I was the one who brought you into this world.
Dont you see youre nothing but a nuisance! Michaels voice boomed through every room of our little flat, ricocheting off the narrow hallway. You sit on my throat, drain my money, and you cant even wash a dish!
Susan curled up on the sofa, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. Smear of makeup ran down her cheeks, turning her face into a pitiful mask.
Im tired too! You have no idea what its like for a woman to keep a house together! she snapped.
What house? Theres no house here at all! Michael hurled a filthy plate onto the linoleum. The crock broke into a fan of shards. Its a dump! Every corners a dump! I grind away at the factory like a dog, come home and this place feels like a pigsty!
Fourteenyearold Emily pressed her back against the wall of her cramped bedroom, trying not to breathe. These fights erupted almost every evening, yet she could never become desensitised to them.
You just dont love me! Youre always picking at me! her mothers voice rose into a hysterical shriek. I never loved you! I married you out of pity!
Sure, not out of love for your laziness! Other wives work, raise children, and you? You stare at the telly from dawn till dusk!
Emily cupped her ears, but the words slipped through her fingers, etching dirty scars on her mind. She loathed those nights, the helpless sobs of her mother, the angry growls of her father, and the guilt that gnawed at her for being unable to change anything.
I cant take this any longer! Michael roared, and something heavy thudded onto the floor. Enough! Im fed up being the milkcow for both of you!
Michael shuffled into the bedroom, the squeak of the wardrobe echoing, followed by a long, heavy silence broken only by Susans whimpers. Emily cautiously cracked her door and peered into the hallway.
Michael hauled an old sports bag, stuffed with his things, from the bedroom. His face was flushed, his cheekbones trembling. He didnt even glance at his daughter as he passed.
Where are you off to? Susan sprang from the sofa, smearing fresh makeup over her cheeks. Mike, wait!
Enough of this. Im leaving.
You cant! We have a child!
Emily will stay with you. Sort out your own mess now. Maybe youll finally realise you need a job!
Michael slammed the door behind him with a resonant bang. Susan collapsed onto the hallway floor, wailing in helplessness. Emily lunged to her side, kneeling beside her.
Mum, calm down
Hes abandoned us! Susan clutched Emilys shoulders, her face pressed to the girls chest. Can you imagine dumping a wife and a child?
Emilys fingers tangled in her mothers dishevelled hair as she fought back tears. Father had simply walked out, leaving them alone in that damp, stale council flat. Emily wrapped her arms tighter around Susan, and in that moment the man felt like a monster. How could a father do such a thing?
Years slipped by faster than Emily could have imagined: fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. With each passing year she saw more clearly what had been hidden behind the veil of childhood ignorance.
Susan never worked. Not a day. She rose at noon, brewed herself a cup of tea, settled before the television, and stayed there till late. Emily returned from school to a filthy flat dishes piled in the sink, dust on the furniture, laundry untouched.
Mum, why dont you at least wash the dishes?
Im tired. My head hurts.
You sit at home all day!
You think you can tell me what to do? Susan pursed her lips, looking like a sulky child. I am your mother!
Emily learned to be silent. She learned to come home from school and drop straight into washing, cleaning, cooking, and laundry. On weekends she handed out leaflets at the station for about £4 a shift. Later she found a parttime job as a waitress in a café, evenings and weekends.
The money went to food, council tax, and the bare minimum. Susan would reach for another bundle of notes, frowning if the amount seemed insufficient.
You need to earn more, Emily. Were short of cash.
Mum, Im still studying. Im already working fifteen hours a week.
So what? I was married at your age.
Emily bit her tongue hard enough to draw blood. Married, yes to a man who supported her while she lounged on the sofa.
After school Emily enrolled in a parttime college fulltime was beyond their means. She had to work even more. She landed a job in a restaurant with better tips. Her legs ached after each shift, her back screamed, yet she soldiered on. What else could she do?
Make something decent for dinner, Susan said, eyes glued to the latest soap. Im sick of your spaghetti.
Mum, Im off to work in half an hour.
Youll be in time. Im here all day, so treat me to a proper meal.
Emily boiled borscht at half past five in the morning, left the pot on the stove. Susan reheated it for lunch and settled back before the telly, never washing the plate after herself.
One day at work Emily struck up a conversation with the restaurant manager, Olga.
Listen, does your mother want to come in as a cleaner? Olga asked. Weve got a vacancy, decent pay, flexible hours.
Emilys heart leapt.
Seriously? That would be brilliant!
Give me her number, Ill call.
Back home Emily mentioned it cautiously. Susan twisted her face as though Emily had brought home spoiled fish.
A cleaner? Are you kidding?
Mum, its an honest job. Good pay, flexible schedule.
Ill never mop floors!
But we can barely make ends meet! If you helped a little
Im exhausted at home! Susans voice rose to a shrill pitch. Its hard to even get out of bed! Ive got the pressure!
Your pressure comes from never moving a muscle!
I gave birth to you, and you
Emily clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms. I gave birth thats my excuse for everything now?
Olga finally got through to Susan and persuaded her to attend an interview. Susan agreed, more out of Emilys relentless urging than any desire of her own. She worked a week, returning with a sour expression, scowling at the mere mention of duties.
Its a nightmare! Filth everywhere! They expect me to clean it all!
Mum, youre a cleaner. Thats the point of the job.
Its too much. My back hurts, my legs swell.
On the eighth day Susan simply didnt turn up. She switched off the alarm and slept till lunchtime. Olga later called to apologise that Susan had been let go.
Emily, Im sorry. I thought
Its fine. Thanks for trying.
A second time Emily found her mother a stallholder job at a greengrocers market. A manager friend needed a fillin. Susan took it, but after three days she handed in a resignation, complaining of the cold, the rude customers, and the pittance wages.
Mum, you didnt even finish your first pay packet!
I cant! I cant, you hear me? You dont understand how hard this is! My blood pressure, for heavens sake!
Emily felt a wave of fury so fierce she stepped onto the balcony and stood there for twenty minutes, breathing the cold air.
She had been slogging twelvehour days, studying, shouldering the entire household, yet she was still accused of not understanding the burden.
The arguments never ceased. Susan demanded more money, better food, new clothes. Emily tried to explain that she physically couldnt earn more.
Then find another job!
Mum, I have exams! I sleep five hours a night!
I didnt get any sleep in my youth either.
You got married young! And ever since youve been lounging on the sofa!
How dare you?
Susan hurled plates, cups, and the remote at her daughter. Emily dodged, feeling a numb indifference grow inside her. She was twenty, just twenty, already feeling like a horse pulling a load far beyond its strength.
One evening, after an especially grueling shift, Emily came home to find her mother surrounded by empty supermarket bags.
You bought a cake? Emily asked, staring at the massive cream confection on the table.
Yes. Craving something sweet.
For £18? Mum, we could’ve stretched that for a week!
Its my money! You gave it to me!
I gave it for food! Proper food! For rice, for meat!
Dont yell at me! Susan crossed her arms, jutting her chin forward. Im tired of your complaints! Work harder if youre short of cash!
Emilys ears rang.
Enough, she rasped through clenched teeth.
What? Susan sat up, her eyes sharp as a hawk.
Im not giving you another penny. I need money for transport, for college, for
For yourself, of course! Selfish! I raised you, gave up everything, and you
You never gave anything up! You just lay about! Laying while Father toiled! Laying when he left! And you keep on lying while I sweat my life away!
Emily turned and slipped into her room, slamming the door. She sat on the bed, trembling hands pulling out her phone. She opened job sites in other towns, stared at the listings, the wages, the addresses. And then it hit her she could leave. She could just pack and go.
The next two weeks drifted in a hazy fog. Emily gathered documents, searched for a cheap room, arranged remote callcentre work in a neighbouring county. Susan didnt notice, buried in another episode and a litany of grievances.
On the final night Emily barely slept. She packed the essentials clothes, papers, a laptop into a battered suitcase. On the kitchen table she left a note: I now understand why Father left. It was because of you. My turn has come.
Susan was still asleep when Emily quietly shut the flats door behind her. She walked to the bus station, feeling both a betrayer and a freed captive.
Three hours later the phone rang.
Where are you? Susans voice trembled. Where have you gone?
Ive left, Mum.
Where to? How?
To another town. I need a fresh start.
You have no right! her mother shrieked, so loud Emily lifted the handset away. Im your mother! You owe me!
No, I dont.
Come back this instant! You cant desert me!
I can.
Youre just like your father! A selfish creature!
Emily turned off the line, blocked the number, slipped on her headphones and cranked up the music until the voices in her head were drowned out.
The new town greeted her with rain and a biting wind. The rented room in a modest halls of residence was tiny a bed, a desk, a wardrobe but it was hers alone.
Emily settled onto the bed. Somewhere back in her old life, a father who had fled when she was fourteen lingered in memory, and a mother who had turned her daughter into a milkcow still echoed. Could she forgive them? No. She couldnt forgive a father who abandoned her and her mother, nor a mother who used her as a substitute breadwinner.
She now had no family, but she possessed something else: the right to live as she chose, the right not to feel guilty for every penny she spent on herself.
She wiped her damp cheeks, opened her laptop. Tomorrow would bring a new chapter hard, frightening, and wholly unknown. But it would be free.
