“You have no excuse to stand before me,” Katie snapped, raising her hand to point at the door. “Leave!”
Katie walked out of the college and turned away from the bus stop. With just a few days left until Mother’s Day, she still hadn’t bought a gift for her grandmother—she couldn’t decide. As she hurried toward the shops, a muffled ringtone sounded from her bag. She stopped and pulled out her phone. It was Gran.
“Gran, I’ll be home soon,” Katie said.
“Good,” Gran replied.
Something in her voice felt off—guilty, almost.
“Is everything all right?” Katie pressed before the call could end.
“Everything’s fine. Just… come home quickly,” Gran murmured, then hung up.
Katie slid the phone back into her bag, turned on her heel, and headed for the bus stop, wondering why Gran had sounded so urgent. *Something’s happened. But why wouldn’t she say so? I should call back—this waiting is unbearable.* Just then, her bus pulled up, and she broke into a run, barely catching it.
*Maybe someone stole her purse at the market, and she’s upset. Or her blood pressure spiked? That must be it. Why is this bus crawling? I could’ve run home faster.* She glared out the window, restless with unease.
Finally, her stop. She stepped off the bus and rushed toward the house. In the courtyard, she glanced up at their flat—still light outside, but the living room lamp was on. Her stomach twisted. She sprinted inside, fumbling for her keys at the door.
“Where *are* they?” she hissed.
The lock clicked, and the door swung open. Gran stood there.
“Were you waiting right here?” Katie asked, startled.
“Come in,” Gran said tersely, holding the door wider.
Katie stepped into the hall and studied her. Gran was nervous—she could tell.
“What’s wrong?”
“Something’s happened, love.” Gran glanced at the half-closed living room door, then leaned in, whispering, “We’ve got a visitor.”
“Who?” Katie matched her quiet tone, catching Gran’s unease.
Images flashed through her mind—who could rattle calm, steady Gran like this?
“You’ll see. Take your coat off,” Gran urged.
Katie shrugged out of her jacket and noticed a stranger’s coat on the rack. Beneath it, pristine white boots stood on the floor—the kind she’d only ever dreamed of owning. She kicked off her shoes, eyeing them warily, then looked at Gran.
But Gran only gave her a worried glance before opening the living room door. Katie smoothed her hair and stepped inside.
Normally, they used the lamp in the evenings. Tonight, the ceiling light blazed. Movement caught her eye—a woman on the sofa stood as she entered.
The woman wore a black dress, collarbones jutting sharply at the neckline. Dark hair, messily pinned, strands escaping. Tired eyes. She looked exhausted—or ill. Or freshly bereaved.
She smiled stiffly at Katie. And then—recognition burned. One word flickered in Katie’s mind: *Mum.* Then vanished. She had no other name for her. Fourteen years without a glimpse, yet she knew.
The woman’s smile faded as she read Katie’s face. What had she expected? A joyful reunion?
She’d been beautiful once. Now, black aged her. Thirty-nine, Gran had said—Katie was twenty. She looked older. Life had worn her down.
“Hello, love,” the woman said. “You’re all grown up. Beautiful. Gran says you’ve got a boyfriend.”
Katie shot Gran a glare. *She’s already blabbed.* Gran looked away.
The woman stepped forward—Katie stepped back. The woman froze. Katie wanted to flee, never see her again. Too much anger, too much hurt.
“Why are you here?” Her voice was sharp, chin tilted up. Pain. Anger.
“I’ve come back. Your birthday’s soon,” the woman said, forcing another smile. But Katie’s glare withered it.
“Two weeks away. Bit late to remember, isn’t it? Why now? Why not a single call all these years?” She wanted to wound her, make her feel the rejection.
“Katie, she sent money,” Gran interjected softly.
“Oh, I remember. A whole thousand! Enough for pasta, rice, oats—lasted till the next birthday. Why come now? Could’ve just sent it by card. Or is there nothing this time? Decided to bless us with your presence instead?” She scoffed, but her glare stayed cold.
“I don’t need your thousand. And I don’t need *you.* Don’t come to my birthday. Seen me now? You can leave.”
But the woman didn’t move.
“After school, Gran would gush about your calls—made-up stories, saying you sent love, promised to visit. I believed her. Like a fool. Then I realised she was lying—to make me think you cared. So I played along, to keep *her* happy. How’s that for a farce?”
“I lied to friends, too. Said you rang, sent loads of money for gifts. That you were saving for a flat, coming back for me. I almost believed it. Easier than the truth—you threw me away.”
“I *did* think of you—”
Katie cut her off. “At sixteen, I went to college to learn sewing, help Gran. By seventeen, I was stitching dresses for her friends—pennies, but I was proud. While others danced, I hunched over a machine—”
“Forgive me, love,” the woman whispered.
“Don’t call me that!” Katie’s voice cracked like shattered glass.
“So why come back? Your lover chucked you? Found someone younger? Serves you right. Now you know how it feels.”
“Katie,” Gran chided.
One look silenced her.
“Why let her in? She abandoned us both.” Katie’s gaze raked over the woman’s mourning clothes. “Playing the martyr. You never cared how we lived. Oh, but the *thousand*—real sacrifice, that.”
“Let me explain—”
“I don’t want to hear it. Too late for excuses. You’ve got none.” She flung a hand toward the door. “Go!”
“Katie, she’s your *mother*—”
“Where was she when I was ill? *You* sat by me, crying. At hospital, *you* brought soup. Other kids got their mums—kisses, hugs—” Her voice broke. She steadied it. “*Go.*”
Silent, the woman turned. As she passed, sickly-sweet perfume clung to the air. Katie gagged, rushing to the kitchen, wrenching the window open. She gulped cold air, drowning the scent.
“Shut that, you’ll catch cold,” Gran said behind her.
Katie latched it. “Gone?”
“Gone. I should’ve warned you—she just appeared.”
“Dinner?”
“Not hungry.”
“That man robbed her. Took her money, jewellery, kicked her out. She had nowhere else.”
“I don’t care. I *hate* her.” She slumped at the table, sobbing.
Gran rubbed her back. “Anger’s talking. I won’t defend her. But she’s my daughter—I can’t turn her away.”
“Easy for *her* to love blindly. I’d never leave you for Dan—not even him.”
“Not all love’s the same,” Gran sighed.
“Keep her away from me.”
The next day, Katie bought Gran a scarf. As she neared home, she spotted her mother—walked right by.
By Friday, the white boots were back in the hall. Katie kicked them.
Now she was always looking over her shoulder, dreading that guilty-pleading stare. It ruined everything.
At the kitchen table, her mother sat—black trousers, emerald jumper, sickly-pale. Gran stirred pasta.
Katie stopped in the doorway. “Why’s she here?”
“Hear her out,” Gran said.
“Too late for that.”
Gran turned off the stove. “Even criminals get a last word.”
“Fine.” Katie folded her arms. “Speak.”
The woman did—nothing new. A reckless love, regrets…
“I’ve no money, nowhere to go. Let me stay till I find work,” she finished.
“What if you don’t? What if I can’t stand seeing you?”
The woman faltered. Gran stayed silent.
“Go,” Katie said, and left.
Music blasting through headphones drowned the kitchen murmurs. Later, Gran sat beside her.
“No one asks you to love her. But she’s family. I’m old—what if I’m gone? Just let her visit. She won’t live here.”
“You gave her rent money?”
“She’s my daughter. Foolish, but mine.”
“She’ll be back for more.”
“She’ll find work.”
Katie said nothing.
Years later, holding her own daughter close, Katie finally understood the weight of the choices her mother had made—and though the scars remained, the sharpest edges of her anger had softened.
