Since Dad passed away, Mum has lived alone in her two-bedroom flat, which sits just a stone’s throw from the town centre.
Her pension is quite decent, so she manages perfectly well on her own. She’s never lent us a helping hand, nor does she look after our children. She only sees them now and then, usually at Christmas or on their birthdays. Honestly, she’s never been one for offering help or popping round for a visit. My husband and I rent a place out on the edge of town, sharing it with our two young children. We barely scrape by and every month feels like stretching a pound till it squeaks. The children have to travel all the way to their school near the centre, and both my husband and I work there as well. To make it work, we have to get up at six every morning.
The commute is exhausting, but it’s the only option for us; renting anywhere near the centre is impossible with our budget. When things felt especially tough, I decided to swallow my pride and ask Mum for help. I went round to her flat for a chat, trying to break the ice by asking how she was doing and whether everything was alright. Mum shrugged and said she couldn’t complain.
I said, Mum, dont you get lonely living here by yourself in such a big flat?
She fixed me with a guarded look. What are you trying to say? she asked, waiting for me to get to the point.
So, I ventured: I want to suggest that we move in with you. The kids school and our workplaces would be so much closer, and I can help you around the house with all the chores. My husband could take care of any jobs that need a mans touch.
She didnt hesitate for a second and replied, Dont even think about it! Im not at the age where I want to live with anyone. Youre grown-ups nowyoull manage without me. I want peace and quiet.
I called her selfish and stormed out, slamming the door behind me. We havent spoken for two weeks now. I keep asking myself whether I should call her or leave things as they are.
