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We Refused to Let Our Daughter in: A Family’s Tense Night of Tough Love, Despair, and Final Chances

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Why didnt you let her back in? Kate finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper. It was the question that had been eating away at her for days. You always let her in before.

Her mum gave a bitter little laugh.

Because Im scared for you, Kate. You think we dont notice how you shrink into the corner when your sister crashes in at three in the morning? How you hide your schoolbooks so she wont ruin them? She looks at you with real anger, you know. Angry because you turned out normal. Because youve got a shot at life, and sheshe drowned hers in drink a long time ago

Kate pulled her shoulders up, frozen above her open maths book, as another row started in the next room.

Dad hadnt even taken off his coathe just stood in the hallway, clutching his mobile and shouting into it.

Dont give me that! he was bellowing. Wheres all the money gone, Sarah? Payday was two weeks ago! Two weeks, and youre out already?

Mum, Jenny, stuck her head round the kitchen door, listening for a moment before she interrupted.

Again?

Paul just waved her off, switched the phone to speaker, and now there were sobs coming out of it. Sarah was always good at getting pityeven stones would feel sorry for her after a minute. But after years of this, their parents had grown a thick skin.

What do you mean, “he threw you out”? Dad started pacing up and down the narrow hallway. He was right to get rid of you. Whod put up with this endless chaos? You ever looked in the mirror, Sarah? Youre thirty, but you look like youve been dragged through a hedge backwards.

Kate took a risk and cracked her bedroom door an inch.

Dad, please Sarah had stopped sobbing. Hes dumped all my stuff by the bins. Ive got nowhere to go. Its raining, its freezing Please, can I come to yours for a couple of nights? I just need to sleep, thats all.

Mum twitched, wanting to grab Dads mobile away, but Paul turned his back.

No. Youre not coming near this house.

We agreed, remember? After you pawned the telly while we were at Nans, the doors locked to you. Finished.

Mum! Mum, say something! Sarah shrieked from the phone.

Jenny put her face in her hands, shoulders shaking.

Sarah, how can this be? she whispered brokenly, not looking at Paul. We took you to the doctor, you promised. They said the new treatment would last three years. You couldnt even last a month!

Thats all rubbish! Sarah suddenly snapped, her whining turning nasty in a flash. Its all a scam to bleed you for cash! I feel like Im burning inside, like I can hardly breathe! And youre going on about some bloody telly You care more about your TV than me! Ill get you a new one!

And how would you pay for it, eh? Dad stopped dead, staring at the wall. Youve got nothing left. Sponged from your mates again? Or did you sell something from that blokes flatwhats his name?

Doesnt matter! Sarah yelled. Dad, Im homeless now! You really want me sleeping under a bridge?

Go to a shelter. Go wherever you want. Youre not coming here. If I see you near the block, Ill change the locks.

Kate just hugged her knees on her bed. These blow-ups usually ended up with her getting shouted at too. Shed hear the usual: “What are you doing on your phone? Youll end up just like your sister, a waste of space!” For the last three years, shed heard it every time.

But today, theyd forgotten about her. No one raised their voice, no one snapped. Dad eventually hung up and went to get changed, and then both parents disappeared into the kitchen.

Cautious, Kate crept out into the hall.

Paul, please, Mum was nearly wailing. Shell disappear completely. You know what she gets like when shes in that state. She doesnt know what shes doing.

And I have to pick up the pieces? Dad crashed the kettle onto the hob. Im fifty-five, Jen. I want to come home and just flop in my armchair, not hide my wallet under a pillow! I dont want neighbours moaning that they saw her with shady characters in the stairwell or mouthing off at them!

Shes our daughter, Mum said quietly.

She was, until she was twenty. Now shes something thats sucked the life out of us. Shes an alcoholic, Jennothings going to change that if she doesnt want to. And she doesnt. She likes thisdrinking herself senseless every day.

The phone rang again. The house fell silent for a second before Dad picked up.

Yes.

Dad Sarah again. Im at the train station. The police are walking around, theyll take me in if I stay here. Please

Listen to me. Youre not coming home. Its final.

So what, you want me dead? Is that it? Want the coroner to call you?

Kate held her breath. This was always Sarahs trump card, the one that knocked them off their feet. It used to workMum would burst into tears, Dad would get all panicky, and theyd fold, handing over money, letting her stay, feeding and washing her back to life.

But tonight, Dad wasnt biting.

Dont start with threats, he said. You love yourself too much for that. Heres what Ill do.

What? Some desperate hope in Sarahs voice.

Ill get you a room. Cheapest I can find, at the edge of town. Ill pay the first months rent. Give you some food. Thats it. Then youre on your own. Get a job, sort yourself outyou survive. If not, youre on the street next month, and thats your business.

Just a room? Not a flat? Dad, I cant cope alone. Im scared. And the neighbours could be well, dodgy. Ive got nothing, not even bedding, my ex kept it all!

Mumll pack some sheets and leave them with the caretaker. You can pick them updont even think about coming upstairs.

Youre monsters! Sarah started shrieking. Throwing your own daughter out to rot! Youve got your three bedroom flat, and Im meant to live like a rat!

Mum couldnt stand it any more and snatched the phone.

Sarah, thats enough! she shouted so loudly Kate flinched. Your dads right. This is your only chance. Room or the streets. Pick now, or tomorrow you wont even get a room.

Silence on the other end.

Fine, Sarah finally grumbled. Text me the address. And send me some money nowIm starving.

No money, Paul said. Ill buy groceries and drop them off. I know what youd spend it on.

He hung up. Kate decided it was time to move, and wandered into the kitchen, pretending she just wanted a drink of water.

She waited for the fallouther dad picking apart her messy t-shirt, her mum chiding her for not caring, for drifting round the house without a clue. But neither even turned around.

Kate, Mum called gently.

Yeah, Mum?

In the upstairs cupboardtop shelfthere are some old sheets and pillowcases. Please put them in the blue holdall from the storage cupboard.

Okay, Mum.

Kate did as she was told, shaking out some forgotten clutter from the bag as she went. She just couldnt imagine Sarah living on her own. She never cooked, not even pasta. Honestly, she wouldnt last two days without a drink.

Back in the parents room, Kate climbed up on a chair for the bedding.

Don’t forget towels! Dad shouted from the kitchen.

Already packed! Kate called back.

She watched her dad slip on his shoes and leave the flat, the bag of food and bundles of bedding in hand, not saying a word to anyone. He was clearly off to find Sarahs little “hole in the wall.”

In the kitchen, Kate saw her mum curled up at the table.

Mum, do you want a tablet or something? Kate asked softly, moving closer.

Jenny looked at her, eyes dull and lost.

You know, Kate she said, in a flat, tired voice. When she was little, I thought Id have a real friend in her, someone to chat about everything with. Now all I can think is, please God let her get to that room, let her remember the address.

Shell get there, Kate perched beside her. She always sorts things in the end.

Not this time, Jenny shook her head. Her eyes are different now. Empty. Like theres nothing left inside, nothing but this craving. I see how scared you are of her.

Kate blushed and stayed quiet. Shed always assumed her parents were too busy tearing themselves apart over “lost cause Sarah” to notice her own fear.

I thought you didnt care about me at all, Kate admitted in a whisper.

Her mum managed a tired little smile and brushed Kates hair with her fingers.

We care. We’ve just run out of strength. You know when youre on a plane, and they tell you to put your own mask on first, then help others? Well, we tried to put Sarahs mask on for ten years. Ten years, Kate. We did everythingthe clinics, the folk healers, the expensive rehabs. In the end, we nearly suffocated trying to save her.

The doorbell rang. Kate jumped.

Is that her? she asked, alarmed.

No, your dads got the keys. Probably the shopping deliveryhe ordered stuff earlier.

Kate opened the door to find a supermarket driver with two heavy bags. She carried them to the kitchen and unpacked: rice, tinned beans, oil, tea, sugarnot a treat in sight.

She wont eat this, Kate remarked, putting the pack of brown rice to one side. She likes ready meals.

If she wants to live, shell cook, Mum snapped. That steel of hers was suddenly back for a second. Were done spoiling her, Kate. Any more and well send her off to an early grave with our sympathy.

An hour later, Dad returned looking utterly exhausted.

Found her a room, he muttered. Got the keys. The landladys an old schoolmistress, no nonsense. Said any trouble and Sarahs out, end of. I told her, Do it. No mercy.

Paul Mum sighed.

No use hiding it, Jen. May as well be honest.

He grabbed the holdall and grocery bags and headed out. Ill leave them at the caretakers. Ill call Sarah and tell her. Kate, lock the door and dont answer the landline if she calls.

He left, and Mum locked herself away in the kitchen and cried.

Kates heart just ached. How did it come to this? Sarah neither lived nor let anyone else live, just drifted from one binge to the next

***
But her parents hopes didnt come truein a week, the landlady rang Paul in a panic. Shed thrown Sarah out with the police after Sarah dragged three lads back and partied all night long.

And, once again, neither Mum nor Dad could just abandon herso Sarah ended up at a rehab centre this time, a proper one, locked up and guarded, with the promise that, maybe, after a year, she’d have a real chance. Who knows, maybe this time a miracle really could happenLife settled, in its uneasy way. Sarahs name wasnt mentioned much anymore, except when official letters arrived or brief updates trickled in from weary counsellors. Days slid back into routineschool, work, late cups of tea around the kitchen table. Yet every so often, a note of hope hung in the air, thin as mist.

Sometimes, Kate caught her parents staring at the front door, as if willing it to open with good news. Sometimes, she stared too, half-dreading, half-wishing. If the phone rang after dark, theyd all pause, just for a heartbeat, waiting for disaster or for some small miracle.

But mostly, the wounds began to close over. Kate spent longer on her homework now, her hands steadier, no longer hiding things in drawers. Mum started knitting again, pink scarves and lumpy hats for no one in particular. Dad fell asleep watching TV, soft snoring mixing with canned laughter.

One Sunday, spring sunlight pouring through the window, Kate found her mum sitting in the garden, eyes closed, just breathing in the scent of grass.

Mum? she asked, uncertain.

Jenny opened her eyes and smiled, lines softer for a moment. Come sit.

So Kate did, tucking herself close, listening to birds and far-off traffic.

For a while, neither spoke. Then Jenny squeezed her daughters hand and said quietly, Sometimes helping means loving from a distance, Kate. It hurts, but its love all the same.

Kate nodded. The ache was still there, but something else tooa sense that maybe, at last, it was their turn to breathe.

Behind them, through the open window, the kitchen filled with warm, clean light, ready for whatever came next.

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The Carer for the Wife — What do you mean? — Lida thought she must have misheard. — Where am I supposed to go? Why? What for? — Oh, can we just skip the dramatics, please? — he grimaced. — What’s not clear here? There’s no one left for you to take care of. Where you go is none of my concern. — Ed, what’s wrong with you? Weren’t we planning to get married…? — That was your idea. I never said any such thing. At 32, Lida decided to turn her life around and leave her small hometown. What was left for her there? Endure her mother’s nagging? Her mother simply couldn’t stop scolding Lida about the divorce, constantly asking how she managed to “lose” her husband. Yet Vas’ka wasn’t worth a kind word—drunk and a womaniser! How did she end up marrying him all those eight years ago? Lida wasn’t at all upset about the divorce—in fact, she felt she could finally breathe again. But she argued constantly with her mum about it, and they also fought about money, which was always in short supply. So, she’d head off to the county town and land a great job there! Look at Svetka—her old school friend—she’d been married for five years to a widower. Who cares if he’s 16 years older and hardly a heartthrob, at least he has a flat and a decent income. And Lida reckoned she was just as good as Svetka! — Well, thank heavens! You’ve come to your senses! — Svetka encouraged her. — Pack your things, you can stay with us for a bit, and we’ll sort out the job situation. — Won’t your Vadim Petrovich mind? — Lida was unsure. — Don’t be silly! He does whatever I ask! Don’t worry, we’ll get by! Still, Lida didn’t want to stay long at her friend’s place. After just a couple of weeks and her first wages, she rented her own room. And just a couple of months later, she had a stroke of luck. — Why is a woman like you working in the market? — said one of her regulars, Edward Boris, with concern. Lida knew all her regulars by name by now. — It’s cold, it’s hard work—not ideal. — Gotta earn money somehow, — she shrugged, — unless you have another offer? Edward Boris wasn’t exactly a dreamboat in her eyes—twenty years older, a bit pudgy, starting to bald, and with a shrewd look in his eye. He was always particular about choosing his vegetables and paid to the penny. But he dressed well and drove a nice car—definitely not a down-and-out, not a drunk. He also had a wedding ring, so she never considered him as husband material. — You strike me as responsible, steady, and clean, — Edward Boris switched to a familiar tone, — have you ever cared for anyone who was ill? — I used to look after a neighbour, actually. She had a stroke, her children live far away, so they paid me to help. — That’s great! — he exclaimed, and then put on a somber face: — My wife, Tamara, has had a stroke too. The doctors say she has little chance of recovery. I’ve brought her home, but I haven’t got time to look after her. Will you help? I’ll pay you properly. Lida didn’t have to think long—much better to be in a warm flat changing bedpans than freezing on the market for ten hours a day serving picky customers! He even suggested she live there, so no more rent. — They’ve got three spare rooms! You could play football in there! — she delightedly told her friend. — No children either. Tamara’s mother was a real madam—even at 68, she acted half her age. She’d just remarried and was busy with her husband. No one else to care for the invalid. — Is she really that sick? — Oh yes, poor thing can’t move or speak. She won’t get better. — You almost sound happy about it, — Svetka eyed her. — Of course not, — Lida looked down, — but once Tamara’s gone, Edward Boris would be free… — Are you for real, Lida? Wishing someone dead for a flat?! — I’m not wishing anyone dead—I’m just not going to miss my chance! Easy for you to say, you’ve got it made! They had a huge fight and didn’t speak for half a year—until Lida confessed to Svetka her romance with Edward Boris. They couldn’t live without each other, but of course, he’d never leave his wife—not that type! So for now, she’d remain his lover. — So you’re shacking up with him while his wife is dying in the next room? — her friend was appalled. — Do you even see how vile that is? Or are you that blinded by his money—if he’s even got it? — Trust you to never say a kind word, — Lida retorted. They stopped talking again, but she barely felt guilty—well, perhaps just a bit. She cared for Tamara with real diligence, and since her affair with Edward Boris began, she took on all the housework too. After all, a man needs more than just a woman in his bed—he wants a good meal, crisp shirts, a clean flat. Lida thought her lover was very content, and she was enjoying her life too. She barely noticed Edward had stopped paying her for caring for his wife. Not that it mattered now—they were almost like husband and wife! He gave her money for shopping, and she managed the budget, not realising it was tight. And his job paid well enough—but never mind, once they got married it would all become clear. With time, the spark between them dulled, and Edward lingered less at home, but Lida put it down to the strain of having a sick wife. She pitied him, even though he barely spent a minute a day checking on Tamara. Even so, Lida wept when Tamara finally passed away. She’d given a year and a half of her life to that woman—you can’t get that time back. She organised the funeral too—Edward was “too grief-stricken.” He gave her the bare minimum for expenses, but she did everything properly. No one could accuse her of a thing. Even the neighbours, gossiping about her and Edward—nothing escapes them!—nodded approvingly at the funeral. His mother-in-law too seemed satisfied. So Lida never expected what Edward said next. — You understand there’s no need for your services anymore, so I’m giving you a week to move out, — he said on the tenth day after the funeral. — What do you mean? — Lida’s voice faltered. — Where should I go? Why? — Please, do we have to have this scene? — he sighed. — There’s no one left for you to care for, and where you go is none of my business. — Ed, what’s wrong with you? We were supposed to get married… — That’s your fantasy. I never said anything of the sort. Next morning, after a sleepless night, Lida tried to talk again, but he just repeated the same words and urged her to move quickly. — My fiancée wants to renovate before the wedding, — was all he said. — Fiancée? Who’s that? — None of your business. — Oh, none of my business?! Well, I’ll move out, but you’ll pay me for my work first. You were meant to pay forty grand a month. I only got paid twice. So you owe me £8,000. — You can do the sums, can’t you! — he snorted. — Don’t get carried away… — And you owe for cleaning too! I won’t nit-pick, just pay me ten grand and we’ll call it even. — Or what? You’ll go to court? There’s no contract. — I’ll tell Tamila—remember, your mother-in-law owns this flat. Edward’s face changed, but he recovered quickly. — Who’d believe you? — he huffed. — You know what? I don’t want to see you. Get out now. — You’ve got three days, darling. No ten grand, and there’ll be a scandal, — Lida replied, heading for a cheap hostel. She’d managed to save some of the housekeeping money. On the fourth day, having had no answer, Lida went back to the flat. Tamila, the mother-in-law, was there. Lida could see from Edward’s face she’d never get paid. So she told Tamila everything. — She’s making it all up! 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