**Diary Entry April 12th**
Mums voice cut through the quiet like a knife. And where do you think youre going?
I sighed, fastening my bag. That tonesharp, accusingmade my stomach twist. I knew what was coming.
To work, Mum, I said, keeping my voice steady.
What work? she snapped, her pitch rising. Youre not on the rota today! I remember! Where are you really going, eh? Out with some lad?
I turned to face her. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
Im covering a shift at the shop. Extra money never hurts, I explained.
Liar! She took a step forward, face flushing. Ungrateful girl! I raised you, gave you everything, and this is how you repay melying to my face!
For a moment, I just looked at herreally looked. The weariness in my eyes mustve given her pause, because she faltered, just briefly.
You can come with me if you dont believe me, I said quietly, then walked out before she could answer.
Her shouts followed me, muffled by the door.
The walk to work was a blur. Twenty-four years old, and I still lived like a child. Other women my age had flats, careers, relationships. Me? I hadnt even gone to uni.
The memory stung. Id dreamed of studying education, aced my exams, even got the grades. But Mum had thrown a fitscreaming, crying, demanding to know whod look after *her*. So I gave in. Like always.
She got me the job at the local shopfive minutes from home. So I know where you are, shed said.
And she checked. Regularly. Popping in under the guise of buying milk, but really just making sure I hadnt slipped away.
This had started long before. As a teen, my life was school and homenothing else. Two minutes late? An interrogation. Wanting to meet friends? A fight. Invited to a birthday party? Tears, guilt, then a firm no.
Who knows what goes on at those parties, shed scoff.
I pushed open the shop door, the bell jingling overhead. The smell of fresh bread from the bakery section was comforting, at least. In the stockroom, I changed into my uniform and stepped out onto the floor.
My colleagues, Emma and Sophie, were chatting about weekend plansa new café, a cinema trip, a walk in the park if the weather held. I turned away. My weekends were the same as always: Mum, chores, telly under her watchful gaze.
Two days later, over breakfast, the rebellion bubbling inside me finally took shape. Mum slammed her hand on the table, startling me.
Whats that face for? Spit it out!
My heart hammered. The words spilled out before I could stop them.
I want to move out.
Silence. Then her face darkenedpink, then red, then purple.
*Move out?* You? Her voice was low, dangerous. Youd be nothing without me! The worlds cruel, men are liars
Mum, other people manage
If you *ever* mention leaving again, she hissed, Ill lock you in this flat. Do you understand?
Tears spilled over. Why? I whispered. Why do you do this?
She leaned back, almost smug. Why? I had you *for me*, not so you could run wild. You stay where I can see you.
The words hit like ice water. *For her.* Not out of love. Not even for herselfjust to own. Like a pet.
She left without another word.
The next two days, I played the perfect daughter. No arguments, no defiance. Mum relaxed, thinking shed won.
But my mind was made up. Before my next shift, I packed my passport and the cash Id hidden under my mattress.
After work, I didnt go home. I knocked on the managers office.
Mr. Thompson, I said, hands shaking, I need to quit. Today. Please.
He frowned. Whats wrong, Emily?
I told himbrieflyabout Mum, the control, the suffocation.
After a pause, he offered, Weve a branch across town. Same pay. She wont find you there.
Grateful, I accepted. I left with a new contract, found a cheap room (£400 a monthbasic, but itd do). At the bus stop, I snapped my SIM card in half. Tomorrow, Id get a new number.
A week later, my tiny roompeeling wallpaper and allfelt like freedom. I woke when I wanted, ate what I liked, *breathed* without fear.
Sometimes, my fingers itched to text Mumold habits die hard. But I stopped myself. One call, and shed drag me back.
It was terrifying. Lonely, too. Doubt crept in. But then Id remember: *I had you for me.*
And I knew Id done the right thing.
That house wasnt livingjust surviving. Now, I had a chance. To live for *me*, not her.
It wouldnt be easy. But it was the only way.
