My Daughter Wouldnt Pick Up the PhoneUntil I Found Out Her Secret
My daughter used to ring me every Sunday without fail, even if only for a quick chat. Those calls were our little traditionwed natter about roast dinners, her job in London, or whatever novel shed buried herself in that week. Sometimes shed phone from Tesco just to ask, Mum, how long for the beef again? and Id chuckle because shed asked me the same thing a hundred times before.
Then, one day in March, the calls vanished.
At first, I assumed she was swamped. Work piling up, perhaps. Or maybe she and her husband had popped off to the Cotswolds for a weekend. A week slipped by, then another. I texted herMiss you, love. Give us a bell when you can. Left on read. Birthdays came and went in silence.
This wasnt like her. And deep down, in that place where mothers just know, I felt itsomething wasnt right.
Turns out, I was right.
It was my son who finally spilled the beans. One evening, he rang and said hed had a quick word with her. Shes alright, he insisted, but his voice wavered. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, Though she mentioned her husband doesnt want her working anymore. Or driving. Says its simpler this way.
My stomach lurched.
He shrugged it off, reckoned maybe her bloke just fancied old-fashioned roles, that I was reading too much into it. But Im her mum. I know my girl. Shes fierce, stubborn as a mule in the best way. Built her career from nothing, stayed up till dawn chasing every dream she ever had. She wouldnt just hand that overnot without a proper row.
That night, I barely shut my eyes. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, mind racing through every worst-case scenario. What if she was trapped? What if she was too scared to say? What if she wasnt safe?
By dawn, I knew what to do.
The next morning, I jumped in the car and drove straight to her flat in Manchestersix hours without a break. Every mile felt heavier than the last. My head spun with grim possibilities. No plan, just a mothers gut screaming that my girl needed me.
When she finally opened the door, I hardly knew her.
Shed lost weight. Dark circles clung under her eyes, like she hadnt slept in months. She managed a weak smile that didnt touch her cheeks. And she kept peering over her shoulder, as if waiting for someone to barge in. Or worselistening for footsteps.
My pulse hammered. I stepped closer and whispered, Youre coming with me. Now.
She hesitated, then sighed. I cant. Not yet.
That threw me. My gut twisted. Why? Whats going on, love?
She didnt answer straight away. Finally, she stepped aside. Best come in, Mum.
The second I crossed the threshold, my jaw hit the floor. The place looked like a hurricane had torn through it. The sofa cushions were gone, the curtains hung in tatters, and strawactual strawwas strewn across the kitchen tiles.
I froze. What in Gods name happened here?
Before she could speak, something rustled in the corner. I turnedand there, smack in the middle of the madness, sat the tiniest, fluffiest pup, tail wagging, gnawing on a squeaky toy like it hadnt a care in the world.
I blinked. Is that a goat in your loo?
She nodded, sheepish. Two, actually.
Turns out, she and her husband had signed up to foster rescue animalsjust for a fortnight, she said. But a fortnight had ballooned into a dozen creatures: two goats, four kittens, three puppies, and a pair of naughty rabbits with a taste for curtain fabric.
I stood there, gobsmackedsix hours of panic, imagining the worstonly to find my daughter had become a full-time mum to a zoo.
I started laughing. A little chuckle at first, then proper belly laughs till tears streamed down my face. She joined in, and soon we were both howling, half-crying, half-giggling.
All that dread, all those nightmaresand it all boiled down to a house brimming with love, fur, and absolute bedlam.
That day, I stayed to help her tidy, feed the menagerie, and, of course, snuggle the pup that started it all.
As the sun dipped behind the rooftops, she gave me a soft smile and said, You always know when to turn up, Mum.
Suppose a mothers intuition never really misseseven when it leads you straight to a sitting room full of goats.
