The call that evening caught Emily off guard. Her mother’s number flashed on the screen—a rare sight, since they hardly spoke these days, and when her mum did call, it was always because she wanted something.
“Emily, darling, how are you?” Her voice dripped with forced sweetness.
Emily tensed. That voice—familiar yet distant—sent a chill down her spine.
“I’m fine,” she answered shortly.
“You’re still working, aren’t you?” her mother pressed, feigning casualness.
“Yeah. What’s this about?”
“Well… John lost his job. Maybe your office needs a programmer?”
Emily held her breath. There it was.
“There aren’t any openings,” she said firmly.
“Oh… shame,” her mum sighed. “But you’re a translator, right?”
“You already know that. Why ask?”
“Because you never tell me anything!” Her voice suddenly sharpened. “You’ve forgotten your own mother!”
Emily laughed—a bitter, hollow sound. Silence followed on the other end.
“Does the mother remember abandoning her daughter?” she asked, calm but icy.
That night was scorched into her memory.
Her dad, tearful, had come to say goodbye. He couldn’t take the shouting, the constant belittling. Mum had finally snapped. Little Emily, barely eight, had clung to him, begged him to stay. He whispered that he loved her, that he’d always be there, but he couldn’t live like this anymore.
Then Mum stormed in as Emily sobbed into his chest.
“Enough of this drama!” she’d screamed. “Cry like that again, and I’ll take all your toys away!”
He left. And from that moment, Emily was alone in that house. Soon after, John showed up—gruff, quick-tempered. When she called him “Uncle John,” he barked, “I’m not your uncle! I’m your dad now!”
“You’re nothing to me!” she’d shouted.
Arguments became background noise. Until one day, Mum gave her an ultimatum:
“Call him Dad, or I’ll send you to Gran’s.”
“Send me,” Emily shot back.
Without hesitation, Mum packed her things and dumped her across town at Gran’s. Gran welcomed her with warmth but couldn’t understand what had happened to her daughter. The kind-hearted woman she’d raised was gone, replaced by someone cold—someone who saw her own child as a burden.
Mum never checked on her. She lived happily with John, had another baby, basked in her newfound “freedom.” Gran raised Emily like her own.
A year later, while out walking, Emily spotted a familiar figure—her dad. She ran to him, buried her face in his chest, and they both cried with relief.
He’d found out from Gran where she was. After that, he visited constantly—bringing gifts, spending weekends with her.
By the time she turned ten, the courts revised their decision: Emily moved in with him. Mum didn’t object—she had her new family now.
With Dad, Emily finally knew happiness. His new wife, kind and gentle, never forced her to call her “Mum” but cared for her like one. Emily grew up loved, visiting Gran often.
She rarely saw her birth mother. And she didn’t care to. Even hearing about her little half-sister—the girl Mum actually embraced—stung.
After uni, Emily moved in with her boyfriend and visited Dad and Gran often. Mum called maybe once a month, if that. So when her phone buzzed again that evening, surprise flickered first.
“Emily, sweetheart, how are you?” came that same strained voice.
“Fine,” she replied coldly.
“You’re still working, right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“We’re in a bit of a bind… John’s out of work. Maybe your firm needs a programmer?”
“No vacancies,” Emily said. “And honestly, I’d never want to work with him.”
“Right… But you translate, don’t you? English?”
“You already know what I do. Why ask?”
“Because you’ve shut me out! Forgotten your own mother!”
Emily gritted her teeth.
“Mother…” she whispered. “Did that mother ever want to be remembered?”
Her boyfriend wrapped an arm around her, his hand warm on her back.
“Fine,” her mother bit out. “If you’re a translator, tutoring Lily in English shouldn’t be hard. She’s your sister, after all.”
The word *sister* burned.
“If you knew anything about me, you’d know I translate *Spanish*. And no, I won’t tutor anyone. Lily’s nothing to me. Neither are you. Stop calling.”
She ended the call and leaned into her boyfriend’s embrace.
“Was I too harsh?”
“You were perfect,” he murmured. “Your real mum’s the one who raised you. Not the woman who threw you away.”
Emily nodded. For the first time in years, she felt peace settle deep inside. She knew—there was no going back. And that was the best thing that could’ve happened.
