I had arrived at rehab; I had entered my daughter’s room.
After months of sick leave from work, she was owed money from her employer – for holidays she had not taken. This money was in my account, for safekeeping. Money needed for when she came home.
Bella wanted the money now.
‘What for?’ I asked, putting the bag of goodies on her bed.
‘To get things.’
‘This and… it’s my money, I can buy what I like.’
I felt sick inside; her attitude of gratitude was appalling. Since coming into rehab she had presented herself as ‘little girl lost’. Now, she was finding her way, was fronting me, telling me to mind my own business, to stop controlling her, to give back her money. I was shocked.
‘You’ll need that money, when you get out of here, you’re not having it now.’
She was furious.
I was hurt.
I stormed out of her room, out of the house, left the goodies, her controlling mother had brought and retraced the winding country roads, home.
Husband was in the garden, pulling out weeds. ‘You’re back early, what’s up?’ he asked.
I retold the tale of demands.
‘It’s her money, give it her. If that’s what she wants, but she’s getting nothing from me, when she gets out.’
‘No. That ain’t happening.’
I knew husband and I would give her money, support her return to ‘outside’ world. So did she. I gave some of her money back, not all, she was happy with that.
Husband and I had made plans, with money we would spend to help her.