like a physical weight.
A week later, Margaret rang Emily herself. A mothers heart never rests.
«Do you need a transfer? Anything I can do?» she asked the moment Emily answered.
Her daughters carefree laugh crackled down the line.
«Mum, Ive been paidstop worrying! Im a big girl now!»
«Big girl, my foot,» Margaret muttered. «Who was it last week scraping the barrel for food? Emily, listenmaybe you should move back? Itd be easier.»
Silence. Then an irritated huff.
«Mum, Im *grown*. I want my own place. So what if Im still figuring it out? Ill manage. Why dont you believe in me?»
Margaret faltered. She hadnt meant to hurt heronly to help.
«Sorry, love. I worry. To me, youll always be my little girl.»
The call left a sour aftertaste. Margaret sat clutching her phone, lost in thought. Raising Emily had been hard, but letting her go? Harder still.
…Three days later, Margaret returned late from her friends. The moment she stepped inside, she heard clattering in the kitchen. Her heart leaptburglars? But noit was Emily, leaning into the fridge, devouring a sandwich.
«Back so soon? Just raiding your supplies a bit. Paid the rent today and realised Id be skint till payday. Same old story…»
Emily smiled, but Margaret saw no warmth in itjust calculation.
«And who said they were all grown and independent?» Margaret sighed, sinking into a chair.
Emily tossed her hair, stuffing her bag with food.
«I *am* grown. But youre my mum. Helping me is your *job*.» The way she said it made Margarets stomach twist. «Consider this your chance to prove you care.»
Into the bag went fruit, veg, a tub of salad, and five yoghurts. Margaret watched in silence. A *job*? Since when was love a duty?
…Emilys raids grew frequent. New shoes, a phone bill, higher rentalways a reason to clean out the fridge.
Margaret bit her tongue. How could she deny her own child? But each visit left her emptier. Emily stopped pretending shed come to chat. No asking after Margarets health, her life. Just take and go.
…One evening, Margaret came home drenched. Autumn rain had caught her halfway from the shops. Shucking off her wet coat, she headed to the kitchen.
«Need to thaw the chicken,» she murmured, yanking open the freezer.
Her hand froze. The compartment was bare. Four shelves, packed that morning with meat and veg, now gaped empty. Margaret flung open the fridge door. A single jar of horseradish sat lonely on the shelfEmily hated the stuff.
Hands shaking, Margaret dialled her daughter.
«Mum? What now?» Emilys voice was bored.
«Emily, did you take *all* the food?» Margarets voice cracked.
«Yeah!» Emily chirped. «Thought, why keep trekking over? Saves time!»
Margaret shut her eyes against the tears. How could her girl be so callous?
«Emily, I just got homeIve nothing for dinner»
«Mum,» Emily cut in, annoyed. «Pop to the shops! The walkll do you good. Doctors say so. Anyway, gotta dashbye!»
The line died. Margaret slumped at the table, staring at her phone. Bitterness welled in her chest. Had she become nothing but a free supermarket to her daughter?
…The empty fridge became routine. Every fortnight, Margaret found it stripped. Emily didnt even bother with excuses now.
Then one night, the smash of glass woke Margaret. She bolted to the kitchen. Emily knelt, mopping up spilled horseradish, shards glittering around her.
«Even took the stuff you hate?» Margaret snapped.
Emily glared up.
«Oh, come off it, Mum. Less lecturing, more helping!»
«Emily, why not wake me? What are you doing here sneaking about?»
Emily flung the cloth down, leaving yellow streaks on the tiles. She stood, arms crossedjust like Margaret did when cross.
«Ive got keys, Mum. Remember? This is *my* home too! Why should I announce myself? Or am I not welcome anymore?»
Margaret shook her head.
«Youre welcomebut you dont visit *me*. You visit the fridge. Emily, Im not made of money. I cant feed us both, especially when you take everything!»
Emily slammed the fridge door. Fury sparked in her eyes.
«Begrudge your own daughter food? *You* said I could take what I needed!»
«I thought itd be once!» Margarets voice broke. «But you treat my home like a free Tesco! I never know if Ill have dinner or go to bed hungry. This isnt right, Emily!»
Emily backed toward the window, skirting the glass.
«Regretting helping me now, are you? Just say it! And here I thought you were my *mum*! Youre supposed to support me! You *owe* me!»
«Emily, youre twenty-four!» Margaret snapped. «I dont *owe* you meals! If you cant managemove back! Chip in for food and bills. At least youd save on rent.»
Emily froze. Rage twisted her face. Then she exploded.
«I dont *want* to live with you! Understand? Me and James are seriousweve moved in! But I didnt realise hed eat like a horse!»
Margaret went very still. Her daughter had a live-in boyfriendand hadnt mentioned it. Yet shed been stealing food to feed him.
«And thats *my* problem?» Margarets voice turned icy. «Hes *your* partner. *Your* family.»
«But you *have* to help! Youre my *mum*!» Emily shrieked.
«Let James raid *his* mothers fridge!» Margaret sank onto a chair, drained. «Or get a second job. If two grown adults cant feed themselves, the problems *you*. Ive dipped into savingsfor what? To feed your greedy bloke?»
Emilys face blotched red.
«How *dare* you! James is wonderful! And youyoure a *terrible* mother! A good one would *help* her daughter, not begrudge her bread!»
Margaret cradled her head. Hurt choked her.
«Emily, leave. Please,» she said hoarsely. «For six months, Ive just been a food dispenser to you. I need time. You lied. You used me. Take whatevers left. Consider it a parting gift. And go.»
She didnt look up as Emily filled her bag. Only the slam of the door made her flinch. The kitchen clocks ticking was the only sound.
Margaret rose slowly, staring out the window. Somewhere in this vast city, her daughter was taking her last haul home to James.
«Tomorrow, Ill change the locks,» she whispered. «Time they learned responsibility. Let them live within their means…»
…Margaret changed the locks. Emily didnt call, didnt text. Fine. Better that than being a free larder for her and her boyfriend.
A month later, Emily finally rang.
**Lesson learned:** Love isnt a ledger. Sometimes the kindest thing is to say noeven to your own child.
