**Half the Kingdom for a Grandchild**
“Well then, still no bun in the oven?”
“No, Margaret, still no bun,” Emily sighed, rolling her eyes while keeping the irritation out of her voice.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” her mother-in-law huffed. “You two are dragging your feet! This is urgent, you know. Ill send you a videovery educational.”
“Mm-hmm. Thanks,” Emily muttered, already dreading yet another lecture on the virtues of “eating for two.”
Margaret hung up. The knife clattered loudly against the chopping board as Emily attacked the cucumbers with twice her usual vigorventing her frustration through salad prep.
Lately, Serges mother didnt even bother with greetings. She went straight to *the question*, which never failed to grate on Emilys nerves. But it hadnt always been this way.
Once upon a time, Emily and Margaret had gotten along just fine. The older woman rarely interfered, calling once or twice a week and visiting even less. Shed ask for a lift with the shopping or a ride to her mums cottage, and in return, shed keep them stocked with homemade jam, fresh apples from the garden, or a jar of honey.
Then everything changed. And it was all because of Margarets mother, Beatrice.
Even her own daughter joked that Beatrice was a drill sergeant in pearls. A retired schoolteacher, impossibly strict, she ruled the family with an iron fist. Emily had lucked outby the time she and Serge got together, Beatrice hardly left her flat. Age and aching knees kept her housebound.
But one day, the matriarch *did* visit. And that single visit was more than enough for Emily.
“What on earth is this *slop*? You could feed this to the pigeons and even theyd turn their beaks up!” Beatrice declared, peering into the pot of simmering soup. “Move over, Ill show you how to make a proper base.”
In Emilys family, they made soup without frying onions firstfewer calories, more nutrients. Serge had a bit of extra weight, nothing drastic, but Emily wasnt about to pile on more by drowning everything in butter.
“Beatrice, really, its fine. It tastes good like this,” Emily protested.
“Oh, young people these days Youve forgotten how to cook properly with all those meal kits,” Beatrice grumbled, but she sat down.
It might have ended thereuntil Emilys phone rang. She stepped into the next room to chat privately, and when she returned, the sizzle of frying onions filled the kitchen. Emily clenched her jaw, shooting a glare at Beatrice.
“What was the point? We like it plain.”
“Youve just never had it done right. Taste ityoull never go back,” Beatrice declared, smug as a cat with cream.
Emily exhaled but let it go. She *could* have dramatically tipped the pot down the sink, but that seemed a bit much. Beatrice wasnt a frequent guestfor Serges sake, shed endure it.
But Beatrice found a way to meddle from afar.
At a family dinner, she announced:
“Ive decided. My entire estate goes to whoever gives me a great-grandchild first. I want to see the family line continue before I kick the bucket.”
Serge laughed as he relayed this to Emily, who just smiled. As if theyd rearrange their lives for a bribe!
They had *plans*. First, careers. Then, the mortgage. *Then* children. Margaret, funnily enough, had once wholeheartedly agreedno need to rush.
Now they were on step two, hurtling toward paying off the house. By Emilys calculations, they had a year left. A *year*plenty of time for things to shift. But to Margaret, it had suddenly become “*only* a year.”
“Sweetheart,” Margaret cooed one day, syrup-thick, “why wait? Youre planning kids anywaymight as well get the inheritance too!”
Emily nearly choked. Since when did anyone get to dictate her uteruss schedule? Even her own mother didnt dare.
“Margaret, were still sorting the mortgage.”
“Oh, its just a year! By the time youre due, youll have it sorted.”
“People in 2019 thought that too, and look how *that* turned out. No, we want stability first.”
“Even if the mortgage falls through, youll have Grans flat! And the cottage. And her jewelry boxgoodness, the *gold* in there…”
“Were not rushing. If it happens, great. If not well, cest la vie.”
“Suit yourself. Just rememberSerge has *two* cousins. Theyll beat you to it while youre still deciding.”
And so it became routine. Emilys patience frayed. She tried logic, then blunt requests to drop itnothing worked.
“Just ignore her,” Serge said once. “Its Mum. Nod along, and shell ease up.”
Easier said than done. Margaret took silence as agreement and doubled downflooding Emily with “expert” fertility videos, cooing over friends grandkids, gifting “romantic” scented candles
For Emilys birthday, Margaret arrived with a pram. “Youll need it soon anyway!” It was top-of-the-line, pristineand it made Emilys skin crawl. Her body wasnt a bargaining chip.
Every visit featured a cheerful update:
“Vickys marriage is on the rocks, and Kates still trying. Youve got the *best* shot now!”
It was like a derby commentary. Emily felt less like a person and more like a racehorse chasing a carrot dangled by a madwoman.
She bit her tonguefor peace. But she was *this close* to suggesting Margaret have the baby herself. Then, salvation:
“Kates pregnant,” Margaret announced, deflated.
Emily nearly blurted *thank God* but caught herself.
“Well, its not a done deal, so you should still you know. Just in case.”
“No case” came. Kate had the baby, Emily relaxedfinally, the end! Until…
“My familys grown,” Beatrice mused at the next gathering, eyeing them all. “Plenty to choose from now. Whoever looks after me *best* gets the lot.”
Pale faces all around. Kates husband choked on his scone. Margaret, however, perked right up.
“But you said itd go to *us*,” Kate whispered.
“Did I?” Beatrice arched a brow. “Think popping out a baby means youve won the lottery? Whos going to *care* for me? I can barely make it to Tesco these days!”
Emily hid a smile. So much for half the kingdom.
After that, the pilgrimage began. Aunts, uncles, Margareteven Kate with the babyall suddenly tripping over themselves to prove their devotion.
Emily and Serge sat this race out too. They had their own life, their own flat, their own rhythm. And *that* felt like winning. Because you could spend your life chasing carrotsor just grow your own, no competition required.
