You have to help me, youre my mother, Emily said, pausing mid-bite of a sandwich as she rummaged through the fridge.
Margaret sighed, hanging her coat by the door. Emily, love, youre here again. What was the point of moving out if you keep coming back?
Emily spun around, clutching a packet of ham to her chest. Mum! You scared me half to deathsneaking in like that! She flashed a guilty grin. I just popped by to see how youre doing.
Margaret set her shopping bags on the table and studied her daughter. At twenty-four, Emily looked every bit the adult, but her eyes still held something childlikesomething pleading.
Here to see me, or raid the fridge? Margaret asked gently.
Emily flushed, staring at the floor. After a weighted silence, she blurted out, Okay, fine. My paycheck vanished suspiciously fast. Ive got a week to stretch it, and my cupboards are bare. So here we are.
Margaret swallowed a sigh. Emily had rushed into independence, desperate to prove herself. But what parent could stand in the way? Youth always chased freedom without counting the cost.
No I told you so, please, Emily cut in, raising a hand. I misjudged, thats all. Next month will be betterIll be the one treating *you*! Honest.
Margaret shook her head. Her daughters optimism hadnt dimmed with age.
Take what you need, love. Dont fret.
She watched as Emily methodically emptied the fridgeham, cheese, cream, vegall vanishing into her oversized tote. Cupboards yielded pasta and rice; the pantry surrendered potatoes.
Thisll last the week! Emily chirped, planting a loud kiss on Margarets cheek. Youre the best, Mum!
At the door, Margaret squeezed her shoulder.
Silence settled as the flat door clicked shut. Leaning against the wall, Margaret thought of herself at twenty-fourwork, a husband, a toddler in tow. How had she managed? Now even groceries left her drained.
Where did my youth go? she whispered at her reflectionfine lines, silver threading her once-rich auburn hair. Time was relentless. Her best years had slipped by in a blur of duty. No regrets, but sometimes the weight of it all made her want to howl.
A week later, Margaret called. A mothers worry gnawed at her.
Do you need money? Anything?
Emily laughed. Mum, Ive been paid. Stop fussingIm a big girl now!
Big girl, Margaret muttered. Who ran out of groceries last week? Love, maybe you should come home. Its easier together.
Silence. Then an irritated sigh.
Mum, Im *grown*. I want my own life. So what if I stumble? Ill manage. Why cant you believe in me?
Margaret faltered. She hadnt meant to woundonly to protect.
Im sorry, sweetheart. Youll always be my little girl.
The call left a bitter aftertaste. Raising Emily had been hardbut letting go? Harder still.
Three days later, Margaret returned late from bridge club to the sound of clattering in the kitchen. Her pulse spikedburglars? No. Emily stood there, devouring toast.
Back so soon? Just borrowing a bite. Paid rent today, realised Im skint till payday. Same old.
Her smile lacked warmth. Something in her gaze had turned calculating.
Thought you were grown? Margaret asked wearily.
Emily shrugged, stuffing yoghurts into her bag.
I *am*. But youre my mum. Its your *job* to help. Her tone made Margarets stomach twist. Consider this your chance to be maternal.
Fruit, veg, a tub of coleslawall vanished into the bag. Margaret said nothing. Since when was love an *obligation*?
The visits grew frequent. New shoes, a phone bill, rent hikesalways a reason to strip Margarets fridge bare.
She endured it. How could she deny her own child? But each raid left her emptier. Emily stopped pretending she came to visit. No How are you?just take and go.
Then, one evening, Margaret came home drenched. Autumn rain had caught her mid-errand. Shucking off her sodden coat, she headed for the kitchen.
Need to thaw the chicken, she murmured, yanking open the freezer.
It was empty.
Every shelf, once packed with meals, stood barren. Only a jar of Branston pickle remainedEmily loathed the stuff.
Hands shaking, Margaret dialled.
Mum? Emily answered, impatient.
Did you take *everything*?
Yeah, Emily said breezily. Saves me trekking over daily. Waste of time, really!
Margaret shut her eyes against the sting. How could her child be so callous?
Emily, I just got homeIve nothing for dinner
Pop to Tesco, Emily cut in. Walkings good for you. Doctors say so. Gotta dashbye!
The dial tone echoed. Margaret sank onto a chair, throat tight. Was she just a pantry to her daughter now?
The pillaging became routine. Every fortnight, Margaret faced bare shelves. No excuses anymorejust taking.
Then, one night, the smash of glass woke her.
She rushed to the kitchen. Emily knelt, wiping up spilled pickle amid shards.
Even took the Branston? You *hate* it, Margaret snapped.
Emily glared. Oh, dont start. Just help!
Why sneak in? Why not wake me?
Emily stood, arms crosseda mirror of Margarets own scolding pose.
Ive got a *key*, Mum. This is *my* home too. Or am I banned now?
Margaret shook her head. You dont visit *me*you visit the fridge. Emily, Im not made of money. How can I feed us both when you clean me out?
Emily slammed the fridge. Youd *begrudge* your own daughter? You *said* I could take what I needed!
For emergenciesnot to feed your *boyfriend*! The words tore out.
Emily froze. How did you?
You think I wouldnt notice? Anton eats like a horseyour words when you thought I wasnt listening!
Emilys face flushed. Hes *wonderful*. A *proper* mother would support me!
Margaret pressed her palms to her temples. Go. Please. For months, Ive just been your grocery service. Take whats leftits the last. Then leave.
She didnt look up as Emily stuffed her bag. Only the slam of the door made her flinch.
Silence. Just the tick of the clock.
Margaret walked to the window. Somewhere in London, her daughter was hauling her spoils home to Anton.
New locks tomorrow, she murmured. Time they learned to stand on their own feet.
A month passed without word. Then, finally, Emily called.
Margaret answered, steel in her voice. Yes?
A pause. Then, small and uncertain: Mum can we talk?
The lesson was harsh but necessary: love isnt a ledger. Children must learn to walk before they can runand parents must let them stumble.
