Dear Diary,
This morning I heard my daughter Mollys weary voice pleading, Mum, could you look after Jamie today? I need to dash to work to collect some urgent papers. I was leafing through my planner, noting an editors meeting at seven, and replied, Molly, I have that appointment tonight. I cant. She snapped back, Mum, you always have something else! Hes your grandson, isnt he? Is your job really more important than family? I felt the sting of guiltladen manipulation.
Later, I reminded her, I warned you that having a baby with a man you barely know was reckless. That was your choice, your responsibility. She answered coldly, So you dont care about me or the baby. Thanks for the support. Then she hung up.
I just turned fiftytwo, and for the first time it feels like I can finally breathe. The divorce fifteen years ago turned my world upside down. I raised two daughters on my own, juggling two jobs, denying myself anything. Five years ago Michael entered my life a calm, reliable man who accepted my whole history without demanding the impossible.
My girls have grown and earned degrees. With Michael, I helped Molly and her husband Paul buy a modest onebed flat, and I helped Ivy secure a studio in a new development. I finally landed a respectable post at a London publishing house, enrolled in Italian classes, and started setting aside money for a dream trip to Italy £12,000 saved so far.
Molly, at twentythree, married the first man who came along. Six months later she gave birth. I warned her against such haste, but she didnt listen. Her husband turned out to be unreliable, working sporadically, bringing home money only when luck smiled. Molly is torn between a newborn and odd jobs, just trying to make ends meet. Since then my phone has been a constant stream of her calls.
I press my forehead against the cool kitchen window, exhausted by the endless demand to sacrifice myself. Molly has started hinting at moving back with us, saying it would make things easier for everyone, especially the baby. I refuse, explaining that I have my own life, work, and plans. She sobs into the handset, lamenting her lost youth.
A week later another shocking piece of news arrived. Ivy, just out of university at twenty, announced she was pregnant. The father is a lad shes only known for three months, a courier living in a shared house with little prospect. She burst into the living room, beaming, Mum, imagine Victor and I are going to be parents! Well have a little one! I felt irritation rising again, the same story as with Molly.
Sweetheart, have you and Victor thought about how youll raise the child? Where will you live? A studio with a baby? How will you afford everything? I asked calmly. Ivy fiddled with the edge of her cardigan. Well, Victor still has his room well figure something out. Mum, well need your help, right? We cant do it without you. I set my cup down harder than intended.
No, Ivy. Im not opposed to you having a baby, but I wont foot the bill for a young family. The flat is yours, Ive given you everything I could. Now you must manage on your own. Ivy leapt up, tears welling, How can you say that? Youre heartless! Im your daughter, and the child will be your grandchild! I replied, Thats precisely why Im being honest. Youre both adults now. You finished university, Victor works. If you chose to have a child, you must take responsibility yourself. My obligations are fulfilled. I have my own life, my own plans.
She shouted, What plans could possibly be more important than family? Youre selfish! and stormed out, bag in hand. The two sisters had aligned against me, the family chat flooding with accusations of greed and coldness. Molly sent lengthy messages about how hard it was for her, insisting a mother should always help. Ivy echoed, lamenting how she never expected her mother to be so indifferent.
Michael tried to comfort me, hugging me each evening, but the tension kept building. Molly began dropping by unannounced with the baby, pushing the stroller through the door and leaving a quick, Mum, Ill be back in a couple of hours, can you watch Jamie. I tried to object, but she was already rushing down the stairs. Michael frowned but stayed silent. Ivy called in tears, pleading for moral support, complaining that Victor didnt understand her, that there was no money, that she had no idea what to do.
I felt cornered, as if I were an endless well they could draw from forever.
Saturday evening was quiet. Michael and I had planned a relaxed night at home, a film and a chat about the Italy trip. A sharp knock interrupted us. Michael opened the door; Molly stood there with suitcases and Jamie in her arms, Ivy close behind, eyes red from crying.
Were moving in with you for a while, Molly announced, thrusting a suitcase into the hallway. Serge will bring the rest of our things later. Well rent out our flat to bring in some money, so you can look after Jamie more often and I can work. I was stunned, What? Molly, we never discussed this. She snapped back, Whats there to discuss? Youre my mother; you should help. Who else will?
Ivy slipped in, sniffling, Mum, we need money for a cot. We have nothing. Victor earns barely enough, I cant stay off work while on maternity leave. Something inside me finally broke. All the months of fatigue, irritation, and hurt spilled out.
No, I said sharply, stepping forward. Molly, turn around and go home. Ivy, there will be no money. Thats it. The door closed behind me.
Both daughters froze, staring at me. Molly, rocking a crying Jamie, asked, Are you serious, Mum? I crossed my arms, I raised you, gave you education, bought you flats. Now fly out of the nest and make your own lives. Dont hang my children on my shoulders. Ivy screamed, Were your daughters! Your blood! I replied, I can say it because its true. Youre adults. You chose whom to tie your life to, when to have children. I warned you, I advised. You ignored me. This is your responsibility, not mine.
Molly shifted the baby to her other arm, anger and disbelief flashing. Youre kicking us out? With a toddler? I answered, Im not kicking you out. You have a house! And you have a husband, Paul. Sort out your own problems. Ivy shouted, Youre a selfish monster! You only think about Italy! I said calmly, Yes, Italy matters to me. My plans, my life, matter to me. I spent twenty years living for you. What more do you expect? To have me nanny you until the grave?
They exchanged looks, grabbed their suitcases and fled down the stairs, voices muffled but full of contempt. For a week I heard nothing from them. Michael told me I had made the right choice, but a knot of anxiety lingered. Had I been too harsh?
Later I learned that Molly actually sold her flat and moved in with her husbands parents, confined to a cramped twobedroom where every chore was scrutinised. The motherinlaw raised Jamie as she saw fit, while the fatherinlaw muttered that the younger generation was lazy. Ivy, I discovered from a neighbour, had been sobbing on the staircase outside the block. Victor had fled, abandoning her, leaving her pregnant, penniless, and alone.
I stood in the kitchen, weighing pity against resolve. I had given them a good start education, a roof, love. How they used it was no longer my concern. Their calls returned, full of complaints, tears, and demands for money and a place to stay. I listened, sympathised, but offered only advice, never cash.
The sisters wanted me to solve everything, to open my home, to fund them. I said no each time. Michael and I finally bought our tickets to Italy three weeks of the longawaited trip. Before we left I called the girls. Mum, are you out of your mind? Molly asked, bewildered. What about us? I replied, eyeing the suitcase by the door, Youre adults; youll manage. When you stop treating me as a freestanding nanny and a cash machine, Ill be happy to talk as equals. Grow up. Molly whispered, Are you abandoning us? I answered, Im not abandoning you. You have the right to make mistakes. I have the right not to pay for them. Ill always be your mother, but I wont sacrifice myself for adult children and their illconceived decisions.
Michael waited by the car. I slid into the seat, took a deep breath, and finally let go of the guilt that had haunted me for years. I had given them a solid foundation a roof, education, love. I had offered counsel, which they never heeded. My mission was complete. It was time to think of myself.
Now I dream of strolling through Romes cobbled streets, admiring Florences galleries, gliding along Venices canals. I think of the freedom Ive earned. Everything feels wonderfully possible again.
