“Daughter Left for Her Father’s”
“Don’t you dare tell me what to do!” shouted Emily, shoving her clothes into a bag. “I’ve had enough! Nothing but rules and restrictions!”
“Emily, love, calm down,” Sarah pleaded, reaching for her daughter’s hand. “Let’s talk this through properly.”
“I don’t want to talk!” The seventeen-year-old wrenched her hand free and kept stuffing jeans and T-shirts into her backpack. “Dad lets me do whatever I want, but here I can’t even stay out past eleven!”
“Eleven? Emily, you’re seventeen, not twenty-five! And who are you even meeting out that late?”
“My friends! Other parents trust their kids—but you… you don’t even get life!”
A lump rose in Sarah’s throat. This was it—the moment she’d dreaded. Eight years raising Emily alone after splitting with James. Eight years of sacrifice—her career, her personal life, her own dreams. And now she was just a nagging mother who didn’t understand.
“Emily, stop,” Sarah said firmly. “Explain it to me properly. Why are you suddenly leaving for your dad’s?”
Emily spun around. Her eyes were red, but they burned with stubborn fire—just like James’s when he’d made up his mind.
“Because I can’t stand living here! You monitor my every move! Calling every half-hour when I’m with mates! Demanding I account for every second!”
“I worry about you!”
“Well, Dad doesn’t—and he’s doing just fine! He has his own life and doesn’t interfere with mine!”
Sarah sank onto the sofa. Those words stung more than any insult.
“Em, do you remember why Dad doesn’t worry? Because he sees you once a month on weekends. He doesn’t know you skipped maths last Thursday. He’s clueless about your issues with Lucy from another class. He wasn’t the one up all night when you had tonsillitis.”
“But he doesn’t lecture me every day!” Emily shot back. “And he doesn’t stop me seeing Tom!”
There it was. Sarah understood now. Tom Reynolds—Emily’s classmate, a year older. Smoked behind the bike sheds, skipped lessons, parents who never showed for parents’ evening.
“Sweetheart, I’ve explained. That boy—”
“He’s not a boy, he’s my boyfriend! And he’s decent—you just don’t know him!”
“I know he smokes by the school gates and disrespects teachers.”
“So what? That’s his business! At least he doesn’t lie or pretend!”
Emily zipped up her backpack and slung it over her shoulder.
“I’ve made up my mind. Dad’s fine with me moving in.”
“When did you even speak to him?” Sarah asked, stunned.
“Last night. Know what he said? That I’m old enough to choose where I live.”
Of course he did. James always had smooth words, especially for decisions that wouldn’t inconvenience him.
“What about your exams?” Sarah grasped for leverage. “There’s four months left. Are you switching schools?”
“Dad says his area has good ones. Or I might just do homeschooling.”
“Emily, be serious. Homeschooling isn’t a holiday—it’s twice the discipline!”
“I’ll manage at Dad’s,” Emily said stubbornly. “But I’m done here.”
Sarah walked to the window. Outside was the playground where Emily had spent her childhood. Swings, sandpit, slide. How many times had she pushed her daughter on those swings?
“Mum, don’t turn away,” Emily’s voice softened. “I don’t want to fight.”
Sarah turned. Emily stood there, backpack weighing her down, suddenly tiny again—like the little girl she’d once been.
“Then don’t go,” Sarah said. “Let’s compromise. Some rules can change.”
“Like what?” Emily eyed her.
“You can stay out till ten on weekends. And I won’t call every hour.”
“What about Tom?”
Sarah hesitated. That was the sorest point. She’d seen how smitten Emily was—and feared where it might lead. At seventeen, every emotion felt life-or-death.
“Bring him round,” she said finally. “Let me meet him properly. Maybe I’ll change my mind.”
“Really?” Hope lit Emily’s face.
“Really. But only if you stay.”
Emily dropped the backpack.
“Fine. But if you’re rude to him, I’m still leaving.”
“Deal.”
Sarah hugged her daughter—who, for once, didn’t pull away. Emily’s heart pounded against her: grown-up yet still so young.
Later, over tea and biscuits, Emily stirred her cup thoughtfully.
“Mum… why did you and Dad split?”
The question blindsided Sarah. Emily had been a toddler when it happened—she’d never asked for details.
“It’s complicated,” Sarah said carefully.
“Try me. I’m grown-up, remember?”
Sarah studied her. Seventeen—the age she’d been when she first dated James.
“We wanted different things,” she began. “Dad loved freedom; I needed stability. He dreamed of travelling; I wanted a home. When you came along, those differences got bigger.”
“Was it my fault?” Emily’s voice wavered.
“No! You were the one thing holding us together. We split because we couldn’t agree on anything else.”
“Did Dad want the divorce?”
Sarah paused. How to explain James had bolted from responsibility? That he’d bailed when faced with night feeds, childhood illnesses, budgets?
“Dad thought it was best,” she said diplomatically.
“And you?”
“I wanted to make it work. But it takes two.”
Emily nodded. “Mum… do you regret having me?”
“Emily!” Sarah nearly knocked over her tea. “You’re the best thing in my life!”
“But you never remarried. Never had a career.”
“Who told you that?”
“No one. I just know. Aunt Lauren’s always saying you should date.”
Sarah sighed. Her sister was always playing matchmaker.
“Love, I didn’t remarry because I never met the right person. As for my career… some things matter more.”
“Like what?”
“You. Your happiness.”
Emily was quiet, then asked: “If I’d left… would you have got a boyfriend?”
Sarah laughed. “‘Got a boyfriend’? Like adopting a kitten?”
“You know what I mean!”
“Maybe. First I’d have learned to live without you.”
“Would you have missed me?”
“Every second.”
Emily hugged her. “Sorry about today. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
The next day, Emily brought Tom home. Sarah expected a hoodied troublemaker—but found a lanky teen with surprisingly steady hands.
“Nice to meet you,” he said politely.
Dinner revealed Tom loved literature, studied history, and planned for uni.
“Still smoking?” Sarah asked bluntly.
“Trying to quit,” he admitted. “I know it’s rubbish. Hard to stop, though.”
“And the teacher trouble?”
Tom flushed. “Only with Mrs. Carter in physics. She marks me down unfairly.”
“Why?”
“Says my attitude’s bad. Gives me Cs even when I ace tests.”
Sarah nodded. Mrs. Carter had a habit of labelling kids.
“What’s next after school?”
“Journalism. I like writing.”
“Parents supportive?”
Tom’s face darkened. “Dad drinks. Mum works two jobs. They’re not… around much.”
Sarah glanced at Emily, who listened with heartbreaking tenderness.
Later, Emily bounced on her heels. “Well? He’s alright, yeah?”
“He is,” Sarah admitted. “I misjudged him.”
“So we can date?”
“Yes. But rules: home by ten, no skipping school.”
“Deal!” Emily hugged her fiercely.
A week later, James called.
“Sarah. Em said she’s not moving in?”
“We worked it out,” Sarah said curtly.
“Good. Honestly, I’ve got renovations—no space.”
Of course. Always an excuse.
“James, why say yes without asking why she wanted to leave?”
“She seemed sure. Thought she needed a change.”
“Did it occur to you she might just be upset with me?”
“Sarah, no need to rake it up. It’s sorted.”
“Yes—without you.”
He sighed. “Why dwell on it? Everyone’s happy.”
Sarah hung up. Same old James—charming, careless with others’ lives.
That evening, she told Emily.
“He really said he didn’t know what to do with me?” Emily asked.
“Yes.”
“I thought he missed me… wanted me there.”
“He loves you—in his way. But not the daily responsibility.”
“And you do?”
“Have done for eight years.”
Emily cuddled beside her. “Mum… promise we’ll never live apart?”
“You’ll grow up, move out—”
“Not forever. Just…”Promise me we’ll always find our way back to each other, no matter what,” Emily whispered, and Sarah held her close, knowing some bonds could never be broken.