**Diary Entry – 12th June**
My mother’s travelling the world while my son and I barely scrape by. Shouldn’t she help us? Her answer left me stunned.
Mum’s retired now. She worked as an accountant for years—practical, thrifty, saving every last penny while others splurged on fancy meals, designer clothes, or home renovations. She lived modestly, always putting money aside «for later.»
Well, «later» isn’t what I imagined. Now she’s jetting off, sunning herself on beaches, sailing the Mediterranean, sampling exotic dishes, and sending photos of herself grinning in stylish sunglasses, cocktail in hand.
Meanwhile, I’m drowning—her only daughter, left to raise my son alone after my husband walked out. Rent, bills, even groceries feel impossible some months.
What I can’t fathom is why Mum, sitting on a lifetime’s savings, won’t lift a finger. Why does she insist I manage alone? Doesn’t a parent’s duty last forever?
Yesterday, I snapped. Called her—waves crashing, laughter in the background—some Greek island, no doubt. I asked, «Mum, you know how hard it is for me… Why won’t you help?»
A pause. Then she said something that left me frozen for hours.
«I love you. But if I spend my last years rescuing others again, who’ll rescue me? You’re grown. I’m finally living for myself. Sort it out.»
Silence. Was it selfishness? Or wisdom?
Part of me felt betrayed. I’m her daughter. I stood by her through everything—hospital stays, hard years. I put her first. Now, when I’m struggling, she chooses sunsets on foreign shores.
But then… she *has* always lived for someone else. For me, for work, for family. Always saving, never spending. Maybe she’s just claiming her due.
Hard lesson: sometimes love means letting go, even when it leaves you adrift. Maybe Mum’s right—perhaps we both have to find our own way now.