A Cross to Bear for Life
“Well, if youre asking such questions, maybe you shouldnt have children. And dont listen to anyone. I did, back in my day…” her mother said with a sigh. “All those advisers vanish when it matters, but the burden stays with you forever.”
It sounded like solid advice, but inside Emily, everything turned cold and tight. A lump rose in her throat, and her eyes stung. She knew if she didnt end the call right then, shed be sobbing into the phone. The worst part? Her mother probably wouldnt even notice.
“Understood. Thanks, Mum. Ill think about it… Well talk later,” Emily said, ending the call.
She pulled a cushion close, hugging it as she hunched over. This wasnt just adviceit was a carelessly dropped truth bomb. Emily could almost *feel* the door to her past creaking open, pieces slotting into place.
…When it came to her daughter, Margaret had been… dutiful. Punctual, even. She always made sure Emily ate well, giving her the best even when she herself went without. Emily had plenty of toys and clothes. And though her mother raised her alone, she still got piano lessons and ballet classes.
In short, Emily had everything. Except love.
Margaret never told her she loved her. No hugs, no heart-to-hearts, no praise. Heck, she didnt even scold her. It was as if Margaret was entirely indifferent to her own child.
Emily remembered once when she and her desk mate, Alice, both failed a maths test. Alice was devastated.
“Lucky you. You wont get an earful at home. Me? Ill be grounded for a weekphone confiscated, no TV, the works,” Alice groaned.
“Youre the lucky one. At least someone cares enough to shout at you…” Emily muttered.
Alice gaped at her. Who in their right mind *wanted* to be yelled at?
“Lost the plot, have you? Fine, you can listen to my parents lectures for me,” Alice snorted. “Be my guest.”
Emily just looked away. Shed have *loved* a lecture. But her mother never checked her schoolbook. Why bother? Emily was a straight-A student. Well, until she wasnt.
At first, she thought if she was “good enough,” her mother might finally notice. Maybe praise her piano recitals, her perfect grades, her ballet performances. But no. Margaret acknowledged them with detached nods, as if it were only to be expected.
Next, Emily faked being illclaimed her stomach hurt. She wanted Margaret to fuss over her, maybe tuck her in with a warm drink. Not her finest moment, but how else could she get her attention?
It half-worked. Margaret *did* pay more attentionjust not the kind Emily wanted. She dragged her to doctors until they diagnosed mild gastritis. Then came the regimented pills, the strict diet. No cuddles, no sympathy. Just clinical efficiency.
So Emily went nuclear. She skipped school, flunked tests, quit ballet and piano, stopped helping at home. Even snapped and mouthed off.
Nothing.
“Fine, dont studyyour loss,” Margaret said one day, utterly calm. “Ill feed you till youre eighteen, then youre on your own. But good luck finding work if you drop out. These days even shop assistants need GCSEs.”
As for chores? No outings until the floors and bathroom were spotless. Emily tried a full-blown tantrum. Margaret just pointed to the door.
“Spare me the dramatics. Save the theatrics for your room.” Then she shut herself in hers.
That was the last tantrum. Emily cried half the night, feeling utterly discarded. Like she was just a doll to be dressed and put to bed, not a person with feelings.
She escalated. One night, she crashed at a friends without telling Margaret. Would her mother panic? Forget she even had a daughter? Maybe breathe a sigh of relief?
Nope. Margaret called everyone, tracked her down, and brought her home. Still no shouting, no reproach.
“Keep this up, and youll land in police custody. They wont coddle youtheyll say Ive failed as a parent and ship you off to care.”
Emily almost wished shed smash plates, scream, even reach for a belt. *Anything* but this icy pragmatism.
Over the years, she didnt accept itjust got used to it. Moving in with her fiancé, James, helped. Their relationship moved fast, engagement within months. Starved for affection, Emily fell headfirst.
Luckily, James was decentsteady, with plans.
“What do you think about kids?” he asked once, long before the wedding.
Emily froze. Kids were the logical next step, sure. But the thought of having her *own*? Pure terror. What if she was a terrible mother? What if her child felt as unwanted as she had?
“I dont think Im ready,” she admitted.
But life had other plans. Emily got pregnantpoor timing, really. They barely scraped rent together, let alone saving for a home.
“Pfft, most people juggle kids on a shoestring. Youll manage,” her best mate said when Emily confessed her doubts.
James wanted to keep it.
“Your call, but were married, stable-ish… Id like to be a dad.”
Yet the more she heard this, the more she doubted. So she asked Margaretand got the truth that rewrote her life. Turns out, *shed* been unwanted too.
And Margaret said it so *matter-of-factly*. As the saying goes, brutal honesty cuts deeper than a lie…
For days, Emily moved like a ghostwork, dinners, TV with Jamesall mechanical. She couldnt untangle herself. Would she *ever* hear “I love you” from her mother? And what about this baby?
Bursting, she went to her mother-in-law, Helen. Stern but warm, Helen was everything Margaret wasnt. Sure, shed grumble about “kids these days” or dust on the shelves, but it beat indifference.
“Emily? No call, no textwhats wrong?” Helen asked, opening the door.
“Nothing, just… visiting,” Emily said, voice cracking.
Helen didnt push. She made tea, set out jam sandwiches.
“Theres stew in the fridge if youre hungry. You and James havent had a row, have you?”
“No,” Emily chewed her lip. “Its… Mum.”
The floodgates opened. She spilled everythingthe silent childhood, the indifference, the desperate bids for attention, the gnawing fear of being unloved.
Helen listened, frowning. When Emily finished, she set her cup down with a thud. Emilys stomach dropped. Had she overshared?
“Listen, love,” Helen said after a pause. “I knew you two werent close, but… blimey. Dont hold it against her, alright? I dont reckon she *means* to be cold. Lifes knocked her about, hardened her. Maybe shes just… missing that instinct. Could be worse, though. Margarets a rubbish mum, but not a bad person.”
“Not bad? How can someone not love their *child*?”
“Sadly, it happens. Sometimes they dont even love *themselves*…” Helen sighed. “As for the baby? Follow your heart.”
“What if Im like her?”
“You wont be,” Helen scoffed. “James told me how you nursed that stray cat. Heartless people dont do that.”
“A babys not a *cat*. What if I mess up?”
“Newsflash*every* mum does. All the good ones panic theyre rubbish. I did, your mum did, you will. And its *fine*. Love and effort count more than perfection. Bloody hypocrite, metelling you not to listen to anyone while I ramble on…” She grinned.
Emily smiled backtentative but real. The fear didnt vanish, but it eased. For once, Helens warmth melted the usual chill.
Emily kept the baby. Pregnancy was roughmorning sickness, mood swings, relentless anxiety. But James fetched midnight cravings, rubbed her back, endured the meltdowns. Helen helped too, coaching her through nappies and night feeds.
Margaret called sporadically, asking if she needed anything. After the birth, she brought a bag of baby clothes. That was it.
Years flew by. Emilys daughter grewloud, curious, stubborn. She threw tantrums, broke toys, wore Emily out. But when she was ill, Emily stroked her hair, read stories, fought back tears.
Shed never admit it, but in those moments, she was giving her daughter what shed craved all along.
Things with Margaret stayed cordial, if distant. Emily stopped expecting the impossible. She helped with bills, brought groceries, checked on her health. Margaret wasnt a good mother or grandmother, but she *was* there. Maybe she couldnt love, but in her own way, she tried.
Sometimes, that had to be enough.
