And Yet I Have Nowhere Left to Go

«Oh, Ive got nowhere else to go!»

«Im not going back to that good-for-nothing! Id rather live in some dingy basement than with him!»

«Mum, well, off you go to the basement then! Ill be divorcing you soon myself!» Alice shot back, stirring her porridge in annoyance.

«Youd kick your own mother out?!» Lydia clutched her chest. «Ive given you my whole life, and this is the thanks I get? Cheers for that, love!»

With a huff, her mum stormed off to their shared bedroombecause, yes, the four of them were crammed into a one-bed flat where privacy had become a distant memory.

Alice never imagined shed be caught up in this kind of drama. Other peoples parents split up and patched things back together, but hers had always been the picture of stability. Just last year, Lydia and Oliver had celebrated their ruby wedding anniversaryforty years togetherand now her mum couldnt even stand the sight of him.

Then, one «lovely» day, her mum turned up on her doorstep with suitcases, announcing she was divorcing him.

«Can you believe it?! Hes been carrying on with some flirty little nurse!» Lydia gasped, still out of breath from climbing the stairs. «Fancy chasing after women at his agewhat a Romeo!»

«Mum, seriously? Are you sure? Maybe youve got the wrong end of the stick?» Alice stared at her, baffled.

Lydia had always been dramatic, prone to blowing things out of proportion. A snippet of gossip could spiral into a full-blown scandal in her mind. But this time, sadly, it wasnt just her imagination.

«Oh, sure, got it wrong. The photos I saw on his phone dont lie! He should be quietly enjoying his retirement, but no»

Alice decided to deal with that later. First, she had to calm her mum downgot her seated, made tea, talked her through it. Tried to reassure her that even if it was true, life wasnt over. That this happened to loads of people. That shed help her through it.

Little did she know how literally her mum would take that. Alice had no idea what she was signing up for.

From that point on, Lydia moved in. Fine, except Alice had her own familyhusband Henry and their five-year-old son, Alfie. That age where theyre into everything and underfoot constantly.

At first, Alice tried to be understanding, even looked for silver liningsbut they were hard to find. Help with Alfie? She worked remotely and managed just fine. Cooking? Her mum loved greasy meals Alice avoided for her figure, and Henry couldnt eat for health reasons. Cleaning? Their standards of «tidy» were worlds apart.

And that was just the start.

«Right, you lot need to change the bedsheets. Alfies too, though you can do his in the morning,» Lydia declared at 11 p.m., just as they were settling in for a film.

«What, now? Mum, Alfies asleep. How are we supposed to do that in the dark?!»

«Not a problem. Theres light from the hallwayplenty to see by. Change em quiet-like, then off to bed. Shouldve done it earlier, but you always leave things to the last minute. Dust mitesll be moving in soon at this rate!»

Arms crossed, Lydias eyes darted around, hunting for the next chore to assign.

Alice sighed but got on with it. She knew her mums quirksargue, and youd be in for hours of nagging. Lydia never backed down and loved a good row. Alice, though, had grown up to avoid confrontation.

Henry didnt share her patience.

«Love, cant you just say no?» hed ask when they were alone.

«Well its Mum. You know how she is,» Alice mumbled.

«I do. But this is our home, our rules. Im starting to lose it with her»

«Just hang in there a bit longer. She and Dad need time. Itll sort itself out.»

But Alice didnt sound convinced. Shed already spoken to her dad. Hed admitted itthered been a fling.

«Dont know what came over me Wanted to see what I was missing, I suppose. Never been with anyone but your mum. Now I dont know where to put myself. I do love her, but will she even listen?»

Truthfully, Alice got where her mum was coming from. She wouldnt forgive cheating either, even if it was just a fling. Lydia had every right to walk away. But she wasnt doing anythingjust waiting, as if things would magically fix themselves.

It only got worse. Lydia soon decided Henry was getting too comfortable.

See, in her parents house, chores were split fifty-fifty. Her dad hoovered, scrubbed the bathroom weekly, did dishes, even made roast dinners sometimes. Hed help with deep cleans, polish windows, do the big shopproperly pitched in with «womens work.»

Not so in Alices home. Henry would sit with Alfie doing homework or take him swimming, but the rest fell to her. Made sensehe was the breadwinner, now supporting her mum too. Alice worked remotely a few hours a day, but her wages mostly covered her own treats.

Lydia didnt see it that way.

«Youve let him off too easy, love!» shed press. «Get him doing something in the evenings, not lazing about. Men start wandering when theyve too much time on their hands.»

«Thanks, Mum, but well handle it.»

Lydia wasnt listening. She took it upon herself to «reform» her son-in-law.

«Sit down,» shed order Alice when she got up to clear plates. «Henry, shes been run off her feet all daywont ask for help, though. Be a dear and wash up.»

Henry would scowl but oblige. His patience wasnt endless, though. Arguments startedquiet ones, out of earshot, but the tension simmered.

And he wasnt wrong. Alice knew it. But what was she supposed to do?

«Mum, you cant carry on like this. Whats the plan?» she asked after two months.

«Dunno. Ill figure it out. Got nowhere else,» Lydia said stiffly.

«Course you have! Yours and Dads flats half yours. Sort it out, move on. You cant just stall.»

«I dont want a thing from him!» she snapped, arms folded. «Ill manage. Wont speak to him.»

«Managing» meant Alice and Henry bore the brunt. And they were worn out. Alice dropped hints about wanting their evenings back, the flat being too smallno luck. Then she got blunt, which Lydia didnt appreciate.

Finally, Alice snapped. She found her mum a room, packed her bags while she was in the shower.

«Whats this? You going somewhere?» Lydia asked, towel-drying her hair.

«No, you are. Weve rented you a place. Best we could afford. Happy families only exist on tellyreal life needs space.»

Lydia ranted, screamed about being thrown out, but they stood firm. Sat her down, explained theyd help with rent for two months, but this wasnt working.

«You want us splitting up next? Wheres that leave Alfie?» Henry added.

She gave in. But the peace didnt last.

«Youve dumped me in a hovel!» she shrieked over the phone after one night. «Cockroaches everywhere, neighbours couldnt care less! The kitchens filthylooks like it hasnt been scrubbed in a decade! Dont get me started on the loo!»

«Mum, we did what we could. Youre free to rent somewhere else.»

But the places Lydia liked were out of her budget. Slowly, her tune changed. She started muttering about seeing a solicitor, getting paperwork in order. Then one day

«Right. Im home. Back where I belong,» she announced, like it was Alices fault.

«Seriously? What about Dad?»

«Still cant stand him,» Lydia sniffed. «But Id rather put up with his face than that dump. Someone nicked my purse while I was at the shops! Ill manage. At least my rooms mineno unwanted roommates, furry or otherwise.»

Alice breathed easy. Whether her parents reconciled or divorced didnt matterlet them battle it out in their own home, not hers. Finally, her flat felt like hers again.

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And Yet I Have Nowhere Left to Go
Nous rémunérons ma mère pour garder notre fils : ma belle-mère nous en veut de pouvoir faire cela. Depuis six mois, mon mari et moi versons un salaire à ma mère pour qu’elle s’occupe de notre enfant. Pour nous, tout se passe bien, mais ma belle-mère ne le comprend pas : comment peut-on accepter de l’argent de ses propres enfants pour garder son petit-fils ! Je pense pourtant que tout travail mérite salaire, surtout au vu de ce que fait ma mère pour nous. Il y a environ un an, nous avons traversé une période difficile. Mon mari a perdu l’emploi sur lequel reposait nos finances, et lors d’une réunion familiale, nous avons dû prendre la décision compliquée que je prenne un congé parental. Notre fils avait alors un an et demi. Bien sûr, ni mon mari ni moi n’étions satisfaits de cette solution, mais avec un crédit immobilier sur le dos et un jeune enfant, il fallait continuer à travailler. Mon salaire ne suffisait pas, et les fins de mois étaient compliquées. Comme mon mari devait s’occuper de notre fils, il ne pouvait ni passer des entretiens ni chercher activement un emploi. Les difficultés financières se multipliaient de mois en mois. Nous avons alors sollicité l’aide de nos parents, espérant qu’ils pourraient garder leur petit-fils quelques mois, le temps que mon mari retrouve du travail, avant d’envisager une nounou professionnelle, que nous n’avions pas les moyens de payer. Tout le monde a compatit, mais personne n’a pu nous aider, mes parents étant encore en activité. Nous tournions en rond, jusqu’à ce que, deux mois plus tard, ma mère vienne à notre secours. Elle nous a proposé de prendre une retraite anticipée. En échange, elle nous demandait simplement de régler ses factures d’électricité, qu’elle n’arrivait plus à assumer seule avec sa pension. Nous avons accepté avec soulagement. Ma mère s’est investie pleinement, venant chaque jour à la maison : je partais travailler, mon mari enchainait les entretiens d’embauche. En une semaine, il retrouvait un emploi. Certes, il gagnait moins qu’avant, mais c’était toujours ça de pris. Il continuait en parallèle à chercher mieux. À la maison, c’était une organisation parfaite menée par ma mère. Elle s’occupait de son petit-fils, gérait l’intendance, le ménage léger, le repassage, la lessive et la cuisine. Quand je rentrais, tout était prêt, et je n’avais plus qu’à profiter de mon fils sans courir entre la cuisine et la buanderie. J’avais mauvaise conscience face à tout ce que ma mère assumait, mais elle insistait : tout cela ne lui coûtait pas, ses journées passaient plus vite et elle se sentait utile. J’étais tout de même mal à l’aise. J’en ai parlé avec mon mari, qui a reconnu aussi que tout le poids de la maison lui incombait. Nous avons alors décidé de verser à ma mère, en plus du remboursement des factures, l’équivalent d’un salaire. Grâce à elle, j’ai pu évoluer dans mon travail pour ne plus être absente et mon mari a également vu sa situation s’améliorer, ayant la possibilité de travailler de chez nous. Je peux enfin consacrer mes soirées à mon fils, sans jongler entre tâches et responsabilités. Lorsque nous avons proposé ce salaire à ma mère, elle a d’abord refusé, estimant que ce n’était pas sa place, mais nous avons su la convaincre que sa contribution était précieuse et que cet argent n’était pas une aumône — simplement la juste reconnaissance de son travail. Finalement, elle a accepté. Tout le monde y trouve son compte : la maison est impeccable, notre enfant comblé, nous plus détendus, et ma mère à l’abri du besoin. Sauf ma belle-mère. Ma mère lui a confié que nous la rémunérions pour l’aider, ce qu’elle s’est empressée de révéler lors d’une conversation, où elle expliquait qu’elle pourrait bientôt s’offrir quelques jours à la mer, désormais. Ma belle-mère, choquée, lui a rétorqué que jamais dans sa famille on n’avait demandé d’argent pour garder ses petits-enfants. Elle est venue nous faire des reproches, affirmant qu’on ne devrait jamais payer sa mère pour rendre service. Mon mari lui a répliqué que, de toute façon, elle ne s’était jamais montrée présente quand on avait besoin d’aide. Depuis, elle s’est un peu calmée, mais ne peut s’empêcher de gémir que “Mamie” prend trop d’argent… Je pense qu’elle est tout simplement jalouse que les choses se passent aussi bien chez nous.