I Brought You Into This World!

I am still haunted by the memory of how it all began, long before the citys skyline was anything but a smudge on the horizon.

Yeold, youre nothing but a burden! Michaels voice boomed through the cramped flat, ricocheting off the narrow hallway. You sit on my throat, waste my hardearned cash, and cant even wash a plate!

Helen flinched on the battered sofa, wiping tears from the back of her hand. The cheap lipstick smeared across her cheeks, turning her face into a sad mask.

Im exhausted too! You have no idea how hard it is for a woman to keep a home running! she snapped.

What home? Theres no home here! Michael hurled a dirty dish to the floor. The shards scattered like a fan across the linoleum. Its a barnacle! Everywheres a barnacle! I slave at the factory like a dog, come home and its a pigsty!

Fourteenyearold Emily pressed her back against the plastered wall of her tiny bedroom, holding her breath. Such eruptions were a neardaily affair, yet she never grew used to them.

You dont love me at all! Youre always picking at me! Her mothers voice rose to a hysterical shriek. Never loved you! I married you out of pity!

Sure, not out of love for your laziness! Other wives work, raise kids, and you? You stare at the telly from dawn till dusk!

Emily clapped her hands over her ears, but the words slipped through, digging deep, leaving grimy stains on her mind. She loathed those eveningsthe helpless sobbing of her mother, the roaring anger of her father, and herself for being unable to change a thing.

I cant take this any longer! Michael roared, and something heavy crashed to the floor. Enough! Im fed up being a milch cow for the two of you!

Emily heard her fathers steps retreat to the bedroom, the cupboard door squeaking, then a long silence broken only by her mothers hiccuping sobs. She eased the bedroom door open and peered into the corridor.

Michael trudged out of the bedroom, dragging a battered sports bag bulging with his belongings. His face flushed, the veins on his cheeks pulsing. He gave Emily no glance as he passed.

Where are you going? Helen leapt from the sofa, smearing a fresh wash of lipstick over her face. Mike, wait!

Ive had enough. Im leaving!

You cant! We have a child!

Emily stays with you. Sort out your own mess now. Maybe youll finally see the need to work!

Michael slammed the door shut with a bang. Helen collapsed on the hallway floor, wailing in helplessness. Emily rushed to her, kneeling beside her.

Mum, calm down

Hes abandoned us! Helen clutched Emilys shoulders, her face pressed to her daughters chest. Can you imagine? Leaving a wife and a child?

Emily stroked her mothers tangled hair, fighting back tears. Hed simply walked out, leaving them alone in that stale, damp flat. She held her mother tighter, and in that instant her father seemed a monster. How could a man do such a thing?

Years slipped by faster than Emily could have guessed fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. With each passing year the veil of childhood misunderstanding lifted, revealing harsh truths.

Helen never took a job. She rose at noon, brewed herself a tea, settled before the television and stayed there till night. Emily would come home from school to a filthy flat: dishes piled in the sink, dust on the furniture, laundry untouched.

Mum, why cant you at least wash the dishes?

Im tired. My head hurts.

Youve been sitting at home all day!

Youll keep telling me what to do? Helen pursed her lips, playing the offended child. Im your mother!

Emily learned to be silent, to arrive from school and dive straight into chorescooking, cleaning, laundry. On weekends she handed out leaflets at the railway station, earning three pounds a shift. Later she found parttime work as a waitress in a local café.

The money went to food, the council tax, the few necessities. Helen would reach for another wad of notes, frowning if the sum seemed too small.

You need to earn more, Emily. Were short of cash.

Mum, Im still studying. Im already working fifteen hours a week.

And what of it? I was married at your age.

Emily bit her tongue until it bled. Married, yes to a man who put her on a sofa while she did nothing, a man who left and never returned.

After school Emily enrolled at a distancelearning college, unable to afford fulltime tuition. She took extra shifts at a restaurant with better tips. Her legs ached, her back throbbed, but she kept going. What else could she do?

Make something decent for dinner, Helen said, eyes glued to another soap opera. Im sick of your macaroni.

Mum, I have to head to work in half an hour.

Make it quick. I sit here all day; at least treat me to a proper meal.

Emily boiled borscht at half past five, left the pot on the hob. Helen reheated it at lunchtime, then plonked the empty plate back in front of the telly without washing it.

One day at work Emily struck up a chat with the restaurant manager, Olivia.

Listen, does your mother want to be a cleaner for us? Weve got a vacancy, decent pay, flexible hours.

Emilys eyes widened.

Really? That would be wonderful!

Give me her number, Ill call.

At home Emily hesitantly mentioned the offer. Helen grimaced as if her daughter had brought home a rotten fish.

A cleaner? Are you serious?

Mum, its a respectable job, good pay, flexible schedule.

I wont be washing floors!

But were barely getting by! If you helped even a bit

Im exhausted at home! Helens voice rose to a shrill pitch. Its hard to even get out of bed! My blood pressure is through the roof!

My pressure is from not moving at all!

You think you can talk to me like that? I gave birth to you, and you

Emily clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms. I gave birth to you, became her shield for every grievance.

Olivia managed to coax Helen in for an interview. Helen agreed, partly because Emily hovered like a hawk, not letting her refuse. She worked a week, returning with a sour expression, grimacing at the mention of duties.

Its a nightmare! Filth everywhere! They expect me to clean it all!

Mum, youre a cleaner. Thats the point of the job.

My back hurts, my legs swell.

On the eighth day Helen simply didnt show up. She turned off the alarm and slept until noon. Olivia later called to say Helen had been dismissed.

Ler Im sorry, I thought

Its fine. Thanks for trying.

Emily found another spot for her mother as a stallseller in a market. The managers friend needed a replacement. Helen took it, but after three days she returned with a complaint about the cold, the customers, and the pitiful wages.

Mum, you didnt even finish your first paycheck!

I cant! I cant, you hear? You never understand how hard it is! My blood pressure, for heavens sake!

Emilys fury surged; she stepped onto the balcony and stood there for twenty minutes, breathing the brisk air.

Does she not get it? She toiled twelvehour days, studied, shouldered the whole household. Yet she still didnt understand?

The fights never ceased. Helen demanded more money, better food, new clothes. Emily tried to explain she simply couldnt earn more.

Find another job then!

Mum, Im studying! I only get five hours of sleep!

I didnt sleep much in my youth either.

You married young! And now you lounge on the sofa all day!

How dare you!

Helen hurled dishes, mugs, the remote at her daughter. Emily ducked, feeling a numb indifference grow inside. She was twenty, barely out of her teens, and already felt like a beast of burden pulling a weight far beyond her strength.

One evening, after an especially grueling shift, Emily walked in to find Helen amid a mountain of empty supermarket bags.

You bought a cake? Emily asked, staring at the massive cream confection on the table.

Yes, I fancied something sweet.

For a thousand pounds? Mum, we could have scraped by for a week with that!

Its my money! You gave it to me!

I gave it for food! Proper food! For grains, for meat!

Dont yell at me! Helen crossed her arms, jutting her chin forward. Im fed up with your complaints! Work harder if you need more!

Emilys teeth clenched.

Enough, she whispered through gritted teeth.

What? Helen snapped, eyes like daggers.

I wont give you another penny. I need it for my bus fare, for college, for

For yourself, of course! Selfish! Helen hissed. I raised you, sacrificed everything, and you?

You never sacrificed! You just lay around while Father worked! You lay while he left! And you keep lying while I slog away!

Emily turned and fled to her room, slamming the door. She sat on the bed, trembling hands dialing job sites in other towns. Numbers, addresses, conditions flashed before her, and a thought struckshe could leave. Just walk out.

The next two weeks drifted like a thick fog. Emily gathered documents, scouted cheap rooms, negotiated remote work at a call centre in a neighbouring county. Helen remained oblivious, glued to another drama and whining about life.

On the final night she barely slept. She packed the essentialsclothes, papers, a laptopinto a battered suitcase, leaving a note on the kitchen table: I finally see why Father left. It was because of you. Now its my turn.

Helen was still asleep when Emily quietly closed the flats door behind her. She headed for the bus station, feeling both a traitor and a freed captive.

The first call came three hours later.

Where are you? Helens voice trembled. What have you done?

Ive left, Mum.

Where to? How?

To another town. I need to start a life of my own.

You have no right! Her mother shrieked, the sound shaking Emilys resolve. I am your mother! You must support me!

No, I dont have to.

Come back at once! You cant abandon me!

I can.

Youre just like your father selfish!

Emily hung up, blocked the number, slipped on headphones and turned the volume up, drowning out the echo of those accusations.

The new town greeted her with rain and a chill wind. The rented dorm room was tiny a bed, a desk, a wardrobe but it was hers.

Emily lay on the narrow bed, thinking of the father who fled when she was fourteen, and the mother who turned her into a milking cow.

Forgive them? No. She could not forgive a father who vanished, leaving her and her mother to fend for themselves. She could not forgive a mother who used her as a standin for the absent breadwinner.

She no longer had a family, but she had something else: the right to live as she chose, the right not to feel guilty for every penny she kept.

She wiped the rain from her cheeks, opened her laptop. Tomorrow would bring a new life hard, frightening, and full of unknowns. Yet it would finally be free.