I’m seventy now, and lonelier than ever. I’ve become a burden to my own daughter.
“Darling, please come over tonight… I’m begging you. I can’t manage without you.”
“Mum, I’m swamped with work! I’m sick of your whinging. Fine, I’ll come.”
I couldn’t hold back—tears welled up. It stung, deep down. Then memories flashed through my mind—sleepless nights, years of struggling alone to raise her, my Emily. I gave her my whole life. Is this the thanks I get?
Maybe it’s my fault. I spoiled her, let her have her way too much. And when she was eleven, I met a man… for the first time in years, I felt like a woman again, loved and wanted. But Emily threw such a fit that I had to end it, even though it shattered my heart.
Now I’m seventy. And alone. Completely alone. My body’s riddled with aches, I can barely walk. And my only daughter… married for twenty years, and it seems easier for her to pretend I don’t exist. Oh, she’s got three children—my grandchildren. But I only ever see them in photos. Why? I don’t even know…
“What’s wrong this time?” Emily snaps as she strides in.
“I’ve been prescribed injections. You’re a nurse—you could help…”
“What, am I supposed to traipse over here every day? Are you having a laugh, Mum?”
“Em, I can’t go out—the pavements are icy…”
“You’ll pay me, then? I don’t work for free! I’m not running errands out of charity!”
“I don’t have the money…”
“Well, see you, then. Find someone else.”
That morning, I left two hours early to make it to the clinic. I shuffled along the roadside, wheezing, wiping tears. Never thought I’d live to see the day…
“Madam, please, go ahead of the queue… Are you all right? You’re crying.”
A young woman with kind eyes stood in the corridor, resting a hand on my shoulder.
“No, dear, it’s not that…”
We got talking. Like a confession, I poured my heart out—because there was no one left to listen. Her name was Lucy. She lived just two streets over. After that, she started visiting often, bringing groceries, helping around the house.
On my birthday, only she came. Just Lucy.
“I couldn’t miss your special day. You remind me so much of my mum… Being near you warms my heart,” she said, hugging me.
That’s when I knew—she was more family than my own blood. We went on walks, trips to the countryside, spent holidays together. She cared for me like her own.
After long thought, I signed the flat over to her. She resisted at first, tried to refuse. But I insisted. It was my thanks for the kindness she’d shown—I knew she wasn’t one to help for gain.
Eventually, she brought me to live with her. We sold my flat, so Emily couldn’t drag her to court later.
Would you believe it? A year passed before my daughter remembered me. She stormed in, spewing threats, calling me a traitor, wishing me dead. She must’ve had her eye on that flat. Then Lucy’s husband stood in the doorway, calm but firm.
“Leave. And don’t come back. You’re not welcome here.”
So that’s that. Strangers turned out closer than my own flesh and blood. It’s painful. Shameful. Terrifying, how easily humanity fades. But if I had to choose again? I’d pick Lucy every time. Because she’s my real family.
