**Diary Entry**
*12th October*
“No, Emily, dont count on me. You got marriedstick with your husband, not me. I dont need strangers in my house,” Helen said flatly.
Emily swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter. A lump rose in her throat. She hadnt expected such a dismissive refusal.
“Mum… Hes not a stranger. Hes my husband, your son-in-law. Were not asking you to buy us a flatjust to let us stay a while until we save up for the deposit.”
A short, bitter laugh crackled down the line.
“I know how this goes. Let you move in, and Ill never get you out. First the deposit, then renovations, then something else. And Ill never have peace. No, Emily, dont take it personally, but your father and I did everything ourselves without troubling anyone. You two sort yourselves out.”
“Mum, how are we supposed to do that?” Emily persisted. “You know we both work, scrimp on everything. Half our wages vanish into rent. At this rate, with prices soaring, well be saving for a shoebox, not a home.”
“Who has it easy these days?” Helens tone sharpened. “Your father and I never lived with our parents, not a single day. We managed on our own, no complaints.”
“On your own, on your own… Mum, dont rewrite history. I remember! I remember Gran helping you.”
“That was different. Gran *wanted* to help. We never asked. I earned this flat the hard way with your”
“I never asked to be born into nothing,” Emily shot back before slamming the phone down.
Her chest burned with resentment. Maybe her mother had every right to refuse, but the way shed done itas if shed built an empire from scratch, and Emily was some freeloader trying to coast on her sacrifices. But that wasnt the truth at all.
…When Helen found out she was pregnant, she wasnt married. Thomas, Emilys father, was recklessstill sowing wild oats, allergic to responsibility. His own mother was much the same, long divorced and forever chasing happiness. So Helen turned to Margaret, Thomass grandmother.
Margaret wept with joy when she heard the news, hugged Helen tight, and promised to help.
“Dont you fret, love. You have that baby. Ill talk some sense into Tommy,” she insisted. “And since its come to this, Ill sign the cottage over to you. Ill move in with my daughter. Too much for me on my own, and Susan could use the help. Youll have a proper home to raise the little one.”
“Helen, you cantthats a whole house!”
“Im not taking it with me, am I? I never had happiness. Let me see you have yours.”
Margaret kept her wordand then some. She put the deed in Helens name, knowing her grandson wasnt exactly reliable. Helen later sold the cottage for a two-bed flat.
When Emily was born, nothing changed. Thomas still caroused, cheated, and barely contributedwhen he even bothered bringing his wages home.
Helen knew, but she endured. Complained sometimes, even cried, but never kicked him out.
“Children need both parents,” shed tell her own mother when divorce was suggested. “Once Emilys eighteen, Ill leave him.”
Emily, meanwhile, thought differently. Better a single mum and growing up fast than being a constant shoulder for tears, drowning in arguments, breaking up fights.
Helen clung on till Emily turned eighteen, then filed for divorce. Emily almost felt reliefuntil
“Emily, its just us girls now. Were both adults, so well split everything fifty-fifty,” Helen announced. “This month you rest, but next monthhalf the bills, half the groceries.”
Emily was still at uni, horrified. Her student loan barely covered bread, let alone Helens proper mealsmeat, fish, fresh veg. She suggested separate shelves, but Helen wouldnt budge. No part-time job paid enough to cover her share. So she dropped out.
Six months later, Emily left university.
“It wasnt for you,” Helen said simply.
From then on, they lived like flatmatesno rows, no warmth.
Ten years passed. Emily married James. They rented a tiny flat on the outskirts. He was an electricianessential work, but poorly paid. Odd jobs helped, but the money vanishedboots, dentist bills, patching gaps in their budget. Saving anything felt impossible.
“At this rate, well need twelve years just for the deposit,” James sighed, staring at his phone.
Thats when Emily called Helen. She had a spare room.
But Helen had no interest in hostingespecially with a “stranger” in tow.
Emily didnt know how to feel. She understood life hadnt been kind to Helen. Maybe shed have turned hard too. But it still stung. Years of striving, never asking for helpand when she finally did, all she got was ice.
Fine. If “on your own” was the answer, then on her own shed be. There was one last optionthe cottage shed nearly forgotten.
“Helen, youve got yours. Let Emily have hers,” her gran once said.
After Gran passed, Emily was twelve. Helen took over the cottageplanting, digging, rowing with neighbours. Emily never mentioned ownershippointless, when everything Helen grew went to the house.
But if independence was so sacred, why not follow her example?
Two days later, Emily called againdifferent tone.
“Mum, Im letting you knowplease collect your things from the cottage. Were renting it out.”
A pause. Helen scoffed.
“Renting? Whod want that place?”
“Not your concern. Its just sitting there, wasting council tax.”
“Not my concern? Ive kept it standing! Roof repairs, my money, my labouryou never lifted a finger!”
“Nobody asked you to. You chose to,” Emily cut in. “Collect your things, or Ill rent it as-is.”
Helen hung up. Emilys heart pounded, but for the first time, shed spoken not as a daughter, but an equal.
Helen was half-right. No one wanted the cottage.
“Only options leftsell or move there,” James said one night.
So Emily listed it. It achednot the bricks, but the memories. Summer apples, Grans jams and cordials… But life demanded pragmatism. And Gran wouldve approved.
One day, a call. A strangerasking the price, haggling, arranging a viewing.
But at the viewingHelen. Shed seen the listing and sent a friend to call. Too proud to dial herselfnot after their last talk. And Emily wouldnt have answered.
“Well? Family discount?” Helen smirked.
No point dragging it out. Emily agreed. Papers signed, money exchanged.
Six months later, she and James sipped tea in their own kitchenno unannounced visits, no inspections.
ThenHelens name on her phone. First call since the sale. Worried, Emily answered.
“Hello. I was at the cottage,” Helen began hesitantly. “Apples came in heavy this year. Made too much jam. Want some?”
Emily sighed. After selling the cottage, she felt… hollow. No anger, no grudge. But no love either. Their relationship was transactional now. And business partners didnt deliver jam out of kindness.
“No thanks, Mum. Were fine.”
“Oh… Alright then.”
Emily knewthings would never go back. And she didnt want them to. Helen had her victory, Emily hers. But the walls theyd built during this war left no room for bridges.
