“A Kingdom for a Grandchild”
“Well then, still not pregnant?”
“No, Margaret, not yet,” Emily sighed, rolling her eyes as she fought to keep the irritation from her voice.
“For goodness’ sake!” her mother-in-law huffed. “You two need to get on with it. Time’s ticking. Ill send you a videovery educational.”
“Right. Thanks,” Emily muttered without enthusiasm, already dreading yet another lecture on conception techniques.
Margaret hung up. The knife clattered loudly against the chopping board as Emily sliced cucumbers with twice the usual force, venting her frustration.
Lately, her mother-in-law didnt even bother with greetingsjust launched straight into *the question*, and it drove Emily mad. Things hadnt always been this way.
Once, she and Margaret had gotten along just fine. Margaret rarely intruded, calling once or twice a week and visiting even less. Shed ask for a lift to the shops or help moving things to her cottage, and in return, shed bring homemade jam, fresh grapes, or cherries.
But then everything changedall because of Margarets mother, Beatrice.
Even her own daughter jokingly called Beatrice “the General in a skirt.” A former schoolteacher, stern to the bone, she ruled the family with an iron fist. Emily had been spared the worstby the time she married Oliver, Beatrice rarely left her flat. Age and poor health kept her home.
Still, Beatrice paid one fateful visitand once was enough.
“What on earth is this slop? Youd only feed this to chickens!” Beatrice declared, peering into the simmering pot of soup. “Move over. Ill show you how to make a proper base.”
In Emilys family, they made soup without frying the vegetablesfewer calories, more nutrition. Shed kept the tradition, partly because Oliver was a bit overweight. She never pushed diets but saw no reason to make things worse.
“Beatrice, its fine as it is,” Emily protested. “It tastes good like this.”
“Oh, young people these days Youve forgotten how to cook with all those takeaways,” Beatrice grumbled but sat down.
It might have ended therebut then Emilys phone rang. She stepped into the next room for privacy, and when she returned, the sizzle of frying onions filled the kitchen. Emily exhaled sharply, lips pressed tight, shooting Beatrice a sidelong glare.
“Why did you do that? We prefer it without frying. Its how weve always made it.”
“Youve just never had it done properly. Try ityoull change your mind,” Beatrice said, brimming with smug certainty.
Emily sighed and let it go. She couldve poured the soup down the drain in protest, but that seemed extreme. Beatrice hardly visited, and for Olivers sake, she could endure it.
Yet Beatrice managed to meddle from afar.
At a family dinner, she made an announcement:
“Ive decided. My entire estate goes to whoever gives me a great-grandchild first. I want to see the family line continue before I go.”
Oliver laughed as he relayed the news to Emily. She just smiled. As if theyd rearrange their lives for someones whim.
They had planscareers first, then a home, and only then children. Margaret, ironically, had once agreed, insisting they had all the time in the world.
Now they were on step two, chipping away at the mortgage. Emily estimated another year. Plenty could change in that time. But to Margaret, it suddenly felt like “just a year.”
“Em, darling,” Margaret cooed one day. “You should hurry up. Youll have babies anyway, and now theres an inheritance too.”
Emily was stunned. Since when did anyone dictate her timeline? Not even her own mother dared.
“Margaret, we still have the mortgage.”
“Its only a year! By the time you conceive and carry to term, itll be settled.”
“People thought that in 2019, and then the world turned upside down. No, we want security first.”
“Even if the mortgage falls through, theres Beatrices flat! And the cottage. And her jewellerysolid gold, a fortune!”
“Were not rushing. If it lines up, fine. If not well, it wasnt meant to be.”
“Suit yourself. Im only thinking of you. Oliver has two cousinstheyll beat you to it if you dawdle.”
After that, the nagging became routine. Emilys patience frayed. She explained she wasnt ready, asked Margaret to drop itnothing worked.
“Just ignore her,” Oliver said once. “Its Mum. Nod along, and shell ease off.”
Easy for him. But Margaret took silence as agreement and doubled down. She flooded Emily with “expert” videos, showed off friends grandchildren, even gifted “romantic” scented candles.
For Emilys birthday, Margaret brought a pram. “Youll need it soon anyway,” she chirped. It was a fine prambut Emily hated being dragged into a game where her body and future were bargaining chips.
Every visit featured some variation of:
“Victorias marriage is crumbling, and Katherines still trying. Youve still got a shot!”
As if life were a race, and Emily a contestant. She bit her tonguefor peace. But she was close to snapping, ready to suggest Margaret have the baby herself. Then, salvation arrived.
“Katherines pregnant,” Margaret sighed over the phone.
Emily nearly blurted “thank God.”
“Its not a guarantee, though,” Margaret added. “Best hurry just in case.”
The “just in case” never came. Katherine had the baby, and Emily relaxeduntil Beatrice called another family meeting.
“My familys grown,” she declared, surveying the room. “Plenty to look after me now. Whoever does gets the inheritance.”
Faces fell. Katherine gaped; her husband choked on his cake. Margaret, however, brightened.
“But you said itd go to us,” Katherine whispered.
“Did I?” Beatrice arched a brow. “Think popping out a baby means youre owed something? Has anyone considered *me*? I can barely walk to the shops these days!”
Emily stifled a smile. So much for “a kingdom for a grandchild.”
After that, the pilgrimage began. Aunts, uncles, Margareteven Katherine with her newbornall flocked to Beatrice, clamouring to prove their devotion.
Emily and Oliver stayed out of it. They lived their lives, in their flat, with work and quiet evenings. That felt like victory. You could spend life chasing carrotsor just live it your own way.
