10/08/2025
Emily hesitated for a moment before responding to her mother’s sudden suggestion.
“Sweetheart, I’ve been thinking,” her mum began, “why do you need three bedrooms? One seems plenty, doesn’t it? Little Sophie sleeps with you anyway.”
At first, Emily didn’t grasp the implication. She assumed her mother was angling to offload some old furniture—a battered armchair or a dusty sideboard that had been cluttering her own house.
“Well… yeah, we don’t really use the other rooms,” Emily admitted cautiously.
“Exactly!” her mum exclaimed. “So I’ve decided to rent them out. I’ll find nice, quiet tenants—no reason for good space to go to waste. You understand, don’t you? I let you stay there, and now I’m barely scraping by on my pension.”
Emily froze. At first, she thought she’d misheard. Then a cold, splintering dread settled in her chest. Images flashed through her mind—strangers in their kitchen, noise, chaos, endless visitors—all while her three-month-old daughter slept nearby. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad, but it was still a gamble. And Emily wasn’t willing to risk her baby’s safety.
“Mum… what tenants? I have a child! I don’t want random people in our home.”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” her mother scoffed. “I grew up in a shared house, and I turned out fine, didn’t I? I’ve already cut you a deal—no extra rent, letting you save up. What do you expect me to do? Starve?”
Emily clenched her jaw. She hadn’t expected this kind of betrayal from her own mother. Her mum would never dream of renting out rooms in her own place, but apparently, it was fair game when it came to Emily’s home.
Still, she swallowed her hurt. Right now, only Sophie mattered.
“Fine. If it’s that important to you… we’ll pay you for this month,” Emily said finally. “We’ll figure something out after that.”
She half-expected her mother to back down—to say she couldn’t take money from her own daughter, especially with a newborn. But—
“Alright. I’ll give you the family rate—four hundred quid,” her mother said dismissively. “Just give me two weeks’ notice if you decide to move. I’ll need time to arrange viewings. And you’ll have to show the place to the new tenants—no gaps in rent, you see.”
“Fine,” Emily muttered through gritted teeth before hanging up.
She opened her banking app and transferred the money immediately. As she pressed “Send,” she felt something shift between them—what had once been family was now purely transactional.
…This wasn’t new behaviour. Margaret had always been skilled at twisting situations to her advantage—just never in a way that hurt Emily this deeply.
When Emily was ten, she’d learned that her godmother sent lavish birthday and Christmas gifts—a plush pony, a robot dog, fashion dolls. But Margaret had always passed them off as her own. She never added so much as a card.
Back then, Emily had been hurt, but only slightly. She knew it was wrong, but the full weight of it hadn’t hit her. Her godmother, however, was furious and started sending presents through Emily’s grandmother instead.
Another time, Aunt Lydia and her daughter Hannah had planned a short stay in the city to sort out paperwork. They’d already booked a hotel, but Margaret insisted—
“Don’t drag that child around dodgy places! Stay with me—plenty of room. Won’t be restaurant meals, mind, but you’ll be comfortable.”
Aunt Lydia, unwilling to impose, stocked the fridge full on the first day.
“Our treat for the food, yours for the cooking,” she’d said warmly. “We’ll be out all day—queues, museums, you know how it is with kids.”
They left early and returned late, causing no trouble. But on the third day, Margaret announced—
“Lydia, I miscalculated. Maybe call that hotel? You’d be better off there.”
Aunt Lydia was furious. The hotel wouldn’t take them back, so they had to scramble for another place. Emily never saw them again.
At the time, she’d believed her mother was just tired. Now she understood—Margaret had wanted free meals. Once she got them, she kicked her relatives out.
Before, Emily had only suffered indirectly. Teachers side-eyed her because Margaret refused school donations and made scenes. She wasn’t invited to birthday parties—officially because of “stranger danger,” but really because gifts cost money. But none of that compared to the flat.
Emily and James had known each other since school. Friends first, then something deeper. James had even given up his dream of studying medicine in another city because Emily wouldn’t follow. He’d sighed, changed course, and they’d both trained as psychologists—Emily in schools, James in HR.
They married, saved for a mortgage, planned children—later, once settled. But life had other plans.
When the pregnancy test turned positive, Emily didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. A baby—yes. But now? When they were so close to their deposit?
“Your choice,” James had said. He wanted the baby too, but money loomed large.
Enter Margaret.
“What’s there to think about?” she’d declared. “God sends the child, He’ll send the bread! Stay in my other flat—your gran’s old place. Save up properly. Don’t you dare get rid of it—what if you can’t have kids later?”
Her offer tipped the scales. Despite her difficult nature, Emily had believed they had a good relationship. A mother with resources helping her struggling daughter—it felt right. Until it wasn’t.
Now, Emily had no idea what to do. What if Margaret upped the rent? Moved strangers in? Nothing would surprise her anymore.
That evening, she told James everything. He held her as she cried, then promised, “I’ll fix this. Faster than a month.”
And he did.
Days later, they visited his mother, Patricia. Nothing unusual—they dropped by often. Patricia had known Emily over a decade, taking her and James to the park as kids.
At one point, Patricia took Emily’s hand.
“Love, James told me. Don’t worry—I’ll help with the deposit. You’re good kids, independent. At your age, some still live off their parents.”
Her voice…
St🅾️ry c🅾️ntinues in 💭c🅾️mments -
