I’m a 58-year-old mom. My 32-year-old daughter Hannah lives 30 minutes away; we haven’t spoken in years.
Last week, she called in tears: “Mom, I need to go to the hospital now—I’m in so much pain.” I refused, saying my 70-something husband couldn’t handle her three young kids (including a newborn). I suggested she take them or ask a neighbor. She begged: kids were asleep; she couldn’t drag them to the ER.
Old resentment surfaced—years ago, during my surgery recovery, she hadn’t helped me. I reminded her; she went quiet. “You’re being dramatic,” I said. “Handle it yourself—you’re an adult.”
My husband overheard and took the phone: “Don’t worry, I’m coming. Go to the hospital.” I was furious—he left despite my protests.
Next morning: Hannah had emergency surgery for childbirth complications. She’s recovering but won’t speak to me. Husband’s distant; son called, disappointed in me.
I feel awful. I thought I was being practical, but maybe I made a huge mistake. Was I completely wrong?
