For years, I stayed silent and endured my mother. But one event changed everything.

I was seventeen when my father left us. My mother worked tirelessly, holding down two jobs, but never earning much. We scrimped and saved wherever we could. In our family, fruit and sweet treats appeared only at Christmastime. I never had the courage to ask my mother for anything. I did my best to support myself and lighten her burden. I had a younger sister, and together with my mother we did all we could to make sure she didnt feel inferior.
Sadly, my fathers departure wasnt the end of our troubles. Not long after, my mother suffered a stroke and was taken to hospital. From that day on, she couldnt walk. She received a disability pension, but it was never enough. Life wasnt easy, but I tried to have faith that things would improve.
I was forced to leave my studies, for now I was the sole breadwinner. Looking after my poorly mother and my sister was harder than I could have imagined. Many people offered their help, but I always refused. Before her illness, my mother had been a gentle and genuine woman. After the stroke, though, everything changed.
First, she lamented her misfortune, and then she turned her complaints to my sister and me. She scolded us for poor cooking, for untidy cleaning, or for spending money on ourselves.
I tried not to let her words wound me. She was unwell, and I could understand why she was so bitter. Still, it stung that she never appreciated how much I did. Friends often urged me to hire a nurse for her and to find another job. I had opportunities to earn more elsewhere, but that would mean leaving my mother in someone elses care. How could I do that? Mother had two daughters, and for a stranger to tend to her needs felt wrong. I couldnt bring myself to abandon her.
Her complaints grew more relentless. She criticised us for every little purchase, even though we spent as little as possible.
I kept silent and endured patiently for a long time. But one event changed how I viewed my mother forever.
I fell ill. My head throbbed, my fever rose, and I couldnt stop coughing. I didnt sleep at all that night, and in the morning I decided I needed to see the doctor. My sister noticed how unwell I was. She got ready for school, hugged me, and begged me not to delay seeing a doctor. My mother, as usual, insisted I needed no such thing. Young people recovered quickly enough, she said. Her situation was far worse. Any money spent on doctors would be squandered, as Id just have the flu. She accused me of not caring for her and even said I wanted her to die.
I listened and quietly wept. Honestly, I felt utterly depleted. For my mothers sake I’d abandoned my studies and taken on hard work, though Id had far better prospects. I suppose I reached my breaking pointI shouted at her and told her exactly what I thought.
The doctors examination revealed pneumonia. He insisted I needed hospital care, but that was never an option for me. I couldnt leave my sister alone with my mother. I bought the medicine I needed and went to my friends house.
Emma welcomed me in, scolding me for wandering about instead of staying warm under a blanket. We talked for ages. I told her everything about my mother and asked her to help me find a nurse. I also needed somewhere new to live; I simply couldnt stay at home any longer.
Emma offered me her spare room and suggested I return home only for my essentials.
When I went back, my mother was waitingand, predictably, she screamed and ranted as soon as I opened the door. She never asked how I was, only counted her money again. I fed her, then went to my room for a rest, knowing Id never live there again.
Emma quickly came through for me. She found a nurse for my mother and let me stay with her. I changed jobs, and since then, I havent visited my mother. Perhaps I seem heartless, but I did absolutely everything for her and never received a word of thanks. Was it worth all the effort? I still have my life ahead.
Every month, I send money for my mothers needs and to pay the nurse. I even provide extra. Victoria, the woman who cares for her, says my mother remembers us less and less. She no longer wishes us happy birthdays, even though my sister and I never forget hers. But that isnt what matters most. I managed to change jobs and soon Ill move out from Emmas flat. My sister and I plan to rent our own place. She supports me, saying, You have to care for your parents, but not when its slowly killing you.And so, for the first time in years, the air felt lighter. My sister and I sat together in our tiny new kitchen, surrounded by mismatched chairs and stacks of unopened boxes, eating applesjust because we could. We looked at each other and laughed, the joy ringing bright and clear.
Our lives had been shaped by hardship and sacrifice, but now, side by side, we chose something new. I thought of my mother oftennot with anger, but with a gentle ache, like a scar that had healed but never vanished. Through all the turmoil, Id learned that caring is not about losing yourself to someone elses pain. Sometimes, the greatest kindness is letting go.
One evening, as the city lights flickered outside our window, my sister pressed my hand and whispered, Thank you for not giving up. I smiled, feeling the warmth of hope for the first time. We would honor our past, but we would build our own futurefilled, finally, with possibility.