– Mum, why are you so quiet? – Chloe stood by the kitchen window, watching her mother sort through rice. – Em has already apologized fifty times. How long are you going to hold onto this grudge?
Margaret Thompson didn’t look up. Her hands moved mechanically, sifting rice from debris, as if the task demanded unshakable focus.
“I suppose she apologized,” Margaret said flatly, her voice devoid of warmth. “But where was she when I was unwell? Where was your dear Em when I was lying in that hospital bed?”
Chloe sighed, exhaustion creeping into her shoulders. This feud had lingered for over a year, and any mention of her younger sister turned her mother into a stone.
“Mum, she explained it. Luna was ill, fevered to 40 degrees. She couldn’t have left her!”
“Couldn’t,” Margaret mocked, not missing a beat. “But when she needed money for the flat, suddenly leaving the child was no problem. Work waited, the baby waited—nothing got in her way then.”
Chloe sat across from her. At fifty-three, the weight of this endless family drama had worn her out. Mediating between mother and sister was an unbearable burden.
“Mum, listen to me. Em really regrets it. She cries every day. She had no choice at the time.”
“Choice is a fickle thing,” Margaret cut in. “Even a phone call could have helped. A single message to ask if I was alive or dead. But she vanished, like a ghost. Not even a whisper.”
Chloe remembered the nightmare. Margaret had suffered a heart attack while Em raced between hospitals with her three-year-old daughter, Luna, battling a high fever—doctors feared meningitis.
And then there was the flat. The couple had saved for five years, but an urgent opportunity arose. Margaret had offered to help financially, but her health deteriorated just as the deal sprinted forward.
“You know the worst part?” Margaret continued, still fixing the rice. “Not that she didn’t come. It’s that she didn’t even try. Not one phone call to ask if I was still breathing.”
“Mum, she was scared…”
“Scared of what? That I’d tell her everything I thought? I’m willing to say it now. Fifty years of raising her, giving my life for her. Yet when it mattered most, I was nothing to her.”
Chloe saw the tremble in her mother’s hands, the glint of tears in her eyes. It wasn’t just anger—it was a gnawing, festering ache of betrayal.
“Mum, you know how much Em loves you. Remember when she took care of you when your leg was broken? She came every day for a month, brought groceries, helped with the cleaning.”
“I remember,” Margaret nodded. “That’s what makes it worse. I trusted her. Thought I could rely on her.”
The phone rang. Chloe glanced at the screen and saw Em’s name.
“Should I tell her?”
“No,” Margaret said firmly. “Don’t even suggest it. I have nothing to say.”
Chloe stepped into the hallway and answered.
“Hello? Did something get sorted out?” Em’s voice crackled through the line.
“Em, she still won’t speak to you. I don’t know what to do.”
“Chloe, tell her I’m willing to beg, just for her to forgive me. I can’t live like this anymore. Luna keeps asking why Grandma is angry with us.”
“How do you explain it?”
“I say she’s unwell. How else? I can’t tell a three-year-old about being resentful! Chloe, help me. I’m losing my mind over this silence.”
Chloe looked back through the kitchen window. Margaret now chopped onions for patties.
“Em, have you considered just showing up? No calls, no warnings. Go straight to her and talk face-to-face?”
“I’m terrified. What if she doesn’t let me in? Or worse, slams the door?”
“Then stand there until she does. Mum needs actions, not words. She needs to see you fight for your bond.”
Silence hung between them.
“You’re right,” Em finally said. “I’ll go tomorrow morning.”
“But be prepared—it’ll be hard. She’s ruined with bitterness.”
Back in the kitchen, Margaret stirred the rice on the stove.
“Em called?” she asked without turning.
“Yes. She wants to come tomorrow.”
The chopping paused.
“No. Tell her not to come.”
“Mum, maybe we should listen? You’re her mother. How can a fight be more important than family?”
Margaret spun to face her, fire in her eyes.
“A fight? Chloe, do you understand what I’m saying? I nearly died! Lying in intensive care, thinking I’d never see my daughters again. All I could think about was *‘Why hasn’t Em called me yet? Maybe Luna’s in danger?’*”
She dried her hands on a towel and sat down.
“I asked a nurse to call you daily to check on Em. While I was in the hospital, she moved on with her life. She knew where I was, and she said nothing.”
“Mum, she didn’t know how bad it was. You told me not to alarm her.”
“I did! But when the doctors gave me days, when they weren’t sure I’d live, I told you to call her. What did I get? ‘Mum, she can’t come—her priorities are different.’”
Chloe remembered that endless conversation. The desperate choice between her mother’s plea and Em’s plea—between a fading parent and a crumbling sister.
“Mum, try to understand. Em was drowning. Her daughter was nearly lost, the flat deal almost collapsed. She was on the edge of a breakdown.”
“And I wasn’t drowning? Lying there, gasping for breath, heart racing like it’d stop. All I could think of was seeing my daughters again.”
“But I was there. I visited every day.”
“Yes, and I’m grateful. But why could one daughter find time, and the other not?”
Chloe had no answer. Deep down, she knew her mother was right. Back then, Em had felt selfish. Now, that resentment had festered into something monstrous.
“You know what I’ve realized in these months?” Margaret said quietly. “That Em only thinks of me when she needs something. When I’ve needed her, she wasn’t there.”
“Mum, you know how many times she’s helped you. The car, the childcare for Luna, even her asking nothing in return.”
“I do. But I also know she always asked something in return. A loan, a visit, something. And I said yes. I thought we were a family.”
Chloe’s chest tightened. Her mother was right more than she wanted to admit. Em had leaned on her constantly.
“But you weren’t the ideal mother either,” Chloe said gently. “Remember how strict you were with us? How you’d shout when we messed up?”
Margaret’s face softened.
“I remember. I regret it. Maybe that’s why I tried to fix it by helping. I thought it’d erase my mistakes. Instead, I just spoiled her.”
They sat in silence as dusk settled over Manchester. Chloe knew she had to go.
“Mum, promise me one thing. If Em comes tomorrow, don’t push her away at first. Let her say what she has to.”
Margaret hesitated.
“All right. I’ll listen. But that doesn’t mean forgiveness.”
The next morning, Chloe was jolted awake by her phone at half-past six.
“Chloe, I’m heading to Mum’s now,” Em’s voice trembled. “I haven’t slept, thinking about what to say.”
“Em, just speak from your heart. Don’t try to justify—it just explain how you feel.”
“Thank you. I know how hard this is, for both of us.”
Chloe hung up, her stomach churning. Both women were stubborn, but neither would yield first.
By ten, Em stood at her mother’s door in Salford, clutching a bouquet of white chrysanthemums—Margaret’s favorites. Her hands shook so hard, she feared the neighbors would hear her heartbeat.
She rang the bell and heard her mother’s steadying steps. The door creaked open, revealing a thinner, older woman with silvered hair and deep lines.
“Hello, Mum,” Em whispered.
“Hello,” Margaret replied, stepping aside.
They sat at the same kitchen table where Chloe had tried in vain to heal the rift.
“Your favorite flowers,” Margaret noted, though her tone was flat.
“Of course. I’ve missed you,” Em said, placing the bouquet on the table. “Mum, I don’t know how to start.”
“Start with why you’ve ignored me for over a year.”
“I didn’t ignore you. I tried calling, sending texts. You didn’t reply.”
“And before the hospital?”
Em lowered her head. The truth gnawed at her.
“I was scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of losing you, of seeing you weak and unwell. Of worrying I’d make it worse.”
Margaret studied her daughter, eyes unblinking.
“And that’s why you didn’t come?”
“No. Mum, Luna was dying. Her fever spiked to 40 degrees, and I didn’t sleep for days. Then there was the flat deal—suddenly, it felt urgent. I thought we’d have time to fix things later.”
“And when would that have been?”
“When Luna got better. But something happened every day. The fever returned, tests were needed, doctors complicated everything.”
Tears soaked Em’s sleeve, but she spoke without pause.
“I thought of you every day. I begged Chloe to tell you I loved you. But I couldn’t call… Couldn’t say my daughter was more important than you.”
Margaret stared at the flowers.
“The worst part, Em, is realizing you didn’t see me as the closest person in your life.”
“No! You’re everything to me!”
“And yet, I’m less than the flat, less than your child?”
“I didn’t think it was a choice like that!”
“You didn’t give me the chance to know.”
A silence stretched, broken only by the distant cries of children in the yard.
“Mum, I know words can’t fix this. But tell me how to earn your trust back?”
Margaret stood, approaching the window.
“I don’t know, Em. I’ve thought about this for months. I’ve raged, I’ve ached. But I haven’t figured out how to forgive betrayal.”
“It wasn’t betrayal! It was a terrible, selfish mistake. That’s all.”
“Does that matter?”
Em touched her mother’s shoulder.
“Look at me. Look at what I’ve become. I’ve lost ten pounds, haven’t slept in weeks. My husband says I’m not the same person anymore.”
Margaret turned, gazing at her daughter’s haggard face.
“Luna asks why you don’t love us anymore. What do you tell her?”
“I say you’re unwell. But she’s not a fool. She knows something is wrong.”
Margaret exhaled. Luna, her joy—soft, mischievous, full of life. How she’d missed her.
“She’s so grown. So clever. Yesterday, she said, ‘Mummy, let’s go to Grandma and ask for forgiveness. Maybe she’ll forgive us.’ That’s from a three-year-old, Chloe. We’re the adults, and we’ve failed her.”
Em showed a photo: Luna in a new dress, her curls in two neat plaits.
“She asks for the story of Red Riding Hood every night. She still knows your voice, the way you made the wolf’s laugh. Do you remember?”
A tear glinted in Margaret’s eyes.
“She used to laugh so much… Even now, the way she smiles in the picture—it’s her. My little girl.”
“Mum, I don’t ask you to forgive me yet. Just give me a chance to make it right. Let Luna and me back into your life.”
Margaret traced the photo.
“What I’ve realized is that resentment is a heavy burden. It eats at you, day and night.”
“Then let’s get rid of it. Together.”
“It won’t be simple. Trust takes years to rebuild.”
“I’m willing to spend the rest of my life on it.”
Margaret looked at her daughter, then pulled her into an embrace. Both wept.
Later that evening, Chloe received a message: “Thank you. We’ve made peace. I’ll bring Luna to see Grandma.”
Then her mother phoned:
“Chloe, thank you. You were right—family is more important than any grudge.”
Chloe smiled, closing the phone. Years of pain had crumbled in a morning. The road ahead was long, but the first step had been taken.
The next day, Luna, spotting her grandmother, screamed with joy and launched into her arms. Margaret clutched her, feeling the truth settle in: life without family was no life at all.
And in that moment, she understood—forgiveness not only healed the heart that gave it, but the one that sought it.