I Gave You Life, Didn’t I?

17March

Im sitting on the edge of the old terraced flat in Manchester, the flickering glow of the TV still washing the cracked plaster in a dull amber. The echo of Michaels voice still rings in the hallway, his words ricocheting off the thin walls just as they always have.

Honestly, youre a useless parasite! he shouted, his tone as sharp as the clatter of the broken plate he hurled onto the linoleum. You sit on my throat, drain my money, and you cant even wash a dish!

Sarah curled tighter on the sofa, the tears tracking down the back of her hand. The mascara shed smudged earlier ran down her cheeks, turning her face into a tragic mask.

Im exhausted too! I heard her whisper, a raw edge to her words. Do you have any idea how hard it is for a woman to keep a household together?

What household? Michael sneered, kicking the shards of the plate. Theres no household here, just a barnyard! Im slogging at the plant like a condemned man, come home and find a pigsty!

I pressed my back against the wall of my cramped bedroom, trying not to breathe. These shouting matches broke out almost every evening, yet I could never get used to them.

You dont love me at all! Youre always picking at me! Sarahs voice cracked into a hysterical wail. You never loved me; you married me out of pity!

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

I clutched my ears, hoping the sound would stop, but the words sliced through my fingers and lodged themselves in my mind, leaving dirty marks. I despised those nights the helpless sobbing of my mum, the furious roar of my dad, and the shame that I couldt change a thing.

I cant take this any longer! Michael roared, something heavy crashing to the floor. Enough! Im fed up being the milkcow for both of you!

I heard my dads footsteps retreat into the bedroom, the wardrobe creaking as it shut. A long, tense silence settled, broken only by my mums soft sobs. I nudged the door ajar and peeked into the hallway.

Michael hauled an old gym bag from the bedroom, stuffed with his belongings. His face was beet red, the veins on his temples throbbing. He didnt even glance at me as he passed.

Where are you going? Sarah sprang up, smearing fresh mascara across her cheeks. Mike, stop!

Ive had enough. Im leaving.

You cant! We have a child!

Emily will stay with you. Sort out your mess yourself. Maybe this will finally make you work for once!

He slammed the front door shut with a bang. Sarah collapsed onto the hallway floor, a wail of helplessness escaping her lips. I rushed to her side, kneeling beside her.

Mum, calm down

Hes abandoned us! she clutched my shoulder, her face buried in my chest. How can a man just walk away from his wife and daughter?

I stroked her tangled hair, trying to swallow my own rising tears. Hed simply walked out, leaving us alone in that damp, musty flat. I held Mum tighter, and in that instant he seemed a monster beyond belief.

—

Years rushed past faster than I could have imagined: fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. With each birthday, the veil of childhood naiveté lifted a little more.

Mum never found work. Shed rise around midday, brew herself a tea, park herself in front of the telly and stay there until nightfall. When I trudged home from school, the flat was a mess dishes piled in the sink, dust coating the furniture, laundry left untouched.

Mum, why dont you even wash the dishes?

Im exhausted, my head hurts.

Youve been sitting at home all day!

You think you can lecture me? Sarah snapped, pouting like a sulky child. Im your mother!

I learned to be quiet. I learned to march straight from school into the kitchen, cooking, cleaning, washing. On weekends I sold flyers at the Piccadilly station £3 a shift. Later I picked up a parttime job as a waitress in a café, evenings and weekends.

The money went to food, utilities, the bare necessities. Mum would reach for the next bundle of cash, her eyes narrowing if the amount seemed insufficient.

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

Mum, Im still in school. Im already pulling fifteen hours a week.

And what? I was married at your age.

I bit my tongue hard enough to draw blood. Yes, married to a man who kept the roof over our heads while I lounged on the sofa.

—

After school I enrolled in a parttime university course; fulltime was out of reach financially. I had to work even harder. I landed a job in a restaurant with better tips. My legs ached after each shift, my back screamed, but I kept going. What else could I do?

Make something decent for dinner, Sarah would say without looking up from her latest soap opera. Im fed up with your pasta.

Mum, Im off to work in half an hour.

Make it quick. Im stuck here alone all day, at least treat me to a proper meal.

I would simmer borscht at half past five in the morning, leave the pot on the hob, and Mum would reheat it for lunch, never bothering to wash the plate afterward.

One day the restaurant manager, Olga, asked me a question that changed everything.

Emily, does your mum want a cleaning job? We have a vacancy, decent pay, flexible hours.

I practically bounced on my heels.

Seriously? That would be brilliant!

Give me her number, Ill call.

At home I mentioned it cautiously. Sarahs face twisted as if Id offered her a rotten apple.

A cleaner? Are you joking?

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

Ill never mop floors!

But were barely scraping by! If you helped even a little

Im exhausted at home! Sarahs voice rose to a shrill pitch. I can barely get out of bed! My blood pressure is through the roof!

My pressure is from sitting still all day! I snapped, feeling the old anger flare. I gave birth to you, and this is how you speak to me?

My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms. Birth became my excuse for everything.

Olga eventually persuaded Sarah to attend a interview. Under my steady stare, Mum agreed. She showed up for a week, returning each night with a sour expression, grimacing at the mere mention of her duties.

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

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

Its too hard. My back aches, my legs swell.

On the eighth day Mum simply didnt go. She turned off her alarm and slept until noon. Olga later called to say shed been let go.

Emily, Im sorry. I thought

Its fine. Thanks for trying.

The second time I found Mum a gig as a stallholder in a market vegetable kiosk. The manager needed a hand. She signed up, but after three days she quit with a note complaining about the cold, rude customers, and the pitiful wages.

Mum, you didnt even finish a week to earn your first paycheck!

I cant! You dont understand how hard it is for me! My blood pressure, you know!

A wave of fury crashed over me; I flung myself onto the balcony for twenty minutes, breathing in the cold air.

She didnt get it. Shed been working twelvehour days, studying, holding up the whole household. And still she claimed I didnt understand.

The arguments never stopped. Mum demanded more money, better food, new clothes. I tried to explain I physically couldnt earn more.

Then find another job!

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

I didnt get any sleep when I was young, either.

You married young! And now you just lounge on the sofa!

How dare you!

She hurled dishes, mugs, even the remote at me. I dodged, feeling a numb indifference grow inside. I was twenty, just twenty, yet already a horse pulled to its breaking point.

One evening, after a grueling shift, I came home to find Mum surrounded by empty supermarket bags.

You bought a cake? I asked, staring at the massive creamladen confection on the table.

Of course. Wanted something sweet.

For £15?

Mum, that couldve fed us for a week!

These are my money! You gave it to me!

I spent it on food! Proper food rice, meat!

Dont shout at me! Sarah crossed her arms, jutting her chin forward. Im tired of your complaints! Work more if you need money!

I froze, my ears ringing.

Enough, I managed through clenched teeth.

What? Sarah snapped, her gaze drilling into me.

I wont give you another penny. I need the cash for transport, tuition, for

For yourself, obviously! Selfish!

I raised you, sacrificed everything, and you

You never sacrificed! You just lay there while Dad worked! You lay there when he left! And you still lie while Im the one who scrapes!

I turned and fled to my room, slammed the door, and sat on the bed, shaking as I pulled out my phone. I opened job sites for other cities, scrolling through numbers, addresses, conditions. Suddenly it hit me I could leave. I could simply walk away.

The next two weeks were a haze. I gathered documents, hunted for a cheap room, arranged a remote callcentre job in a neighboring county. Mum remained oblivious, entrenched in another episode of her favourite drama and endless grievances.

The night before I left, I barely slept. I packed the essentials clothes, papers, my laptop and slipped a note onto the kitchen table: I finally understand why Dad walked away. It was because of you. Now its my turn.

Mum was still asleep when I quietly closed the flats door behind me and headed for the bus station. I felt both a traitor and a freed captive.

Three hours later my phone rang.

Where are you? Sarahs voice trembled. Where have you gone?

Ive left, Mum.

How did you leave? Where to?

To another town. I need to start living on my own.

You have no right! she screamed, the words ricocheting off the walls. Im your mother! Youre supposed to support me!

No, Im not.

Come back now! You cant just abandon me!

I can.

Youre just like your father! Selfish!

I hung up, blocked her number, jammed my earbuds in and cranked the music until the voices in my head faded.

The new town greeted me with rain and a chill wind. The rented room in a student hall was tiny a bed, a desk, a wardrobe but it was my space.

I lay there, thinking of the father who fled when I was fourteen, and the mother who turned me into a milkcow. Forgiving them? No. I couldnt forgive the father for abandoning us, nor the mother for exploiting me as a substitute for the missing breadwinner.

I wiped the damp cheeks from my face, opened my laptop. Tomorrow would be a fresh start frightening, uncertain, but finally free.