Sophie always sensed her mother didn’t love her. No, not quite—her father loved her more. Dad would smile when he picked her up from nursery, never shouted, never scolded, patiently explaining homework when she started school. Mum rarely smiled, snapping at Sophie over the littlest things. Called her a nuisance, her misfortune. *”Go away!” “Stop bothering me.” “Always underfoot, you’re nothing but trouble.”* Mum lost her temper fast.
*”Mum, I can’t do this sum. Help me?”* Sophie would ask. Mum would glance at the exercise book and shake her head.
*”God knows where you got such thick-headedness. What’s so hard about it? Too used to your father spoon-feeding you. Use your brain and figure it out. I’ve been working all day, lugging heavy bags from the shop, cooking—I’m tired, and you bother me with stupid questions…”*
Tears dripped onto neat rows of numbers and letters, ink smudging, betraying her. Seeing the wet spots, Mum would shout louder. Sophie hunched her shoulders, squeezing her eyes shut. Then came the sharp flick to the back of her head or the tea towel cracking against her back. The book would fly off the table. Sophie cried quietly. Loud sobs only made Mum angrier.
*”Get a new book and copy it all again,”* Mum ordered. And Sophie did, her hand trembling, letters jagged.
Dad came home from work, stroked her hair, praised her. She waited till he finished supper to help with homework, but he’d doze off in front of the telly. If he stayed awake, Mum complained Sophie couldn’t think for herself—his fault for spoiling her. Dad weakly defended himself, earning more blame. Because of Sophie, Mum dropped out of university, *”stuck slaving for pennies.”* Why hadn’t he let her *”get rid of it”?* Now he was stuck with a useless child…
*”Stop it! Sophie’ll hear,”* Dad tried.
*”Let her! Let her know she ruined my life, tossed it all away. And you—”*
Sophie heard everything. Knew Mum’s life would be better without her. Mum said so. So Sophie dreamed of vanishing. A hurricane whisking her far away, to a wizard who’d fix everything.
Then the shouting stopped. Mum fetched wine from the fridge.
*”Again? You promised.”*
*”Your fault. Nerves are shot. This’ll calm me.”* Drunk, Mum grew chatty, even laughed.
One fight too many. Dad left.
*”I’ve had enough. Always someone else’s fault. Other wives work, cook, shop—no complaints. Impossible to live with you. If I rile you so much, best I go.”*
*”Go, then. Wrecked my life, now running off?”* A cup shattered.
Sophie wanted to stop him, but feared Mum. Mum muttered in the kitchen, then silence. Sophie swept up shards, watched Mum sprawled on the bed in her clothes. Suddenly, Mum’s eyes opened.
*”What’re you staring at? Piss off.”*
*”Will Dad come back?”*
*”Where else would he go? Switch the light off.”*
Sophie obeyed, crept under the covers, listening for Dad. Next morning, she dressed herself, woke Mum, dashed to school.
*”Dad didn’t come back?”* she asked after school.
*”Gone, your dad. Sick of us. Go, then. Find a new mum. Think she’ll love you more?”* Mum wept drunken tears.
Dad didn’t return. Two days later, he met Sophie at school. She hugged him, crying.
*”Dad, why’d you leave? Take me.”*
*”Nowhere to take you. Squatting at a mate’s. Don’t cry. Mum doesn’t love *me.* Not your fault.”*
At first, they met. He’d wait after school, buy her chocolate. A quick walk—then back to work.
Then the visits stopped. By the time Mum came home, Sophie boiled pasta, peeled potatoes. No praise. Few words—unless Mum drank.
Sophie grew up, snapped back. Mum drank daily now. After Mum passed out, Sophie cleared bottles, washed dishes, then watched the moon drift behind clouds, dreaming of escape.
Once, Mum brought a man home. He drank little, reined her in. She obeyed him.
*”Pretty daughter,”* he said, gaze slick.
*”Touch her, you’re out,”* Mum warned.
Sophie locked her room, stayed with friends. Survived till graduation.
*”Mum, I need a dress for prom.”*
*”No money.”*
*”There’s never money. Drink less.”*
*”Ask your dad. He’s doing well. Alimony’s not enough—make him pay. His garage, near the high street.”*
*”You’ve seen him?”*
*”Hardly. Alimony comes from there.”*
Sophie hadn’t seen Dad in years. Would she know him? Childhood memories—a kind, burly man. Why hadn’t she thought to visit?
*”Want me to come?”* her friend asked.
*”No. I’ll go.”*
Dad worked at a furniture workshop. The guard wouldn’t let her in, called him out. Long wait. Then—there he was. Grey-haired, heavier. But him.
He knew her. No surprise, no joy. *”Half an hour,”* he told the guard. They sat on a bench.
*”All grown up. Look like your mum, young.”*
*”She drinks. Shouts when sober.”*
*”What year are you?”*
*”Just finished. Prom’s left. Came to ask for a dress. Mum’s skint.”*
*”No cash on me. Got a card?”*
Sophie gave her number.
*”Now?”* she brightened.
While he transferred money, she asked about his family.
*”Wife, two kids. Hers from first marriage—works now. Ours is eleven.”*
Her phone chimed.
*”Thanks! That’s loads!”*
*”Never too much. Buy what you need. Uni plans?”*
*”Distance learning. Work too. Moving to Manchester with my mate. Won’t stay here.”*
*”What about your mum?”*
*”What about her? She won’t care. Can I go?”*
*”Keep my number. Call if you need.”*
A pause. Then—Sophie hugged him. Surprised herself.
*”Don’t hate me, love. Couldn’t stay. You know.”*
*”Why’d you never come?”*
*”Nothing to show. Sofa-surfed. Then married… I saw you by school. You walked right past.”*
After prom, Sophie left town. A final row with Mum—*”Just like your dad, abandoning me!”*
*”Want me gone? You said I ruined your life.”*
*”Grown a mouth, have you? Go on, then!”*
Mum didn’t see her off.
In Manchester, Sophie crashed with her friend’s relatives. Unwelcome. Worked, barely home. Still—*”in the way.”* Flats were too pricey.
Then—an ad: *”Live-in carer needed.”* They wanted experience, but Sophie pushed for a meeting. An old woman with dementia. The daughter—overwhelmed.
*”Can’t pay much.”*
*”Don’t need pay. Need a roof.”*
Two peaceful years—until the woman died. Sophie couch-surfed till a tip-off—*”Ask the dean for a dorm.”*
*”Only for exams!”*
*”Go with *something.*”*
The dean’s office balked—then offered: *”Laundry job. Comes with a room.”*
She took it. Cleaned lecture halls too. Graduated, got a proper job, a flat.
One day—Dad’s wife called. He’d died. Funeral in her hometown. A quick trip.
*”Seen your mum lately?”*
*”No. Left badly. Why?”*
*”She’s ill. Not long. Drink rotted her. That man left. Alone now—hospital won’t keep her.”*
*”How d’you know?”*
*”Friend works there. See her. She’s still your mum.”*
At the hospital, Mum didn’t recognise her at first. Gaunt, head-scarfed—an old woman.
*”What’re you gawping at? Here for the flat? Tough.”*
Coughing fit. Rage masking helplessness.
The doctor pulled Sophie aside.
*”She can’t stay. Needs care.”*
Bitterness warred with duty. The mother who’d hated her, blamed her—now dying. The flat was filthy. Sophie cleaned, changed sheets, made broth. Brought Mum home by taxi.
The next morning, Sophie found her mother cold in bed, the apology still hanging in the air between them like the ghost of a love they’d never had.