Mom, could you look after Max for a few hours today? Grace begged, her voice ragged. I have to dash to the office there are urgent papers I need to pick up.
Olivia flipped through her diary, sighing. Grace, I have a meeting with the editor at seven tonight. I wont be able to.
Come on, Mum, you always have something else! Its your grandson, isnt it? Is work more important than family?
Olivia pressed her lips together. Manipulation through guilt, again.
Grace, I warned you that having a baby with a man you barely know was reckless. You ignored me. Its your choice, your responsibility.
Fine, Grace snapped coldly. So you dont care about me or the baby. Thanks for the support.
She hung up.
Olivia had just turned fiftytwo, and for the first time in years she felt she could finally breathe. A bitter divorce had upended her life fifteen years ago. Shed raised two daughters on her own, juggled two jobs, and denied herself everything. Five years earlier Michael had entered her world a calm, reliable man who accepted her baggage without demanding miracles.
The girls grew, earned degrees, and bought homes. With Michael, Olivia helped Grace purchase a onebed flat; the younger Poppy got a studio in a new development. Olivia finally secured a respectable position at a publishing house, enrolled in Italian classes, and began squirreling away pounds for a dream trip to Italy.
At twentythree, Grace married the first bloke she met. Six months later she gave birth. Olivia had cautioned her against rushing, but Grace wouldnt listen. Now her husband, Victor, proved unreliable, working sporadically and bringing money home only when luck smiled. Grace was torn between a newborn and odd jobs, scrambling to make ends meet. Since then Olivias phone rang nonstop with her daughters pleas.
Olivia pressed her forehead against the cool kitchen window. She was exhausted by the endless demand to sacrifice herself. Grace began hinting at moving back in with her parents, saying it would ease everyones burden. Olivia refused, explaining she had her own life, work, and plans. The daughter sobbed into the receiver, lamenting a wasted youth.
A week later, a fresh shock hit. Twentyyearold Poppy, barely out of university, announced she was pregnant. The father was a courier shed been dating for three months, living in a shared house with no prospects. Poppy burst into the living room, glowing, expecting joy and support.
Can you believe it, Mum? Victor and I are going to be parents! she exclaimed, flopping onto the sofa. Were having a baby! Isnt that wonderful?
Olivia stared at her, irritation rising. The same story as with Grace.
Poppy, have you and Victor thought about how youll raise the child? she asked calmly. Where will you live? A studio with a newborn? How will you afford everything?
Poppy fidgeted with the hem of her sweater. Victor has a spare room for now Well figure something out. Mum, youll help us, wont you? Well need you.
Olivia set her tea cup down sharper than intended.
No, Poppy. Im not opposed to you having a baby, but Im not going to fund a young family. The flat is already yours; Ive given you everything I can. Now youll have to manage on your own.
Poppy leapt from the sofa, tears blazing. How can you say that? Youre heartless! Im your daughter! The baby will be your grandchild!
Olivias voice was steady. Thats why Im telling you the truth. Youre adults. You have a degree, Victor has a job. If you decided to have a child, you must shoulder the responsibility yourself. Ive done my part. I have my own life, my own plans.
What plans? Poppy shrieked, clutching her bag. What could be more important than family? Your daughters are in trouble and youre selfish!
Grace stormed out of the flat, slamming the door behind her. Olivia stood in the hallway, eyes closed, as both daughters united against her. The family group chat exploded with accusations of selfishness and coldness. Grace typed long messages about how hard it was for her, how a mother should always help. Poppy echoed, saying she never expected her mother to be so indifferent.
Michael held Olivias hand in the evenings, trying to soothe her, but the pressure kept building. Grace started dropping by unannounced with the baby, pushing the stroller through the front door and leaving a quick note: Mum, Ill be back in a couple of hours, watch Max.
Olivia tried to protest, but Grace was already racing down the stairs. Michael frowned but stayed silent. Poppy called, tears streaming, begging for moral support, complaining that Victor didnt understand, that they were broke, that she didnt know what to do.
Olivia felt cornered. The daughters kept demanding, demanding, demanding, as if she were an endless well they could draw from forever.
Saturday night fell quiet. Olivia and Michael had planned a calm evening a film and a talk about their upcoming Italian trip. A sharp knock rattled the door.
Michael opened it. Grace stood there, suitcases in hand, Max cradled against her chest. Behind her, Poppys redeyed face peered in.
Mum, were moving in temporarily, Grace announced, hauling a suitcase into the hallway. Serge will bring the rest of our stuff later. Well rent out my flat to bring in some money, and then I can spend more time with Max while I work.
What? Olivia froze on the landing. Grace, what are you talking about? We never agreed to this.
Why should we discuss it? Youre my mother, youre supposed to help, Grace snapped, cradling a crying Max. Who else is going to?
Poppy slipped inside behind her. Mum, I need money for a cot. We have nothing. Victor earns barely enough, I cant stay off work while on maternity leave.
Olivia felt something inside snap. All the fatigue, the resentment of the past months surged forward.
No, she said sharply, stepping forward. Grace, turn around and go home. Poppy, there will be no money. Thats it.
Both daughters froze, staring at their mother.
Youre serious? Grace asked, her voice trembling, shaking Max in her arms.
Absolutely, Olivia crossed her arms over her chest. I raised you, gave you education, bought you flats. Now get out of my nest and make your own way. I wont shoulder your childrens burdens.
How can you say that? Poppy shrieked. Were your daughters! Your blood!
I can because Im telling you the truth. Youre adults. You chose your partners, you chose to have children. I warned you, I advised you. You ignored me. Its your responsibility, not mine.
Grace shifted the baby to her other arm, eyes flashing with anger. Youre throwing us out? With a baby?
Im not throwing you out. You have a house, Olivia replied, eyes never leaving Grace. And you have a husband. Sort out your problems yourselves.
Youre a coldhearted selfish witch! Poppy roared, stamping a foot. You dont care about us! All you think about is Italy!
Yes, Italy matters to me, Olivia said calmly. My plans, my life. I spent twenty years living for you. What more do you expect? To be my nanny until the grave?
The sisters exchanged a glance. Grace snatched her suitcase and headed for the door. Poppy followed, their footsteps echoing down the stairwell, voices low but full of contempt. For a week there was no call, no message. Michael told Olivia she had done the right thing. Yet a knot of anxiety gnawed at her had she been too harsh?
Later she learned Grace had indeed sold her flat and moved in with Victors parents, cramped into a twobedroom where every chore was scrutinised and the motherinlaw ruled the infants upbringing. Victor vanished, leaving Grace alone, pregnant and penniless.
Poppys fate unfolded in the hallway outside their building. A neighbour saw her sobbing on a bench, her baby bump visible, as Victor fled, taking nothing but his backpack. She was left with a growing child and no income.
Olivia stood at the kitchen sink, weighing the news. Compassion for her daughters wrestled with a hardwon resolve to stay out of their messes. She had given them a solid start education, roofs, love. How they used it was no longer her concern.
Calls resumed. Grace wailed about a harsh motherinlaw, pleading for help. Poppy cried that she was alone, that she couldnt cope. Olivia listened, sympathised, but offered only advice, never cash.
The daughters wanted more than counsel. They wanted Olivia to solve everything, to open her home, to hand over money. Olivia declined each time.
She and Michael finally booked three weeks in Italya longawaited escape that had been postponed countless times. Before departing, Olivia called her daughters.
Are you serious? Grace asked, bewildered. What about us?
Youre adults. Youll manage, Olivia replied, eyeing the suitcase by the door. When you learn to solve your own problems and stop treating me as a freerange nanny and cash source, Ill be glad to talk as equals. Grow up.
Youre abandoning us? Grace whispered.
Im not abandoning you. You have the right to make mistakes. I have the right not to pay for them, Olivia said, taking her coat. Ill always be your mother, but I wont sacrifice myself for adult childrens careless choices.
Michael waited by the car. Olivia slid into the passenger seat, inhaling a deep, liberating breath. She decided then that guilt would no longer gnaw at her. She had given them education, shelter, love. She had offered advice; they hadnt listened. Her mission was complete. It was time to think of herself.
She imagined strolling through Roman streets, wandering Florentine galleries, gliding along Venetian canals freedom she finally earned. The future stretched ahead, bright and unapologetically hers.
