Hypochondria or Diagnosis?

Is it a worry or a diagnosis?

I didnt know how to phrase it. She looked as if she were buying a loaf of bread with her last penny.

Inside everything seemed to collapse.

What do you mean? asked Grace.

Literally, sighed her friend. She was in an old, threadbare coat, shoes worn to the soles. She stood at the till, counting pennies, sighing so sadly that I almost wept.

Grace, after the call, let her phone slip from her hand and shut her eyes. She could not believe what she had heard.

Her mother had never lived in luxury, yet now she wanted for nothing. Grace and her husband had looked after her: they bought her a spacious flat in a leafy suburb, paid for a costly refurbishment, and filled the wardrobes with new clothes.

Every week Grace arrived with bags full of groceries, settled the council tax, delivered medicine.

Live and be merry! she would tell her mother, more than once.

But the mother found happiness in her own, peculiar way.

Grace remembered her mothers favourite saying:

Happiness loves quiet.

Of course, it isnt right to flaunt wealth, but wandering about in tatters while the cupboards are bursting with goods is absurd.

Grace paid it no mind until she realised that people had begun to see her mother as poor, miserable, abandoned. It was time to intervene.

Grace barged into the flat, dropped her handbag on the floor, crossed her arms over her chest and stared at her mother.

Mum, tell me, what was that today?

What? the mother asked, naïvely.

What were you wearing on the street?! Grace raised her voice. My friend called, said she saw you in rags, in a tattered coat!

The mother shrugged.

Well, so what? Happiness loves quiet. Im not keen on proving anything to anyone.

Grace froze, trying to process the words.

What?

Happiness loves quiet, the mother repeated obstinately, as if that explained everything.

Youre serious? Grace laughed nervously. Mum, you have a packed fridge, a full wardrobe of new things, a properly renovated flat!

You dont live on the street, youre not a beggar! Cant you at least dress decently?

And what if someone curses you? the mother asked, pursing her lips.

Grace blinked, lost her voice for a heartbeat, then covered her face with her hand.

Mum who would curse you? What would they do? Who are you trying to fool? Everyone knows youre not starving, what are you after?

No one knows anything! the mother snapped suddenly. People see how modest I live and they get it right.

Exactly. If you think happiness loves quiet, why do you complain to everyone?

Whos everyone?

The neighbours, for instance. This morning, on my way to you, I ran into Auntie Lottie. She told me everything.

The mother fell silent, then gathered herself.

What did she say?

That you go on about how hard it is to live on a single pension, how your daughter has forgotten you, doesnt help, and youre barely scraping together bread and water.

The mother didnt flinch.

Yes, my pension is tiny.

Mum, what pension when we cover all your expenses? Why lie to everyone? Why drag me into it?

You understand little, youre still young.

No, Mum, you dont understand. You pretend you have nothing while my husband and I strain to keep you comfortable.

The mother said nothing. Grace stared at the calm, even smug set of her mothers features, and suddenly saw a horrible truth.

Her mother had no intention of changing. She truly believed she was doing the right thing, which meant she would never stop.

Grace had to let the situation run its course until a whisper brushed her ear.

Imagine, she lives on one pension. Poor thing.

Yes, I saw her too, shuffling about in holey trousers, hunting for bargains on food And Ethel, you know how she is

Grace froze on the office doorway. She caught every syllable and decided to test how quickly her colleagues would hush if they sensed her presence.

In an instant a tense hush settled over the room.

Good morning, ladies, Grace smiled coldly. What are you whispering about?

Oh, nothing just idle chatter, stammered one colleague.

We were just talking about how small pensions are these days, another hinted.

Yes, yes, a third nodded hastily, trying to change the subject.

Grace didnt press further. She already knew the answer.

From then on her coworkers treated her with a chill. Invitations to lunch, coffee, afterwork drinks grew rare. Their tone became dry, as if she had done something foul.

The realization that people truly believed the myth irritated Grace to the core.

The worst sting came from the boss. She saw the managers eyes on her: evaluative, tinged with disappointment. One day after the weekly briefing he lingered.

Grace, could I have a word?

She sighed deeply, bracing herself.

Listen, I normally dont pry into personal lives, but rumours are circulating

What? That Im surviving on bread and water? Grace asked bluntly.

The manager hesitated, then answered, Something along those lines.

A surge of anger rose in Grace. Her mothers drama was becoming her own burden. If the gossip affected her husbands business, it could ruin everything. Gossip is a dangerous thing; once people think youre scheming against your own kin, they shun you.

Grace realised this was no longer a harmless family quirk; it threatened their whole way of life. She would not tolerate it any longer.

She slammed the flats door, stripped off her coat without looking at her mother.

We need to talk.

The mother grimaced, guessing the topic.

Again with your complaints

Again? Grace lifted an eyebrow, stepping closer. Mum, do you even understand the mess youve made?

What now?

This time, Grace said dryly, people at work are hinting that Im starving you on purpose.

The mother shrugged nonchalantly.

Ignore it, people gossip anyway.

Mum, you keep telling everyone you have no money! Do you realise they believe you?

The mother pursed her lips, brushed an invisible strand of hair from her forehead.

Only your reputation worries you, she muttered.

Grace froze.

What?

Well, what? the mother shot back, eyes flashing. You run around making a scene, but you only care about yourself.

Grace barely held back a scream.

Fine, she snapped, exhaling sharply. Then lets make a deal. If youre truly in need, Ill stop supporting you.

What?

Exactly, Grace echoed. Youre living on a single pension So Ill stop bringing you groceries, stop paying the flat, stop filling the fridge. See how a real pensioner lives.

The mothers face paled.

You wont do that!

I will, Grace said, meeting her gaze hard. Either you end this charade, or you live exactly as your pension allows.

A heavy silence fell. The mother looked lost; she hadnt expected her daughter to go that far.

Grace turned toward the door.

You have a week to think, she said, pulling her coat tighter. Either you finish this performance, or you start living the way you pretend.

The mother said nothing. Grace left, shut the door behind her, and felt an unexpected calm settle over her. She had spoken, and the problem now lay with her mother.

Two weeks passed since that conversation. Her mother neither called nor texted. At first Grace waited for a reproachful call, then for a dramatic entrance, but silence lingered, and she wondered if she had gone too far.

Now well see, she thought, stepping out of her car.

When her mother opened the door, Grace barely recognised her. Gone were the ragged socks, replaced by tidy house slippers; the stretchedout cardigan was now a clean, knitted jumper, free of holes and frayed knees.

Youve been… destitute? Grace blurted.

Myself? I just wanted to tidy up, her mother muttered.

Grace rolled her eyes.

Right, just wanted to after our talk.

Her mother gave no reply, simply turned and shuffled to the kitchen.

At work, things shifted too. Colleagues began inviting Grace for coffee again, discussing projects without forced smiles. The most chatty ones lost interest in probing her personal life.

Grace didnt want a fight with her mother, but the episode taught her that even with family, boundaries must be drawn.

Her mother could believe anything, hide behind superstitions, but only until her theatre began to wreck other lives.

Happiness truly loves quiet, Grace thought as she walked out of the office. But only if that quiet isnt built on lies.