Shutting the Door on Our Own Daughter — “Why didn’t you let her in?” Veronica finally asked the question that haunted her most. “You used to always let her in…” Her mother gave a bitter smile. “Because I’m scared for you, Nicky. Do you think we don’t see the way you hide in the corner when your sister barges in at night? The way you hide your textbooks so she won’t ruin them? She looks at you and gets angry. Angry because you’re normal. Because you have a different future ahead of you, but she’s drowned hers in a bottle…” Veronica hunched over her open textbook, flinching as yet another row kicked off in the next room. Her father didn’t even take off his coat—he stood in the hallway, phone in hand, shouting into it. “Don’t try and fob me off!” he roared. “Where’s it all gone then? Two weeks after payday, Larissa! Two!” Tatiana peered out from the kitchen. She listened to her husband’s tirade, then asked, “Again?” Valery waved her off and put the phone on speaker—immediately met by sobbing. Veronica’s older sister had a natural talent for making even stones melt in pity. But their parents had developed a tough skin after so many years. “What do you mean ‘he threw you out’?” Valery started to pace the cramped corridor. “Damn right. Who’d put up with your never-ending drunkenness? Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror? You’re thirty, but you look like a battered dog.” Veronica crept her door open an inch. “Dad, please…” The sobs suddenly cut out. “He put my things out on the landing. I’ve nowhere to go. It’s cold, it’s raining… I’ll come to you, okay? Just for a couple of days. Just to get some sleep…” Mother lunged for the phone, but Valery turned away. “No!” he barked. “You’re not coming in this house. We agreed last time—after you hocked the TV while we were at the cottage, the door to this family shut for you!” “Mum! Mum, say something!” came the desperate cry. Tatiana covered her face. Her shoulders shook. “Larissa, how could you…” she sobbed, avoiding her husband’s eyes. “We took you to the doctors, we… You promised. The last treatment, they said it would last three years. You didn’t even last a month.” “Those treatments are rubbish!” Larissa snapped back, her voice suddenly venomous. “They’re just taking your money! I’m suffering here! Everything’s burning inside, I can’t breathe! And you’re worried about a TV! As if I won’t buy you a new one!” “With what?!” Valery stopped, glaring at a spot on the wall. “With what, when you’ve spent everything? Borrowed from your drinking friends again? Or sold something from your boyfriend’s flat, what’s his name?” “Doesn’t matter!” Larissa yelled. “Dad, I’ve nowhere to go! What do you want, for me to sleep under a bridge?” “Go to a shelter. Go anywhere,” her father’s voice went cold. “But you aren’t walking through this door. I’ll change the locks if I see you on our street.” Veronica sat on her bed, knees hugged to her chest. Usually, when her older sister pushed their parents into rage, the anger bounced on to her. “What are you doing there, on your phone again? You’ll end up as useless as your sister!” Words she’d heard for three years. But tonight, she was forgotten. No shouting, no snipes. Her father hung up, took off his coat, and her parents moved to the kitchen. Veronica carefully stepped into the hall. “Val, you can’t…” her mother pleaded. “She’ll be lost. You know how she gets in that state. She’s not responsible for herself.” “Why should I be responsible for her?” her father slammed the kettle on. “I’m fifty-five, Tania. I want to come home and sit in my chair in peace. I don’t want to hide my wallet under my pillow! I don’t want to apologise to neighbours who saw her with dodgy characters in our building!” “She’s our daughter,” mother whispered. “She was our daughter until she was twenty. Now she’s just someone draining the life out of us. She’s a drinker, Tania. You can’t cure that if she doesn’t want to quit. And she doesn’t. She likes this life. Wake up, get a cheap bottle and pass out!” The phone rang again. The parents froze, then her father’s voice came: “Yes?” “Dad… I’m at the station. Police are everywhere. They’ll arrest me if I stay here. Please…” “Listen to me, closely,” he cut in. “You’re not coming home. Period.” “So, should I just go and kill myself then?” Larissa’s voice held a note of challenge. “Is that what you want? A call from the morgue?!” Veronica froze. That was Larissa’s classic trump card— when nothing else worked, threaten tragedy. It always worked before. Mum would break down, dad would clutch his heart, and Lari would get money, a bed, food, and a clean-up. Not tonight. Her dad didn’t bite. “Stop with the threats,” he said. “You love yourself too much for that. Here’s the deal. I’ll find you a room. The cheapest I can, at the edge of town. I’ll pay a month’s rent. Some food money. That’s all. After that, you’re on your own. Get a job, shape up—you can manage. If not, in a month you’re back on the street. That’s it for me.” “A room?! Just a room, not a flat? Dad, I can’t do it on my own. It’s scary. The neighbours might be weird. And I don’t even have bedding—he kept it all!” “Mum will pack you some. I’ll leave it with the concierge. Collect it, but don’t even try upstairs. I’ve warned you.” “You’re animals!” Larissa screamed. “Chuck your own daughter out! Living comfortable in your three-bed while I have to crawl into some hovel?!” Mum couldn’t take it, snatching the phone. “Larissa, that’s enough!” she shouted, making Veronica jump. “Listen to your father! This is your only chance. Take the room, or it’s the streets. Choose now, or he won’t even pay for that!” Silence came from the other end. “Fine,” Larissa finally snapped. “Send me the address. And money. I’m starving.” “No money,” Valery cut in. “I’ll send you food. I know exactly what your ‘food’ budget goes on.” He hung up. Veronica decided now was the time. She tiptoed to the kitchen for a drink, expecting a backlash. Her dad would comment on her scruffy t-shirt. Her mum would chide her indifference—how could she just wander the house with all this going on? But neither even looked at her. “Veronica,” her mum said quietly. “Yeah, Mum?” “In the wardrobe, top shelf. Old bedsheets and pillowcases. Pack them in the blue bag from the cupboard.” “Okay, Mum.” Veronica found the bag and emptied it, dazed. How would Larissa live alone? She couldn’t boil pasta, let alone stay off the bottle… Veronica returned, climbed on a stool, and started packing the linen. “Don’t forget towels!” called Dad. “Already packed,” Veronica replied. She saw her father stomp out, grab the bags, and leave. Off to find this “hovel,” presumably. Veronica wandered into the kitchen. Mum sat, unmoving. “Mum, want me to get you a tablet or something?” she whispered. Mum looked up. “You know, Nick,” she began, her voice hollow, “when she was little, I thought: she’ll be my helper. We’ll talk about everything. Now all I can think is—please, let her remember the address, let her get there…” “She will,” Veronica perched beside her. “She always manages.” “Not this time,” Mum shook her head. “Her eyes… they’re empty now. She’s just a shell that needs its poison.” Veronica fell silent. She’d always thought her parents didn’t notice her fear, too busy saving ‘lost’ Larissa. “I thought you stopped caring about me,” she whispered. Mum reached out, stroked her hair. “We care. But we’re out of strength. It’s like on a plane—you put your own mask on before the child’s. We tried putting a mask on her for ten years, Nick! Rehab, quacks, expensive clinics. Nearly suffocated ourselves in the process.” The doorbell rang. “Is it her?” Veronica asked. “No, Dad’s got the keys. Probably the food delivery.” Veronica fetched the shopping—groceries, tinned goods, basics. Nothing extra. “She won’t eat this,” Veronica said, setting aside buckwheat. “She only eats takeaways.” “If she wants to live, she’ll cook,” Mum snapped, her old firmness returning briefly. “No more coddling her. Our kindness is killing her.” An hour later, Dad came home, haggard. “Found it,” he grunted. “Keys are here. Landlady’s an old retired teacher, strict as they come. She said one whiff of drink or any trouble, she’ll boot her straight out. I told her, ‘Do it.'” “Valery…” Mum sighed. “What? I’m done lying. She deserves to know.” He grabbed the bag, picked up the groceries and left. “I’ll drop this at the concierge. If she calls, don’t answer the house phone.” He left. Mum locked herself in the kitchen and wept. Veronica’s heart ached. How did it come to this? A sister not really living, only existing for the next drink—and parents barely surviving her… *** Her parents’ efforts failed—within a week, the landlady rang Valery. The daughter, with three men, partying all night: thrown out with the police. Still, the parents couldn’t abandon her. Larissa was sent to a secure rehab centre that claimed to ‘cure drinkers in a year.’ Maybe this time, there’ll be a miracle? **Shutting the Door on Our Own Daughter: When Love Fights to Survive Addiction’s Grip in an English Family**

Not Allowed Through the Door

“Why wouldnt you let her in?” Emily finally dared to ask the question that had been tormenting her most. “You always let her in before…”

Her mother let out a bitter smirk.
“Because Im scared for you, Em. You think we dont notice how you shrink into a corner whenever your sister storms in at all hours? Or how you hide your textbooks, so she wont ruin them? She looks at you and gets angry, angry that youre normal. Youre heading for a different life, loveshe lost hers to the bottle ages ago…”

Emily hunched her shoulders, frozen over an open textbook as yet another commotion began in the next room.

Her dad hadnt even taken off his coathe stood in the middle of the hall, gripping his mobile and yelling at the top of his lungs.

“Dont give me excuses!” he roared down the line, “Wheres it all gone? Its only been two weeks since payday! Just two weeks, Sarah!”

From the kitchen, Linda looked in, listening to her husbands angry monologue for a moment before asking,
“Again?”

Peter just waved her off and switched the phone to speaker. Wailing filled the hall.

Sarah, Emilys older sister, had a knack for making even a rock feel pity. But after so many years of heartbreak, the parents had grown armour.

“What do you mean hes thrown you out?” Peter began to pace the narrow corridor. “Hes right to.”

Whos going to put up with this endless state of barely hanging on?
Have you even looked in the mirror lately?
Youre thirty years old and you look like a battered dog.

Emily eased open her bedroom door just a crack.

“Dad, please…” the sobbing suddenly stopped. “Hes thrown my things into the hallway. Ive nowhere to go. Its raining, its freezing… Let me come to you, just for a few days. I just need to get some sleep.”

Her mum reached out, wanting to snatch the phone, but Peter turned abruptly away.

“No!” he said flatly. “Youre not coming here. Last time, after you pawned the television while we were at the cottage, we made a decision. Youre not welcome in this house again!”

“Mum! Mum, say something!” the phone shrieked.

Linda covered her face, her shoulders trembling.
“Sarah, how could you…” she whispered, not looking at her husband. “We took you to specialists, you know. You promised the last treatment would hold for three yearsthey said so. You barely lasted a month!”

“Those treatments are a joke,” Sarah snapped, her tone flipping from pitiful to hostile. “They just bleed you dry. I feel terrible, cant you see? Everythings burning inside me, I cant even breathe! And youstill going on about the telly… You love it more than me! Ill buy you a new one!”

“With what, Sarah?” Peter stopped and stared at the wall. “With what? Youve blown it all again, havent you? Borrowed from those so-called friends? Or nicked something from that blokes flat?”

“Doesnt matter!” Sarah shouted. “Dad, Ive nowhere to stay! Do you want me to end up under a bridge?”

“Try a homeless shelter. Or wherever you like,” her fathers voice was chillingly calm. “Youre not setting foot in here. Ill change the locks if I see you on the doorstep.”

Emily sat clutching her knees on her bed. Usually, when Sarah pushed their parents beyond their breaking point, the fallout landed on her.

“And what about you? Sitting there with your phone again? Youll end up just as useless as your sister!” The lines shed heard for the past three years.

But tonight, they had forgotten her.

No shouting, no picking. Dad threw the phone on the table, took off his coat, and her parents retreated to the kitchen.

Emily crept into the hallway.

“Peter, we cant do this…” her mum wailed. “Shell lose herself completely, you know how she gets… She cant control herself.”

“And Im supposed to look after her?” her dad slammed the kettle down. “Im fifty-five, Linda. I just want to come home and sit in a chair, not hide my wallet under my pillow or listen to the neighbours complain theyve seen her with dodgy people and shes mouthed off at them!”

“Shes still our daughter,” Linda said quietly.

“She was our daughter until she turned twenty. Now shes just someone bleeding us dry. Shes a hopeless case, Linda. No one gets better unless they want toand she doesnt. She wakes up, finds a bottle, drinks herself out of it, and forgets again!”

The phone suddenly rang again.

They both fell silent, before Peter answered.

“Yes?”

“Dad…” Sarahs voice again. “Im at the station. The police are here, theyll take me in if I stay much longer. Please…”

“Listen carefully,” her father interrupted. “Youre not coming home. Thats final.”

“So whatshould I just kill myself then?” There was a note of challenge in Sarahs voice. “Is that what you wantto get a call from the morgue?”

Emily froze. That was Sarahs trump card, always played when nothing else worked. In the past, it worked: Linda would sob, Peter would clutch his chest, and her sister would get money and a place to stay, food and a good scrub.

Tonight Peter wasnt moved.

“Dont threaten,” he said. “You care too much about yourself for that. Heres what well do.”

“What?” There was hope in Sarahs voice.

“Ill find you a roomthe cheapest one, at the edge of town. Ill pay for the first month, give you a bit for food. Thats it. After that, youre on your own. You get a job, sort yourself out, you can keep going. Dontwell, youll be out on the street after a month, and I wont care.”

“A room? Just a room, not a flat? Dad, I cantIm scared on my own. And the neighbours there… who knows what theyre like? I dont have anythinghes kept all my stuff!”

“Your mum will pack some bedding in a blue bag. Well leave it with the concierge. Pick it up, but dont come upstairsIve said so.”

“Youre absolute monsters!” Sarah snapped. “Throwing your own daughter out! Youre in a big house while I have to live like some rat in a hole!”

Linda snapped, grabbing the phone.

“Sarah, stop it!” she yelled, making Emily jump. “Your dads right! Its your only chanceroom or the street! Decide now, because tomorrow he wont even pay for that!”

There was silence on the line.

“Fine,” Sarah grunted eventually. “Send me the address. And some money… just put some on my card now, Im starving.”

“No money,” Peter said. “Ill buy food and leave it in the bag. I know what youd spend it on.”

He hung up. Emily realised it was time to appear. She slipped into the kitchen, pretending she just wanted a drink of water, bracing for the familiar wave of frustration. Surely her dad would notice her messy T-shirt, her mum would sigh about not caring while the house fell to pieces…

But they didnt even look up.

“Emily,” her mum called softly.

“Yes, Mum?”

“Theres old sheets and pillowcases in the wardrobe, top shelf. Pack them into the blue bag in the cupboard, will you?”

“Alright, Mum.”

Emily found the bag, shook out some rubbish, and wonderedhow would Sarah cope alone? She couldnt even cook pasta, let alone handle her addiction…

Emily knew her sister wouldnt last two days without a drink.

She climbed on a stool to fetch the linen.
“Dont forget towels!” her dad called from the kitchen.
“Already packed them!” Emily replied.

Peter went to the hall, put on his shoes, and left quietly to search for the “doss-house” hed promised.

Emily returned to the kitchen. Her mum sat there, still as a statue.

“Mum, do you want a pill?” she whispered, edging closer.

Her mum lifted her gaze.

“You know, Em…” she began in a strange, flat voice, “when she was little, I always thoughtshell grow up to be my helper, my best friend to chat about everything. Now I just hope she remembers the address of the room. Just hope she makes it there…”

“Shell make it,” Emily said, perching on a chair. “She always lands on her feet.”

“Not this time,” Mum shook her head. “Her eyes arent the same nowtheyre empty, like theres nothing left inside. Just a shell that needs topping up with poison. And I see the fear she puts in you…”

Emily was silentshed always thought her parents were too busy saving “lost” Sarah to care about her.

“I thought you didnt care about me,” she whispered.

Her mother reached over and stroked her hair.
“We do care. But were empty ourselves. You know how on a plane, they tell you to put your mask on first, then the childs? We tried to save Sarah for ten years, Em. Ten years! Private clinics, dubious healers, everything. In the end, we could barely breathe ourselves.”

The doorbell rang. Emily jumped.

“Is that her?” she asked, fearfully.

“No, your dads got the key. Probably the grocery delivery he ordered.”

Emily fetched two heavy bags from the delivery man, carried them to the kitchen, and started unpacking: rice, tins, oil, tea, sugarnothing extra.

“She wont eat any of this,” Emily noted, setting aside the porridge. “She likes ready meals.”

“If she wants to live, shell learn to cook,” her mums old firmness returned briefly. “Spoiling her will kill her in the end.”

An hour later, Peter returned looking like hed worked three shifts in a row.

“Sorted,” he said. “Got the keys. Landladys an old ex-teacher, tough as nails. Told meone whiff of drink or the slightest racket, shes out. I said: chuck her out immediately if she causes problems.”

“Peter…” Mum sighed.

“What? Enough lies. She needs to know the truth.”

He took the bag and the groceries to the door.

“Ill leave all this with the concierge, let her know where to collect it. Emily, bolt the door behind me. If the phone rings, dont answer.”

He left. Mum locked herself in the kitchen and burst into tears.

Emilys heart ached. How did it come to this? Sarah just existed, drifting from one binge to the next and wouldnt let their parents live in peace…

***
Their parents resolve didnt hold outa week later, the landlady called to say shed thrown Sarah out with the help of the police after she brought three men back and partied all night.

Still, Linda and Peter couldnt abandon their daughterthey had Sarah taken to a rehabilitation centre, a strictly controlled place that promised a years cure for drink.

Who knowsmaybe a miracle will happen after all…