**Diary Entry**
I’ll never forget the day my mother decided to remarry. I was only eleven at the time. Her new husband didn’t want me living with them, so Mum dropped me off at my grandmother’s and left. She never lifted a finger to help us—too wrapped up in her new marriage. Gran and I got by on her pension alone. Gran never had much love for Mum, but thank God she didn’t turn me away. I suppose I should be grateful I took after my dad.
We never had much, but we managed. Gran became my mother and father all in one. I went to her for advice, confided my secrets—she was the first to hear about my school crush, my teenage woes. She stood by me through everything.
Then, just as I started university, Gran passed away. I had no other family left. The house became mine. The moment the paperwork was settled, Mum turned up on my doorstep. I hadn’t seen her in years.
She wanted to swap homes. They had a cramped two-bed flat in London, while I had Gran’s spacious house in the Cotswolds. She reckoned it was too much for me alone. When I refused, she flew into a rage: “You ungrateful girl! I’m the one who brought you into this world!”
I couldn’t bear it. “Gran raised me,” I snapped. “Where were you all those years? You tossed me aside the moment you remarried—like some stray dog. I owe you nothing.”
Five years passed. I’d married, had a son, and made a life in that house. Things were good—my boy was healthy, my husband and I both worked, everything as it should be. Then Mum showed up again. I’d no intention of letting her back into my life. What sort of person abandons a child only to reappear when it suits them?
My son tugged at my sleeve. “Mum, who’s that?”
Mum seized her chance. “I’m your grandmother! Can I come in? Your mum won’t let me.”
His face scrunched up in confusion. “I’ve never seen you before. Mum, is she telling the truth? Why didn’t I know about her?”
“Go to your room, love. We’ll talk later,” I said, then turned to her. “What do you want? I’ve nothing to say to you.”
She sank onto the step, weeping. Claimed she’d been swindled—sold their flat to buy a new place, but her husband took the money and vanished. Now she had nowhere to go. “Let me stay,” she begged. “You’re my only child. You can’t leave me on the streets. I gave birth to you!”
I let her stay the night—couldn’t very well leave her out in the cold. The next morning, I rang my aunt, Mum’s cousin, who lived out in Somerset. Told her my husband would drive Mum down tomorrow. There’s always work in the countryside. Let her live there. I wouldn’t have her in my home.
As she left, Mum spat venom at me. “How can you be so heartless? I’m your mother!”
Funny, isn’t it? All these years, and that’s still the only claim she has on me. **Lesson learned:** Blood doesn’t make family. Love does.
