It’s been two years since I last spoke to my daughter. A year ago, Eleanor suddenly stopped answering my calls. She posts photos on social media, chats with friends, and lives her life—just not with me in it. Eleanor is a grown woman now, with a two-year-old daughter and a husband, living in their own flat in Manchester. I’ve always been strict—with myself and everyone around me. Eleanor was no exception.
Being a parent means having high standards. I wanted her to do well in school, help around the house, and take care of herself. Even now, with her own family, I can’t ignore her mistakes. When I visited, I’d notice the mess—clothes strewn about, dishes piling up, cupboards in chaos. “How can you live like this?” I’d ask, straightening the shelves. She’d sigh like a teenager and start tidying, just to shut me up.
Her daughter is growing up in a neglected room, dishes sit in the sink for weeks, and her husband, in my opinion, is utterly useless. Who else but a mother would tell her the truth? But a year ago, everything changed. Eleanor stopped answering my calls. The day before, I’d mentioned how my niece’s three-year-old could already read. Eleanor frowned and asked why I kept comparing her child to others.
How could I not, when the difference was so obvious? That was our last conversation. Later, I found out she’d changed the locks and didn’t want to see me. I thought it was just a passing spat. She’d come to her senses and apologise. But time passed, and she stayed silent.
In August, it was my birthday. I waited for even a text, but Eleanor didn’t remember her own mother. The next day, furious, I called from another number. “If you don’t want to speak to me,” I said, “then get out of my flat!”
Six years ago, before her wedding, I transferred the flat to Eleanor’s name. Her husband earned next to nothing, and I wanted to help—I had the means. But now that she’s cut me out of her life, let her find somewhere else to live! Her reply was icy: the paperwork was done, the flat was legally hers, and no one could force her out.
Was I wrong? If she’s so independent, let her prove it by moving out! I gave her everything, and in return, I got nothing. My heart aches, but I can’t forgive betrayal.
