Abandoned For Love
Mum arrived home from work that evening looking strangely upbeat, with a flush in her cheeks and a smile I hadnt seen in ages. She almost seemed happyreally, properly happyand the sight gave my heart a hopeful little flutter.
Rachel, I met someone wonderful today! she told me as she hung her coat on the hook and knelt in front of me, cupping my hands in hers. His name is Oliver. He works for a construction companya really solid, down-to-earth man.
I just nodded, not really understanding why this was such a big deal. But Mum was radiant, her eyes sparkling and her smile softer than I remembered. It was like a small light switched on inside me, warming the part of me that had been so cold for so long.
In the days that followed, Mum couldnt stop talking about Oliver: how hed helped a neighbour with her shopping, how hed organised a fundraiser for the local childrens home, how he could fix just about anything. I listened, nodding along, but a sense of unease grew quietly inside mewhat if things changed, and not for the better? Something told me life might soon turn upside down
The first time I actually met Oliver was in a cosy café near our flat. He was tall, sharply dressed with close-cropped hair, his mouth set in a straight line. His rare smiles never seemed to reach his eyes, leaving them oddly distant.
This is my Rachel, Mum said, ruffling my haira reassuring, familiar gesture that helped me relax a little. Shes eight, in Year 3.
Oliver nodded, casting a quick, rather cold glance my waylike I was some bit of furniturebefore shifting his attention straight back to Mum. Shes got a sweet little face. How old is she?
Eight, I just told you, Mum replied, her eyes sparkling, missing the note of disinterest in his voice.
That evening Oliver barely spoke to me, only occasionally dropping a gruff word or two in my directionshort, brusque, as though hed rather I wasnt there at all. When I asked if I could go look at the aquarium by the door, he barely concealed a wince. Just dont make a racket, alright.
Mum didnt noticeshe was too wrapped up in the whole romance, her head in the clouds. And for the first time, I realised Oliver might not be the kind of caring dad Id quietly hoped for. He wasnt going to read bedtime stories, or tuck me in, or teach me how to ride a bike. Hed donothing.
Oliver started popping round more and more as the weeks went by. He never arrived empty-handed, but strangely, every present was for Mumnever once did I even get a sweet! And when I tried to chat with him, hed just nod without really listening, or gently shift away if I got too close, as though I was bothersome.
One day I accidentally knocked over his mug and a few hot splashes hit his sleeve. He pulled back abruptly. Careful, will you? Youre so clumsy!
Mum started apologising before I could say anything. Oh, sorry, Oliver. Rachel, reallyyou must be more careful! Go fetch a napkin.
I ran to the kitchen, and from the next room heard Oliver muttering, voice as cold as stone, Claire, that child is loud and daft. Always underfootshes driving me mad.
Shes just a child, Mum replied softly, her voice trembling slightly. She really needs a father figure, Oliver
Who said I wanted to be a father to someone elses kid? he shot back. Ive no intention of bringing up another mans child!
Claire shouldve paid attention to that, butwell, love does strange things. She truly thought Oliver was the best man in the world. She was wrong.
After the wedding, which happened six months later, things didnt get betterthey got worse. Oliver moved in, and our flat, once warm with Mums laughter and bedtime stories, turned cold and lifeless.
Oliver never shouted at me or punished me. He didnt need tohis quiet disapproval could freeze the air. If I laughed too loudly his single raised eyebrow was enough for the laughter to die in my throat. When I asked him something, hed give short, clipped answers, making me feel like any word I said was an inconvenience.
One night I was lying in bed, pretending to be asleep, when I heard them talking in the living room. Oliver didnt bother to hide his irritation.
Claire, I cant do this. Every time I see her, I feel nothing but anger. Shes the spit of your ex-husbandnot a trace of you.
Shes a child! Mums voice was full of pain. Shes not to blame, Oliver.
I know, but I cant help feeling this way. Its ruining us. You need to chooseher, or me. I cant live with her.
I held my breath, heart pounding.
Alright, Mum whispered at last. Ill talk to my mum. She lives round the corner, Rachel can stay with her for a while
Good, Olivers voice softened, clearly pleased. She just gets in the way here. And if I want children, youll have my son, wont you?
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to cry. How could Mum just agree to this? It dawned on meOliver was more important to her now. More important than her daughter who adored her.
Next day, Mum avoided meeting my eye. Darling, your gran misses you so much. Why not stay with her for a bit? Just for a few weeks, sweetie. Well see each other every day.
I nodded, swallowing tears that I didnt want her to see. I understood straight away. My chest felt tight, an aching emptiness settling in.
Three days later I trudged to Grans. She welcomed me with open arms and a warm apple pie, the smell usually enough to cheer me right up. But not that time. I felt handed over, unwantedlike an old toy. Mum would visit, as promised, but each time she came a little less often, like she no longer needed me at all.
Only Gran, stroking my hair at night, would whisper, Itll all be alright, my love. I promise, somehow it will.
But even then I realisedeverything had changed forever. Something in me had splintered, and I had no idea if Id ever truly heal.
*****
At first Mum visited almost every night after work. Shed bring chocolates, try to joke, but her eyes looked sad and her smile was too fixed, as if it hurt to keep it there. Sometimes she reminded me of a dollpretty, shining eyes, but nothing at all on the inside.
How are you, sweetheart? Shed sit beside me on the bed, stroking my hair. Gran not too strict with you?
No, shes lovely. She bakes apple pies Id manage a little smile.
Thats good. I do miss you, you know. But I cant bring you home just yet. Hang in there for me, alright?
Id nod, pretending, but my chest always ached. I could see she missed me, but at the same time there was a sort of relief in her eyesshe didnt have to see Olivers frown every time I spoke, didnt have to watch his gaze slide over me like I was invisible.
As the weeks ticked by, the visits grew shorter and further apart. At first it was every night, then every other night, then weekends only. One Saturday Mum rang to say she couldnt pop byDarling, Oliver and I have plans. Were off to the theatre. Ill bring your favourite ice cream tomorrow, alright?
I swallowed a painful lump, working hard to keep my tone bright. Of course, Mum. Have fun.
Hanging up, I sat by the window, watching the drizzle streaking the glass. That was the night I finally understoodMum had chosen Oliver. The ache in my chest was sharp, almost suffocating.
Gran tried her best to cheer me up. Shed suggest little trips to the park, rides on the carousel, a hot chocolate to warm up. Alright Gran, Id say, but in my heart I knew that nothingnot even the brightest lightscould fill the space Mum used to occupy.
School got trickier, too. Id always been outgoing, but now I found myself keeping back, watching other kids play and laugh from the edge. When a classmate, Lucy, asked why I was living at my Grans, I just shrugged and tried not to cry.
One afternoon after school I bumped into Mum, literally. Mum? I gaped, surprised.
Rachel! She looked awkward and a bit guilty. I was just on my way to surprise you at Grans
We walked back together, Mum telling me about her day, how Oliver helped her pick out a new coatI tuned most of it out, just soaking up her presence. In moments like those, I almost believed things could go back to how they were.
Mum, I finally said, squeezing her hand, why dont you visit more often?
She stopped, crouched in front of me, and her whole face showed how hard she was finding this. Oh, darling I want to be with you, but I love Oliver too. I feel torn in two. Every time I leave you, its like tearing out a bit of my heart.
But you couldve not sent me to Grans. My voice was small, thick with tears I tried to swallow. Why did you do what Oliver said?
Mums eyes glistened. I thought it was best for everyone at the time. I realise now it was wrong. Im so sorry, Rachel.
I kept quiet. I wanted to forgive her, reallybut the hurt felt too raw, too deep, like a bruise inside my chest.
Ill visit more, I promise. Well work something out, alright?
I nodded, though I didnt believe her. If she was going to change things, she wouldve already.
For a few weeks, though, Mum did try. She came nearly every day, we went for walks, made biscuits, went to the cinema. I started to hope again. That feeling didnt last.
One evening she arrived with that guilty look she sometimes wore. Honey, Olivers upset. He thinks Im spending too much time here, not enough with him.
I felt icy inside, that familiar stone pushing its way back into my throat.
So what now? My voice trembled.
He suggested a compromise. You could stay here during the week and come to ours at the weekend. That way, everyones happy.
Alright, I said quietly, swallowing the hurt, pretending it didnt matter. Thats probably easier anyway.
But we both knew nothing had got easier. Now, instead of before-and-after, life was split into weekdays and weekends. Weekdays at Gransschool, homework, helping her around the house, learning to smile when I was aching inside. Weekends at Mumsbeing the polite daughter, staying out of Olivers way, putting on a show for his benefit.
Even then, Oliver was distant. Hed ask the odd question about school, but his eyes told me he never really wanted me there. Mum, torn between us, just seemed tireder with every week. Her jokes faded, and her smile rarely reached her eyes anymore.
The months rolled by. I learned to hide how I felt, threw myself into my studies, made new friends. Still, the wound gnawed insidea scar from the day Mum said, Youll stay with Gran, just for a while.
And only Gran, holding me close at bedtime, whispered those words that soothed me: None of this is your fault, darling. You are the best thing in my life. Ill always be here.
Her words kept me going, but they couldnt quite erase that achethe ache of not being chosen.
*****
By the time I was ten, then eleven, then twelve, living half-and-half became normal. I stopped waiting for things to magically get better, stopped hoping for Mum to finally say, Move back in, love. Life justwent on.
At school, I kept to myself. I had people to talk to about homework or a film, but not proper friends. Something in me always held back, scared theyd leave me too.
Gran and I, though, became thick as thieves. She taught me to bake, knit, and embroider. Our flat was always full of the scent of cinnamon and fresh bread, and her windowsill was alive with geraniums and violetsreminders that theres always a place for beauty, even on the hardest days.
Gran, I asked her once while we had tea, Why do you never tell me off? Even when I make mistakes?
She smiled, tucking a loose bit of hair behind my ear. Why would I? Youre my clever girl. No need for scolding.
A lump rose in my throat. Gran never made empty promises, but sitting with her, the pain seemed just a little less.
One Saturday morning, Mum turned up bright and earlybefore Id even woken properly.
Come on, sleepyhead, she whispered, with the gentle affection I hadn’t felt in years. Lets all go to the parkOlivers got tickets for the fairground.
I sat up, blinking, not quite daring to believe it. Oliver never wanted me round if he could help it.
Really? I asked, hope flickering.
Really, Mum promised, smiling. He said he wants a proper family day.
He did almost seem to tryrides, candyfloss, even a photo together by the fountain. I thought, maybe, just maybe, things really could change. For the first time in what felt like forever, I was actually happy.
But at home that evening, I overheard Oliver say, Claire, I did my bit. This isnt for me. I cant play the doting stepdad every weekend. Lets keep it to special occasions.
Mum sighed, Alright, Oliver. Whatever you say.
And just like that, the hope flickered out.
The next day, Mum visited me alone. Oliver thinks its best if you just come round for birthdays and Christmaswe can still see each other, of course, just not as much.
For him, you mean? I asked quietly, trying not to let anger creep in.
For all of us, darling, she said, squeezing my hand limply. He wants stability. Peace.
What about what I want?
She glanced away. Youre old enough to understand, Rachel. Well see each other of course. Justnot so often.
I nodded, numb. All hope snuffed out.
After that, those catch-ups happened less and less. School holidays, birthdays, the odd Sunday if Oliver was out. I started to fill my days with anything I couldhelping Gran in her garden, learning to preserve vegetables, spending time with the kids out the back. Slowly, I realised there was more to the world than just family. There were people who valued me just for beingme.
At thirteen, I told Gran one night, You know what? I think Ive forgiven Mum. Theres no point hanging on to it. Shes got her life, Ive got mine. It hurts less that way.
Gran hugged me tight, so hard it made me laugh. Youre right, love. Dont let it eat away at youyour mums just scared of being alone. Shes not strong, bless her heart. Theres nothing to do but love her anyway.
*****
By the time I was fifteen, I knew what I wantedbooks, art, writing. My English teacher, Mrs Palmer, once said to me, You have a way with words, Rachel. You should think about journalism, or maybe being a writer.
That meant more to me than anything else. I started pouring my feelings into a notebooklittle stories, descriptions, things I couldnt say out loud. The words just tumbled out, and in them, I found a place to belong.
One afternoon Gran found my notebook. I was mortified she might read it, but she just smiled, eyes twinkling. Shall I keep it safe for you, as a memory? One day, youll be a famous author, and thisll be the start of your story.
I chuckled, for the first time in ages letting real laughter out. You really think so?
I know so, she winked. You see things others miss. Thats precious.
At eighteen, I got into journalism at the local universitymy first big choice, all my own. Mum was delighted. Well done, sweetheart! Im so proud of you.
We sat in Grans kitchen, drinking tea. Oliver didnt come; he never did.
Mum, I suddenly asked, If you could do it over, would you still have sent me to Grans?
She looked at her teacup a long time before she spoke. No. Id do it differently now. I was young, scared of losing Oliver. But nowI see you matter most.
I nodded. It didnt undo things, but it helped me finally let go of the last scraps of old hurt. It felt lighter inside, almost like I could breathe all the way down.
After uni I landed a job writing for a small local paper. I wrote about peoplereal stories, big and small. One day they asked me to cover a fundraiser for orphaned kids. I spent all day there, interviewing, taking photos, listening. I recognised the pain in some of those kids eyes, and realised, somehow, I could helpjust by understanding.
On the bus home I realised everything that happened had made me who I waspainful, yes, but it gave me the empathy to really see people. My scars hadnt gone, but Id found wisdom and kindness in their place.
*****
A few years later, I married Jamesa gentle, reliable man, who got along with Gran straight away. No pretence, no awkwardnessjust simple warmth and decency. On his first visit, he rolled up his sleeves and got stuck in patching Gran’s leaky kitchen tap, and I remember standing in the doorway thinking: This is what home should feel likenot just a place, but a feeling of being wanted.
When our daughter Lizzie was born, I made myself a promise: shed always know she was loved, just for being herself. Every night, Id tuck her up, tell stories, shower her with silly kisses and whisper, Youre my everything, sweetheart.
One afternoon Lizzie, about five then, was flicking through old photos at Grans. She paused at a faded picture. Gran, is this you? she asked, pointing.
Thats me, my love, all the way back when your Grandpa was around. Gran smiled.
Lizzie turned to me. Mum, were you little?
I knelt by her side and tucked a wild curl behind her ear. Of course, darling. I lived here with Gran too, when I was your age.
Did Gran love you?
Very much so. I hugged her extra tightly. Just like I love you.
Lizzie was quiet, thinking hard, then said, Im the luckiestIve got you, Gran, and Daddy too.
A lump rose in my throatbut this time, it was joy. I kissed her soft hair. Yes, darling. Youre the luckiest.
Mum and Gran came in then, seeing us huddled together.
What are you three up to? Mum asked, a warmth in her eyes I hadnt seen before.
Were talking about happiness, Lizzie declared. Gran loves Mum, Mum loves me. We all love each other.
Mum met my eyes then, and for the first time in years I saw real, honest, unconditional love shining back at menot just pride in what Id done, but genuine love for who I was.
Yes, Mum said quietly. We all love each other. And we always will.
I squeezed her hand, and for the first time, I believed itreally believed it.
Later, when the kitchen was quiet and Lizzie was tucked up in bed, Mum sat beside me.
I missed so much, she admitted, her voice trembling. I was so scared of being alone, I nearly lost youbut we have a second chance now Forgive me, Rachel.
I didnt flinch, not this time. I do, Mum. Lets just make the most of what we have now.
*****
Years passed. Lizzie grew up, learning and laughing, falling and getting back upalways knowing she was safe, that she was loved unconditionally. Gran baked as always, Mum told stories, James joked and made us laugh, and I wrotefirst columns, then features, and at last, a book.
One night, flipping through my freshly published book, I heard Lizzies excited cry from the living room.
Mum! Gran says thats your bookwith your face on the back and everything!
I grinned, hurried through, and put my arm round her. Thats right, pet. Its about how important it is to believe in yourselfand to keep loving, no matter what.
When I grow up, can I write a book too?
Of course you can. Just write honestly, and rememberno matter what, youll always be loved.
She nodded, the weight of that settling in. And I realisedhere it was. True happiness isnt what other people say it should be. Its this: being with the people who love you, and knowing you can love back, wholeheartedly.
And so I watched the evening sky through the window, stars just poking through, gratefulgrateful for Gran, for Mum, for James and for Lizzie For every hard step along the way that, somehow, brought me here, home at last, with all of them.
