The doorbell chimed with a cheerful ring, and Emily startled away from sorting through old photo albums. Guests weren’t expected.
“Who is it?” she called, rising to the door.
“Open up, love! It’s me!” her mother’s voice, bright and brisk, betrayed no hint of her age.
Unlocking the door, Emily stepped aside to let Margaret in. As always, her mother looked picture-perfect—sharp navy coat, spotless white scarf, hair styled with military precision. Not a wrinkle on her face, despite her sixty-five years.
“Mum, what are you doing here? We only saw each other three days ago,” Emily ran a hand through her hair, taming stray strands.
“Must something always be wrong for me to visit my girl?” Margaret swept into the room, surveying it like a host. “Looking through photos? And what are these boxes? Moving out?”
Emily exhaled. She’d hoped to reveal her move later, once it solidified.
“Yes. I got a promotion, a transfer to Manchester.”
“To *Manchester*?” Margaret frowned. “What about me? James and the children? You know, Mari and Pat can’t manage without you. Who’ll pick them up from school when James is at work?”
Emily clenched her jaw. Again. Her mother’s worry wasn’t for her absence but for ensuring her beloved older brother had a free hand.
“James can manage. He’s got Sarah. Or he can hire a nanny—his salary covers it,” Emily turned away, feigning busyness with the photo box.
“Emily, for goodness’ sake! A nanny can’t replace your aunt!” Margaret fumed. “The kids adore you. And besides, who’d move out at thirty-seven, of all ages?”
“I’m thirty-eight, Mother. Not ancient,” Emily’s voice hardened. “And yes, I’m going. It’s final.”
Margaret slumped in the armchair, hands over her face.
“Why must you do this to me… Your father left, now you’re abandoning me…”
Emily closed her eyes, counting to ten—the ritual that soothed her since childhood, especially after visits with her mother.
“Ma, let me make some tea. We can talk calmly,” she suggested, hoping to diffuse the tension.
“Tea? You’d brew tea in a time like this?” Margaret snapped. “I’m in pieces, and you offer tea! Have you considered what this means for James? He already works overtime to support that family…”
“Has anyone considered *me*?” Emily whispered, but her mother, lost in lament, didn’t hear.
“Who’ll tell Mari to slow down on gymnastics? Who’ll help Pat with his homework when James and Sarah go out for the evening?”
A memory surfaced—Emily canceling a date, then tucking the kids in at midnight. That night, Margaret had called, voice tight. *“Emily, everything okay? James said they’d stay late.”*
Emily had replied, *“Just fine. The kids are asleep. Where are they?”*
*“Sarah’s home, and James stopped by friends’—he deserves a break.”*
The sour taste lingered. For years, her life had been a series of sacrifices so James could “deserve a break.”
“Mother,” Emily said, firm now, “I’m leaving in two weeks. No room for negotiation.”
Margaret parted her lips, rising stiffly.
“If so, tell James you’re leaving him and the kids behind. *Your* punishment.”
“I’m not abandoning anyone!” Emily shot back. “I just want to live my life!”
“At thirty-eight, you’re too late to start fresh,” Margaret spat, heading for the door. “But go ahead. The career comes first. Then don’t cry when you’re alone.”
The door slammed. Emily sank to the floor among the boxes and wept as she hadn’t in years.
The office of a reputable construction firm had welcomed her with open arms. Her new boss, a lean man with shrewd eyes, appraised her résumé.
“Impressive, Emily. We need minds like yours. When can you start?”
“Next month. I need to wrap up here and settle in,” she replied.
“Makes sense. Sorted the housing yet?”
“Rented an apartment for now. Then I’ll look for a place of my own.”
He nodded, extending a hand.
“Welcome aboard.”
As she stepped into the frosty Manchester air, snow dusting the streets, Emily breathed deeply. After her hometown’s damp November, this crispness felt like a gift. Her heart lightened, despite the bitter farewell.
James’ reaction had been a storm of anger.
*“You can’t do this to us!”* he’d barked, pacing her kitchen. *“We’re a family! Mum’s not young, the kids rely on you! You’re selfish!”*
Emily had listened, detached, watching the brother who’d once adored her now treat her life as a commodity. When had he ever asked what she wanted?
*“James,” she said quietly, “have you ever asked what I want?”*
He froze mid-sentence, eyes wide.
*“I spent fifteen years giving up everything—raising you, missing dates, neglecting my career. And do you know what? I’ve never heard a ‘thank you.’”*
*“But we’re family!”* he protested. *“We don’t thank family for helping!”*
*“Exactly, James. *Especially* family.”*
Things went silent. Later, a text had arrived: *“Mum collapsed with stress. It’s your fault. Happy?”*
Emily hadn’t replied. A week later, she’d called, checking. Margaret’s tone had been brisk, the conversation abrupt. But Sarah had called out of the blue.
*“Em, don’t listen to anyone. Just leave. You deserve to build your life. I’ve shown the kids a map of Manchester—we’ll visit you on holidays.”*
That call had been a lifeline. Emily hadn’t expected support from Sarah, who’d always been polite but distant.
*“Thanks, Sarah. I mean it.”*
*“No need. I’ll talk to your mother. She just needs time.”*
Now, walking Manchester’s snow-laden streets, Emily felt a mix of freedom and unease. Calling home felt unnecessary; the silence on the other end would only be reproach. But thoughts of Mari and Pat tugged at her.
Mari, ten, had hugged her with the desperation of last goodbye.
*“Auntie, will you come to Christmas?”*
*“Of course, sunshine. And we’ll visit on summer break.”*
But Mari had whispered, *“Dad said you left us like your ex-husband left you.”*
Emily’s breath had hitched. Kneeling, she’d met Mari’s eyes. *“Marr, I’m not leaving anyone. Sometimes grown-ups need to go far to build something new. But I’ll always be close, even if we’re miles apart.”*
Pat, seven, had asked, *“Are there dinosaurs in Manchester?”*
*“Museums have skeletons. We’ll see them together.”*
He’d nodded, resolute. *“Then okay. Just don’t go alone!”*
Phone vibrations jolted her from the memory. Margaret’s number.
*“Hello, Ma.”*
*“Emily,”* her mother’s voice trembled, *“how are you? Everything sorted?”*
*“Yes. I’ve got an apartment. Start work in a fortnight.”*
*“I was thinking…”* There was a pause. *“Maybe I should visit for a week. Help you settle in.”*
Emily halted mid-step. *“You… want to come?”*
*“Why not? I’ve never been to Manchester. Besides, you’re alone there…”*
The subtext was clear. *“I miss you.”*
*“Of course, Ma. I’ll be glad.”*
Six months in, life in Manchester had become its own. The job thrived, colleagues warmed to her, and her neighbor, Isobel, a fellow mother of a teen, became a confidante.
Margaret had visited twice—once in winter, again in spring. By the second trip, their bond had thawed. Deprived of her usual world, Margaret softened into the mother Emily had once known—gentler, kinder.
One evening, over tea, Margaret said, *“You know, I always worried about you more than James.”*
*“Why? He’s the younger one.”*
*“Because you were always self-reliant. James… he needs reassurance, even now.”*
*“I didn’t know.”*
*“I was unfair. Took too much, ignored your needs. When you left, I panicked you were running from me.”*
*“I left for me, Ma.”*
That night, they spoke openly—of longing, of feeling overlooked. Margaret wept, confessing how she’d unknowingly burdened Emily.
*“I didn’t mean to make you sacrifice your life for us,”* she whispered. *“But I didn’t see it happening.”*
Leaving, Margaret hugged her fiercely. *“I’m proud of you. Always was. Just didn’t know how to show it.”*
In autumn, she met Andrew, a project manager at her firm. He’d moved recently from Birmingham, children from a dissolved marriage. A friendship bloomed—a reminder that joy could still find her.
When she invited Andrew to Manchester for Christmas, Mari had proclaimed, *“He’s your new friend?”* while Pat demanded, *“Is there a dinosaur museum there?”*
Andrew, with his calm warmth, won them over. James, to her surprise, greeted him with a handshake. But Sarah winked, beneath his arm. *“He’s with me.”*
That Christmas, Margaret greeted Andrew with beaming eyes. James, gruff but kinder, embraced her. The family felt different—lighter, more honest.
And when Mari drew a map showing red circles for Manchester and strings to their hometown, Emily realized her mother had never truly chosen “not her.” Everyone had given what they could, even if it took years to understand.
She’d found not just a new life, but a way back to the family she’d never truly lost.
“Thinking of them?” Andrew asked softly as the children slept.
Emily adjusted the duvet on Pat, smiling. “Sometimes you have to travel far to come back closer than you’ve ever been.”
And it was the truth she carried now.