“Half the Kingdom for a Grandchild”
“So, any news on the baby front yet?”
“No, Margaret, nothing yet,” Emily sighed, rolling her eyes as she fought to keep the irritation from her voice.
“Oh, for goodness sake!” her mother-in-law huffed. “You two really need to get a move on. Times ticking! Ill send you a videovery educational.”
“Right. Thanks,” Emily muttered flatly, already dreading another lecture on the “miracle of life.”
Margaret hung up. The knife clattered loudly against the chopping board as Emily sliced cucumbers with twice the usual vigour, channelling her frustration into the task.
Lately, Margaret didnt even bother with greetingsjust dove straight into *the* question, as if Emilys womb were public property. It hadnt always been like this, though.
Once, theyd got on well enough. Margaret kept her distance, calling once or twice a week and visiting even less. Shed occasionally ask for a lift with shopping or a ride to her mothers countryside cottage, repaying the favour with homemade jam, fresh apples, or blackberries from the garden.
Then everything changed. Because of Margarets mother, Beatrice.
Even her own daughter joked that Beatrice was a general in a floral dress. A retired schoolteacher, sharp as a tack, she ruled the family with an iron fist. Emily had been luckyby the time she and James got together, Beatrice rarely left her flat. Age had caught up with her; outings were a struggle.
But one day, Beatrice paid them a visit. One visit was all it took.
“What on earth is this? Youd serve this to chickens, not people!” Beatrice scoffed, 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, healthier. James had put on a bit of weight, nothing drastic, but Emily didnt want to make it worse.
“Beatrice, really, its fine as it is,” Emily insisted.
“Oh, young people these days” Beatrice grumbled. “Too busy with takeaways to cook properly.” She sat back down, but the truce didnt last.
Emilys phone rangher mum. She stepped away to talk, and when she returned, the kitchen smelled of sizzling butter and onions. Emily pursed her lips, shooting Beatrice a glare.
“We like it plain. Thats how we always make it.”
“Youve just never had it done right. Try ityoull change your mind,” Beatrice declared, smug as ever.
Emily bit back a retort. She couldve dumped the lot down the sink, but that felt too dramatic. Beatrice wasnt a regular guest; she could endure it for James sake.
Yet Beatrice found a way 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.”
James relayed it to Emily with a laugh. She smiled. As if theyd rearrange their lives for someone elses whims!
They had plans: careers first, then a house, *then* children. Margaret had once agreedno rush. Now, though? Suddenly, their sensible timeline was a problem.
They were on step two, racing to pay off the mortgage. Another year, by Emilys calculations. Plenty could change in a year. To Margaret, it was suddenly “only a year.”
“Darling,” Margaret cooed one day, saccharine-sweet, “why not hurry things along? You *were* going to have children anywaynow youll get an inheritance too!”
Emily gaped. Since when did anyone dictate her life? Even her own mother didnt dare.
“Margaret, were still sorting the mortgage.”
“But its *only* a year! By the time youre due, itll be settled.”
“People in 2019 thought the same, and look how that turned out. No, we want everything secure first.”
“Oh, even if the mortgage falls through, theres Beatrices flat! And the cottage. And her jewelleryheirlooms, all of it! A fortune in gold!”
“We wont be rushed. If it happens to align, fine. If not well, it wasnt meant to be.”
“Suit yourself. Just rememberJames has two cousins. Theyll beat you to it while you dither.”
From then on, the nagging was relentless. Emily begged, reasoned, even asked outright to drop itnothing worked.
“Just humour her,” James said once, shrugging. “Shell ease off.”
Easier said than done. Margaret took silence as agreement and doubled downflooding Emily with “expert” videos, boasting about friends grandchildren, even gifting scented candles “for romance.”
For Emilys birthday, Margaret brought a pram. “Youll need it soon!” she trilled. It was expensive, top-of-the-rangeyet all Emily felt was fury at being reduced to a pawn in someone elses game.
Every visit included some variation of:
“Victorias marriage is on the rocks, and Katies still trying. Youve still got a chance!”
Like it was a bloody horse race. Emily clenched her teeth, biting back the urge to snap, *You carry it, then.*
Then, salvation:
“Katies pregnant,” Margaret sighed, defeated.
Emily nearly blurted *thank God* but caught herself.
“Still, no guarantees best hurry, just in case,” Margaret added.
No “just in case” came. Katie had the baby, and Emily breathed easyuntil Beatrice called another family meeting.
“Plenty of you now,” Beatrice mused, scanning the room. “Surely *someone* will look after me in my old age. Whoever does gets everything.”
Silence. Katies husband choked on his sandwich. Margaret, though, perked up instantly.
“But you said itd go to *us*,” Katie whispered.
“Did I?” Beatrice arched a brow. “Think popping out a baby makes you entitled? What about *me*? I can barely walk to the shops these days!”
Emily hid a smile. So much for half the kingdom.
After that, the pilgrimage began. Aunts, uncles, Margareteven Katie, baby in towall suddenly tripping over themselves to play dutiful carer.
Emily and James stayed out of it. They had their own lives, their own flat, their own plans. That, to them, felt like winning. After all, you could spend your life chasing a carrot on a stickor just grow your own.
