“No, just look at her! Back at last! And what on earth is that in your nose, may I ask?”
Emily stood in the hallway, arms crossed. Her usually gentle voice now rang with outrage. Lily, her sixteen-year-old daughter, slowly tugged off her trainers, avoiding her mothers gaze. A tiny stud glinted in the wing of her nose like a defiant little eye.
“Its a piercing, Mum. A nose ring. Everyones got them.”
“Everyone? Whos everyver’? Your new mate Olivia, the one with ear holes you could fit a pencil through? Thats your everyone? I told you not to hang around with her!”
“Olivias fine! You dont even know her!” Lily finally looked up, her eyes sharp with angry tears. “And I didnt ask your permission. Its my body.”
“Your body?” Emily took a step forward. “As long as youre under my roof, living off my money, your body is my concern! Have you any idea what happens if that gets infected? Heard of sepsis? Whered you get it donesome grimy basement with a dirty needle?”
“I went to a proper studio! Everything was sterile! Why do you always assume the worst?”
“Me assume? I waited up till midnightyou didnt answer your phone! I was ringing hospitals and police stations while you were off getting beautified! Take that rubbish out now!”
“No!” Lily straightened, nearly matching her mothers height. “Its my life, and Ill decide how I look! You hate everything I likemy music, my friends, my clothes!”
“Because none of it leads anywhere!” Emilys voice cracked into a shout. “You should be studying, applying to uni, not ruining yourself and gallivanting God knows where!”
Lily shoved past her toward her bedroom.
“I hate you!” she threw over her shoulder before slamming the door so hard the china in the display cabinet rattled.
Emily stood frozen in the silent hallway. The word “hate” echoed in her ears like a gong. She leaned against the wall, legs weak, heart pounding in her throat. Why? Why like this? She did everything for her. Worked two jobs so Lily had the bestclothes, tutors, summer trips to Cornwall. Shed given up her own life when her husband left, pouring everything into her daughter. And this was her thanks. “I hate you.”
She drifted to the kitchen, mechanically filling the kettle. Her hands shook. Memories flashedLily as a little girl with oversized bows, trustingly holding out her hands; Lily in her first school uniform, proudly clutching gladiolus for her teacher; Lily hugging her, whispering, “Mummy, youre the best.” Where had that gone? When had her sweet girl turned into this spiky, angry stranger?
The bedroom door stayed shut, no sound from within. Any attempt to talk would be met with hostility. Shed have to wait. She always had to wait for the storm to pass.
Next morning, Saturday. Emily rose early as usual, made breakfast. Lilys door remained closed. She knocked.
“Lily, come eat. Itll get cold.”
Silence.
“Lily? Can you hear me?”
“Not hungry,” came the muffled reply.
Emily sighed. She ate alone, washed up. The flats silence felt thick, cloying. Saturdays were usually for cleaning together, then shopping or films. Today, the house felt like a strangers.
She busied herself with choresdusting, moppinganything to order her thoughts. Only Lilys room was left. Normally, her daughter tidied it herself, but today Today Emily needed an excuse to breach the icy barricade.
She knocked again.
“Lily, Im mopping. Open up.”
The door cracked open. Lily stood by the window, back turned, headphones on. Emily entered with a bucket. The room was its usual teenage chaosclothes strewn, sketchbooks stacked, doodles everywhere. She mopped quietly. Lily didnt turn.
Then Emily spotted itunder the bed. A pink notebook with a tiny padlock. A diary. Shed given it to Lily last birthday, and her daughter had laughed: “Mum, who keeps diaries anymore? So last century.” Apparently, some did.
Her heart skipped. This was wrong. An invasion. But that word”hate”burned inside her. She had to understand.
She finished quickly. “Done,” she murmured.
Lily gave a half-nod. Emily left, shutting the door softly. All day, the diary gnawed at her. What was in it? Boys? Friends? Or her?
That evening, Lily muttered about meeting Olivia and left. Emily waited ten minutes, then crept into her room, hands trembling like a thiefs.
The padlock was flimsya paperclip popped it open. She sat on the bed, flipping pages. Neat, girlish handwritingschool, a maths test, some band Emily didnt know. Shame prickled her skin with every turn.
Then, an entry from last week:
“Aunt Claire came over today. Again with the Emily, youre a saint, raising her alone! And Lilys so clever, your pride and joy! I just smiled like an idiot. Inside, I was screaming. Pride and joy. Mums project. Do I get to be anything else? Just her perfect little girl, studying hard, going to her right uni. Sometimes I feel like a doll she dresses up and shows off.”
Emilys fingers went numb. Shed never thought that. She was just proud. Was that so bad?
Next page, a month ago:
“Mum screamed because I was an hour late. Proper meltdown. Then cried, saying shes alone, has no one but me, how scared she is. Classic guilt-trip. First yell, then play the victim. And it worksI feel awful. Like I owe her for being born. Like I should sacrifice my life to make her happy.”
A lump rose in Emilys throat. Did Lily really see her love as manipulation? But she was scaredthe world was dangerous!
Page after page, each line a knife. Offhand remarks shed forgotten were etched in anger. Her advice taken as criticism. Her care as control. Her love as a leash.
Then, the worst. Last nights entry, jagged script:
“I hate her. Hate her! Shell never let me breathe. She invades everythingwho Im friends with, what I wear, what I think. This piercing I worked up the courage for weeks. It was mine. And sheTake that rubbish out. Didnt even ask why. Just decided it was wrong. Doesnt fit her perfect world. Im suffocating. I want to run. Anywhere. Just to escape her disappointed face. I hate her love. Hate her care. HATE HER.”
Emily snapped the diary shut. Her whole body shook. How could her Lilyher babywrite such things?
Her world crumbled. Everything shed lived for, every sacrifice, was a lie. She wasnt a loving mother but a jailer. Not support but a cage. Shed given her alland stolen Lilys life in return.
She slid the diary back, stumbled to the sofa, and wept.
Lily returned later. “Mum? You okay?”
Emily looked up at hernose ring, skull-print hoodie, crossed armsand saw a stranger.
“Just a headache,” she rasped.
“Take a paracetamol,” Lily said flatly, disappearing into her room.
Emily didnt sleep. She replayed every diary line, every incident. And with horror, saw Lily was right. Shed criticised her friends, mocked her music, weaponised her tears. Shed thought it was love. Really, it was selfishnesssmothering her daughter to ease her own fears.
Next morning, she called her oldest friend, Sarah.
“Em? You sound awful.”
Through tears, she confessed everything.
Sarah sighed. “Love, youve got her under a microscope. Remember when we dyed our hair green and sneaked to Bowie gigs? Our mums nearly had coronaries. Its the same. We forget. Kids need their own mistakes.”
“But what do I do? Tell her I read it?”
“God, no! Shed never trust you again. Change how you act. Ease up. Show interestnot as Mum the Boss, just as her.”
“Its too late,” Emily whispered.
“Its not. Love her lighter, Em. Not like lead.”
That evening, Lily headed out again. Emily forced a smile.
“Lily, wait.”
Her daughter tensed for a lecture.
“With Olivia?” Emily kept her voice calm.
“Yeah. Just café, maybe hers after. Music.”
Emily inhaled. “About your piercing” Lily braced. “Its different. But if you like it Just keep it clean, yeah?”
Lily blinked. Shed expected fury, not this.
“Okay,” she mumbled.
“And dont be too late,” Emily added softly. “I worry.”
No “youre all I have.” Just “I worry.”
Lily nodded and left.
The next weeks were agony. Emily bit back lectures, asked instead of demanded. One day, she paused at Lilys music.
“Loud?” Lily asked, removing one earbud.
“No. What is it?”
Lily eyed her suspiciously but handed it over. Harsh, clashing soundsrap? Emily made herself listen.
“Interesting,” she said. “Whats it about?”
Lily hesitated, then explainedsomething about protest, injustice. Emily nodded (understanding little), but Lilys eyes warmed, her guard lowering. For once, her mum cared.
Small steps. Another day, Emily noticed sketcheswild, elaborate costumes. Before, shed have said, “Focus on your A-levels.” Now: “These are brilliant.”
Lily blushed. “Thanks.”
Progress wasnt linear. There were rows. But the air shifted. Emily learned to see a person, not her shadow. Lily, sensing freedom, softened her spikes.
One evening, over tea, Lily spoke first.
“Mum remember you asked about uni?”
Emilys heart stalled.
“Theres this design college. For costume design. I Id like to try.”
Old Emily wouldve panicked. Design? Not law or medicine? But she remembered the diary. “Mums project.”
“That sounds exciting,” she said carefully. “What do you need?”
Lily gaped. “You youre okay with it?”
Emily exhaled. “Love, I wanted what I thought was best. But your happiness matters more. If this is it, lets make it happen.”
Lilys eyes welled up. She hugged Emilyproperly, for the first time in years.
“Thanks, Mum,” she whispered.
Emily held her tight, breathing in her shampoo. That pink diaryonce a cursehad saved them. It shattered her perfect world, but woke her up. Showed her a real girl, not a reflection. And gave her a chance, maybe her last, to love right. Not for her sake.
Just because.
