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Thud! I closed the door and threw myself on the bed. My face felt hot, and quiet tears slid down my cheeks.

“Why did Mum say no? She promised!” I thought sadly.

All I had asked for was to make my own Instagram account. But she said no.

“You’re not old enough, sweetheart,” she had said gently.

I had shouted. I had cried. She had stood there quietly in her simple dress, the sunlight in her eyes. I called her old-fashioned and unfair. My friends could post funny videos and pretty pictures whenever they wanted. But me? I had to use Mum’s account — and only sometimes!

I wished I were grown up so I could do whatever I wanted.

The next morning, Mum was rushing around, packing her bag. Her pink lipstick was on, and her glasses were sliding down her nose.

“Ava, I have to go. Gran is very sick. Take care of the house while I’m gone, okay? Charge your phone, I’ll call you.” She kissed my cheek and left.

I felt a little thrill of freedom. I made hot chocolate and a mug cake all by myself. I tied my hair in a messy bun and curled up with my favourite book. It was perfect.

Later, my friends messaged me on Instagram. I wanted to reply. But I was still using Mum’s account. She’d see it. So I sighed and went back to homework.

At bedtime, the house was too quiet. No soft footsteps. No gentle checking on me. It felt strange.

The next morning, I overslept! My alarm rang and rang. Finally, Dad yelled, “Ava! You’re late!”

I jumped out of bed. Everything was a mess. My hair was wild. School was hard. My friends stared.

“My mum’s not home,” I explained.

The day rushed by. At dinner, Dad brought food Mum had sent. It was yummy — fried rice and noodles — but it wasn’t hers.

That night, I tried to do my math homework. But it was hard. Mum usually helped me. Dad didn’t understand. I almost called her but stopped myself.

I sat near the window, thinking about all the times Mum had helped me. When I was wrongly blamed at school, she believed me. When I had a fever, she missed her special brunch just to stay with me. When I was scared about a test, she comforted me.

Her soft voice came back to me:
“I don’t know if you’ll get an A or not, but I know one thing — you’re a wonderful daughter. Don’t worry.”

Tears filled my eyes. I felt ashamed for yelling at her, for not seeing how much she loved me.

The next morning, I woke up early. I dressed nicely, just how Mum liked. I made breakfast — scones, yoghurt, and smoothies.

When I heard the car, I ran outside.

“Mum!” I shouted, hugging her tight. “Come inside! I made breakfast!”

She looked surprised and happy. Her eyes sparkled, and her smile lit up the room.

We sat down to eat. I held her hand and said softly, “I’m sorry for the mean things I said. You’re the best person in my life.”

She didn’t speak. She just squeezed my hand and smiled. I knew she had forgiven me.

That day, I understood something very special —
My mum isn’t holding me back. She’s holding me up.
She’s my roots.
She’s my wings.
She’s my superpower.