After six months of silence, my mother-in-law finally spoke. Her first words left her own daughter frozen in shock.
“Mum, please say something,” Emily pleaded, squeezing the cold hand of the woman lying in the hospital bed. “I know you can hear me. The doctor said your hearings fine.”
Margaret Whitmore only stared emptily at the ceiling. It had been half a year since her stroke, and she hadnt uttered a word. Only occasionally would she blink when Emily read letters aloud from their grandchildren in America.
“Rachel called today,” Emily continued, adjusting the pillow. “Little Emmas started nursery. Speaks better English than Russian, can you believe it?”
The door swung open abruptly. Standing there was Valerie, Margarets eldest daughterhair dishevelled, clutching a heavy bag of groceries.
“Here you are, taking charge again,” she snapped, not even bothering with a hello. “Think I dont know what youve been telling the doctors? That we, her own children, abandoned her?”
Emily sighed wearily. These weekly rows had become routine.
“Val, please, keep your voice down. Mums exhausted by all the shouting.”
“Shes *my* mother!” Valerie shoved past Emily, roughly moving her aside. “Mum, can you hear me? Its me, your daughter. Not some stranger whos moved into your flat.”
Margarets hand twitched as if she wanted to speak, but only a faint groan escaped.
“See how upset she gets when you yell?” Emily stepped between them. “Maybe we should talk in the hallway?”
“Or maybe *you* should leave?” Valerie shot back. “Ive had enough of your act. Think I dont know why you come every day? Guilt, isnt it? After what happened with Steven?”
Emily paled. They never spoke of their son in front of Margaretthe doctors had warned that stress could trigger another stroke.
“Val, please”
“Im not *asking*, Im telling you!” Valerie pulled a jar of homemade jam from her bag. “Mum loves this, apricot. Not that awful hospital slop you keep feeding her.”
“She cant have anything acidicyou know that. Strict diet.”
“Oh, of course, *you* know best! Always better than her own children!” Valerie set out containershomemade custard, boiled chicken, broth in a flask. “And what did *you* bring? Those revolting yoghurts again?”
Emily watched as Margarets eyes followed her daughters movements. For the first time in months, there was something like recognition in them.
“Mum, want some custard?” Valerie perched on the bed. “Just like you used to make, remember? Straining it through muslin, adding a bit of sugar…”
Margaret gave the faintest nod.
“See?” Valerie turned triumphantly to Emily. “She understands *me*. Not you and your hospital rules.”
Emily bit back the reminder that dairy was bad for Margarets kidneys. Maybe the doctors were rightsometimes connection mattered more than medicine.
“Val,” Margaret whispered suddenly.
Both women froze.
“Mum! Youre talking!” Valerie grabbed her hand. “You know me!”
Margaret turned her head weakly toward her daughter.
“Wheres… Steven?”
Silence. Valerie threw a helpless glance at Emily.
“Mum, he… he cant visit. Works abroad,” Emily lied.
“Liar,” Margaret breathed. “I know… everything.”
Valerie burst into tears.
“Mum, dont think about that. Please.”
“He… drank?” Margarets gaze fixed on Emily.
“Yes,” Emily admitted. “Badly, the last few years.”
“Forgave… him?”
Emily nodded, unable to speak.
“Then… so do I.”
Margaret closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks.
“Dont cry, Mum,” Valerie begged, stroking her wrinkled hand. “Youll get better. Come live with meIve got a big room, loads of light”
“No,” Margaret murmured. “Home… with Emily.”
Valerie flinched as if slapped.
“But Im your daughter!”
“And she… is too. Thirty years… by my side. You… just holidays.”
“We had jobs! Families!” Valerie protested.
“She… had a child too. A good… boy. I helped… raise him.”
Emily turned toward the window. Outside, a light drizzle fellthe kind her soul had ached for. She longed to step into the rain, let it wash away the pain of the past years.
“Steven… called,” Margaret whispered. “Before… he died. Asked… forgiveness. Gave it.”
“Mum, dont” Valerie pleaded.
“Need… to say it. Emily… was good. Stayed… when it was hard.”
Margaret turned to her.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For… not letting him die alone.”
Emily sank into a chair, legs weak.
“He loved you so much. Said no one had a mum like you.”
“Now… just a burden.”
“Never!” Emily said fiercely. “Youre family. All I have left.”
“Youve… grandchildren. In America.”
“Theyve their own lives. Rachel married an American, settled there. Maybe its bettereasier for them.”
“Miss them?”
“Emma, terribly. But what can you do?”
Valerie listened, face darkening.
“How touching,” she cut in. “And what if *I* say Ive rights too? That I wont hand Mum over to an outsider?”
“Valerie!” Margaret chided weakly.
“What? I worked double shifts for thirty years, raised my kids alone because my husband drank just like Steven! Now you tell me Im a stranger?”
“No one… said that,” Margaret rasped. “But I want… my home.”
“With *her*?” Valerie jerked her chin at Emily. “What if she leaves? Goes to Rachel? Then what?”
Emily stood, staring out at the gathering dusk.
“I wont leave. I promise.”
“And if you remarry? Find some bloke?”
Emily laughed dryly.
“At fifty-two? Whod have me now?”
“Not old,” Margaret murmured. “Still… lovely. Kind.”
“Youre tired, Mum. Let me help you wash up, take your pills.”
Valerie watched, arms crossed.
“Fine,” she said suddenly. “Maybe it *is* better this way. My Darrens off to uni soon, and my husband… well, hes not fond of having elderly folk around. Says it disrupts the peace.”
“Valerie,” Margaret sighed.
“Its true! Hes under enough stress at work without nighttime groans and doctors in and out.”
“Right, then,” Emily said. “Soon as shes discharged, Mum comes home with me.”
“And your job? Youre full-time.”
“Ill quit. Or go part-time. Well manage.”
Valerie hesitated. “Ill send money. Monthly. And groceries. Call if anything happens.”
“Alright.”
“But no… guilt trips. Understood? I wont be lectured on how terrible I am.”
“I wont,” Emily promised.
Margaret listened silently, eyes closed.
“Mum?” Emily asked. “What do you think?”
“Think… God gave me… a second daughter.”
Valerie choked back a sob and fled.
“Shes hurt,” Margaret murmured.
“Shell be fine. Always was sensitive, and her husband only makes it worse.”
“Men… dont understand… a womans heart.”
“Some do. Steven didwhen he was sober.”
“Yes… good boy. Pity… how it ended.”
A nurse entered. “Visiting hours are over.”
Emily kissed Margarets forehead. “Sleep well.”
At the front desk, an administrator stopped her.
“Your sister-in-law demanded we ban you from visiting. Said you werent family.”
“Shes upset.” Emily handed over a notarised document. “Margaret named me her legal representative.”
Outside, Emily breathed in the cool night air. The bus took ages, giving her time to reflect on the past year.
First Stevens death, then Margarets stroke. Rachel in America, her granddaughter growing up a world away. Life had split into before and after.
“Keep her out!” Valeries voice echoed in her mind.
Strange, how people equated blood with love. As if decades of care meant nothing.
The near-empty bus carried her home to a silent flat, a cold supper, the glow of the telly.
Tomorrow, shed return to the hospital. Margaret would light up at the sight of her.
And thatthat was enough.
