Daisy pushed open the front door with her good hand and nudged it shut behind her with her shoulder. The familiar scent of home, vanilla scent, floor polish, and her mum’s overly strong air freshener, hit her like a wave, but today, it didn’t feel warm. Just tiring.
Her finger, now neatly wrapped in gauze, still throbbed with every dull heartbeat.
Thank God it was just a crack, not a full break. The doctor said it would heal but until then, she had to avoid any strain. Which meant even pulling her suitcase felt like a slow, one-handed workout.
The quiet of the house wrapped around her like a dull hum. Her heels clicked once, twice and then she kicked them off mid-step, the pointed toes skidding softly across the floor.
Her shoes, like her pride, had taken enough damage today.
She sighed, dragging her suitcase behind her, too exhausted to care where it landed.
Then her eyes landed on the dining table.
She stopped as she caught several shopping bags, looking pristine, expensive-looking, arranged like they belonged on a magazine shoot.
Cream-white with gold lettering.
She didn’t need to guess.
She knew those brands like she knew her own name. She’d grown up surrounded by them, designer handbags, six-inch heels, and cocktail dresses she only wore once. Things she used to pick out like snacks at a supermarket.
She walked over slowly, one brow raised, almost afraid to look inside.
The first bag revealed a handbag. Not a knockoff. Not a dupe. The real thing. Limited edition. Sleek black leather and a clasp shaped like a gold leaf. A style she had once circled in a magazine with a glitter pen.
She moved to the next.
Shoes. Gorgeous, dangerous heels in a shade of red that made your breath hitch.
Then came the dresses. Fabric soft as clouds. The kind of dresses that whispered old money and exclusive invites.
"What the..." she whispered under her breath.
She looked toward the hallway.
"Mum?" she called out. "Are you home?"
She stepped back, eyes scanning the room, searching for her.
"Mum, seriously!" she called again. "What is all this?!"
When only silence came, she rushed to the second floor, heading straight to her mother’s room.
"Oh God!" Jasmine shrieked, nearly dropping the lipstick in her hand. She caught herself just in time and turned sharply toward the door. "You should’ve knocked! Where are your manners? Out the window?"
"Mom!" Daisy’s brows furrowed in disbelief. Her mother sat comfortably at her vanity table, surrounded by shopping bags and unboxed makeup like it was just another casual day.
"What? What?" Jasmine frowned, clearly annoyed. "You’re disturbing me."
"Did you buy all of those things?" Daisy’s voice was tight as she stepped closer. "The bags, the shoes, the dresses on the table... did you buy all of that?!"
Jasmine blinked, playing innocent, with not even a speck of guilt in her expression.
"Well, it’s been months since I went shopping." She pouted, gently placing the lipstick back down.
"And... where did you get the money to buy all that?" Daisy’s chest was rising and falling now, her anxiety crawling to the surface.
Jasmine bit her lip, suddenly more interested in rearranging the perfume bottles on her vanity. "Well..." she muttered, avoiding eye contact. "I found some cash in your drawer—"
Daisy’s voice cracked with disbelief.
"That money was for Dad’s medical bill this month!" she shouted, stomping her feet in anger. Her eyes were already stinging again, "I sold my designer handbag! My handbag ! And a few of my dresses just to save enough for the hospital."
Her voice broke toward the end, hands trembling by her sides.
Jasmine blinked at her through the mirror, her face unreadable. "You... sold your handbag?"
"Yes!" Daisy snapped. "Because we needed the money! Not for you to splurge like we’re still living in some damn fairy tale with endless money!"
Jasmine pressed her lips into a thin line, her eyes flickering down like a child who’d just been told off. She wasn’t used to this. Being scolded by her own daughter felt absurd and unfair.
"I was just trying to make myself feel better," she muttered, arms folding across her chest like a sulky teenager.
Daisy stared at her. The words didn’t even sting anymore, they just hollowed her out a little more.
"You think I haven’t been trying to feel better too?" she said quietly, her voice tired. "Do you think this has been easy for me?"
Jasmine looked at her, confused.
"Daisy," she finally said, her voice smaller now, almost sulking. "You don’t have to talk to me like that. I was just... trying to lift my mood. I’ve been down the whole week."
"By spending my money?" Daisy’s voice trembled, not just from anger, but from hurt. "That wasn’t yours to touch."
"I didn’t think it would matter," Jasmine muttered, folding her arms like a scolded child. "You always find a way to fix things anyway."
Daisy blinked at her, stunned. "Do you even hear yourself?"
"You said I always find a way to fix things but I’m not fixing anything, Mom. I’m surviving. There’s a difference."
The words hung heavy between them.
"I sold everything that could give us money. I haven’t gone out with friends much in months because every meal, every ride, every little thing...I think about how much it could help Dad’s bills instead."
Her voice didn’t crack, but her hands trembled slightly as she spoke.
"I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry," she added more softly. "But maybe I should have." Her eyes filled again, glistening. "Mom... please. At least try to wake up. We can’t live like we used to. Help me... so I can help you. You still have food on the table. Can’t you sacrifice your obsession with branded things, just a little?"
For a second, Jasmine just stared.
Then, without warning, she stood up abruptly. Her chair screeched backward as she grabbed a handful of her new makeup and hurled them toward Daisy.
"You think I don’t know that already?!" she shouted. "You think I don’t feel miserable every day?!"
Lipsticks, compacts, brushes clattered to the floor around Daisy’s feet.
"I didn’t ask to live either! My life was better before! I didn’t marry your father just to end up begging for change from my own daughter!"
Daisy stared at the things scattered on the floor. Lipsticks rolling, powders cracked open like they were mocking her. Her expression shifted, lips pressed into a thin line. She looked lost for a moment, then clenched her jaw, teeth grinding behind closed lips as she tried to hold on to the very last shred of her patience.
But something inside her snapped.
"Then go back!" she burst out, her voice sharp and shaking. "Go back to your precious family! The one who threw you away when you married Dad! The same people who thought he was beneath them because he didn’t come from money!"
Jasmine blinked, her mouth parting in shock.
"They turned their backs on you when you needed them. When their business was falling apart, who helped them? Dad did! He was the one who saved them!" Daisy’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her injured hand trembling at her side.
"And now? Now that he’s sick? Where are they?" She pointed toward the door. "They’re silent. Not a single call. Not a single offer to help. Nothing."
Her voice cracked but it wasn’t a weakness. It was the breaking of years of bottled-up anger.
"They left us to rot, Mom. And you’re still pretending like they’re better than the man you married?"
The whole room was left in silence when both the mother and daughter met each other’s eyes.