You’re holding him wrong! the shout cut through the morning air, sharp and piercing. I barely flinched; over the past months I’d grown accustomed to that voice the former motherinlaw, always appearing at the worst possible moment.
Emily turned slowly, clutching her baby to her chest. Little Charlie, eight months old, was peacefully dozing on her shoulder, bundled in a warm onesie. The park was nearly deserted on a weekday, only a few hurried walkers shivering in their coats.
Good morning, Mrs. Whitaker, Emily said flatly.
Dorothy Whitaker waved a dismissive hand as if swatting away a persistent fly. Her cheeks were flushed with anger and the chill. She stepped closer, lips pressed together, eyes appraising the infant.
What do you think youre doing? Dorothys tone rang with outrage. Do you realise how cold it is out? My grandson is barely dressed! Hell freeze! Do you want the boy to fall ill?
Emily glanced at Charlie. He wore a onesie, a cosy hat and a scarf appropriate for the weather.
Its about eight degrees Celsius, Mrs. Whitaker. Hes dressed properly, Emily replied.
Properly? Dorothy took another step forward. Do you even know how a child should be held? Youll ruin his posture! Hell grow all bent over! And look at him so skinny! Are you starving him?
Emily clenched her jaw. Charlie was perfectly healthy; the paediatrician praised his development at every checkup. Yet Dorothy pressed on.
These long walks of yours! Two hours a day, dragging the child out in the wind! Are you playing a joke on him? He needs warmth and rest, not this exposure!
Emily shifted Charlie to her other arm. The baby stirred, opened his eyes briefly, then settled back to sleep.
Mrs. Whitaker, lets not Emily began.
Lets not what? Dorothy snapped. Lets do it! You have no idea how to raise a child! Ive brought up three of my own, and you? This is your first baby and you think you know better than anyone! So clever, arent you?
Inside Emily, something tightened. The barrage of accusations was a familiar ache; each visit from Dorothy turned into a crossexamination, each encounter felt like a torment.
And besides, Dorothy stepped even closer, her eyes flashing, its all your fault! Youve torn the family apart! My son was happy until you turned his life into a circus! You drove him away! You stole his child from his father! All because of you!
Emily froze, the air thick around her. Dorothys words echoed in her mind. Had she really destroyed the family?
We should be going, Emily whispered, turning away.
Youre running from me? Dorothy shouted after her. Do my eyes lie? Youve ruined my sons life, and that of his child too!
Emily quickened her pace, her legs carrying her away from the park, from the shouting, from the blame. Charlie squirmed but didnt wake. Dorothy kept yelling, but Emily could no longer hear; she simply didnt want to.
Only when enough distance lay between them, the cries fading behind her, did Emily exhale. Her hands trembled, her heart thumped somewhere in her throat. How could Dorothy have the nerve to claim it was Emilys fault?
Memories flooded back. That night, the flat. The door Emily had opened an hour early. Her exhusband, Stephen, and the other woman, already in their bedroom.
Emily hadnt shouted. She hadnt wept. She simply began packing Stephens things. Stephen tried to explain, stammering about mistakes and nothing that mattered. Emily pointed to the door.
Three days later she filed for divorce.
Two weeks after that she discovered she was pregnant and told Stephen, who was still her ex.
Dorothy burst into Emilys flat that evening, pounding on the door until Emily finally opened.
Cancel the divorce! Dorothy screamed from the threshold. What are you doing? Youre pregnant! The child needs both parents! You must forgive my son! Youre not in the right position, dear!
Emily leaned wearily against the wall. Dorothy continued:
He made a mistake. Men do that, thats what they are. But youre a woman! You must forgive, think of the family, think of the child!
Which child? Emily asked softly. The one wholl be ashamed of his father?
Shame? Dorothy snapped. You should be ashamed! Youre destroying a family out of pride and selfishness! Have you even thought about raising a child without a father? Men stray, but for the child we can turn a blind eye to many things!
Emily closed her eyes.
Mrs. Whitaker, please leave, she said.
I wont go! Dorothy stomped her foot. I wont leave until you change your mind! Youre being obstinate! Youre ruining your childs future, you stubborn girl
Emily didnt back down. The divorce papers were signed, the marriage legally ended, and soon Charlie was born small, warm, hers alone.
Emily never claimed child support. She didnt list Stephen as the father; he made it clear he didnt want the boy. She worked from home, earned well, her mother helped when she needed a break. She asked nothing from Stephens family not a penny.
Stephen never called. He never asked whether it was a boy or a girl, whether the baby was healthy. He simply didnt care, and that was obvious from the start.
Dorothy, however, hounded from every angle. She turned up at the hospital for the discharge without any invitation, bouquet in hand.
What did you name him? she asked as Emily emerged with the infant.
Charlie, Emily replied.
Dorothys face twisted.
Charlie? Why not Colin, after my father? I told you I wanted that
You told me, Mrs. Whitaker, but this is my son and I named him as I wished.
Dorothy pursed her lips but said nothing.
Visits followed. Dorothy appeared five times a week, unannounced, just stepping over the threshold demanding to see her grandson. She offered endless advice on feeding, changing, bathing, sleeping, holding, walking.
Emily endured, nodding, doing things her own way. One day she snapped.
Mrs. Whitaker, enough! Emily shouted when Dorothy began criticizing her choice of formula. Stop telling me what to do! Hes my child! I know how to care for him and what to feed him!
Dorothy turned ashen, then flushed scarlet.
Are you shouting at me? she demanded.
Yes, I am! Emily met her eyes. Because I cant take this any longer! You come every day and poison me with your criticism and accusations! Im fed up!
Dorothy turned and left, stomping loudly. After that she came less often twice a week but each visit still felt like torture.
Now there was no peace even on the street.
Emily entered her block, went up to her flat. The house was quiet and warm. She laid Charlie in his cot, removed her coat and sank onto the sofa. Dorothys words still rang in her ears: You destroyed the family. But wasnt it Stephen who shattered all their plans? Who betrayed? Emily only wanted to keep her child, to raise him. What was wrong with that?
Charlie sighed softly in his cot. Emily went over, adjusted the blanket, and the baby smiled in his sleep.
This is right, she told herself. Everything as it should be.
Two more weeks passed, quiet and calm. Dorothy hadnt turned up, hadnt called. Emily began to hope she had finally been left alone. Then, on Saturday morning, a sharp knock came at the door.
Emily opened it. Standing there was Dorothy Whitaker.
Hello, she said breezily, marching straight past Emily into the flat.
Emily froze, unable to answer. Dorothy headed straight for the nursery where Charlie was playing on his play mat, bent down and cooed.
My little grandson, my dear! My sweet boy!
Emily followed, arms crossed.
Mrs. Whitaker, whats happening?
Dorothy turned with a bright grin.
Tomorrows the christening! Ive arranged everything church, godparents, the whole lot!
Emily stared at her former motherinlaw.
What?
The christening, Dorothy repeated, as if stating the obvious. Tomorrow at twooclock. Ive booked a lovely church and found excellent godparents. All set.
Emily stepped forward.
You cant decide when my sons christening will be!
Dorothy straightened, her smile hardening.
I can. Who else should? You, dear? she sneered.
Its my child! Emily snapped. Im his mother!
You?! Dorothy huffed. Youre young and foolish! You dont know a thing! Im experienced! I know whats right! Youll never raise him properly on your own! Youre not grown enough!
Something flared inside Emily a bright, hot blaze of the months of hurt, insults, humiliation. It surged over her in one wave.
You have no right to be here! Not a single one! Emily shouted.
Dorothy took a step back.
What do you mean no right? Hes my grandson!
Not legally! Emily retorted, moving closer. His birth certificate lists no father. Officially, he has no dad, and therefore you have no grandson! Until that changes, youre not welcome here!
Dorothys face went pale, her lips trembling with outrage.
You youre throwing me out?
Yes, Emily said firmly. Leave now.
Dorothy snatched her bag and bolted out of the flat. Charlie wailed on the mat. Emily lifted him, pressed him close.
Everythings fine, love, she whispered. Everythings fine.
The week passed in quiet.
Then another knock came.
Emily opened the door and froze. On the doorstep stood two figures: Dorothy Whitaker and Stephen Clarke. Stephen looked tired, irritated; Dorothy clutched his elbow as if afraid hed bolt.
Good evening, Emily, Stephen grumbled, avoiding eye contact.
Dorothy shoved Stephen forward into the flat. Emily couldnt stop them. Dorothy hauled Stephen into the nursery.
Look! she cried, pointing at Charlie. This is your son! You must legally acknowledge him! You have to!
Stephen glanced at the baby, then turned away.
Emily leaned against the doorframe, watching Stephens stubborn expression. She knew what she had to do.
Ill claim child support, Emily said evenly.
Stephen startled, spinning toward her.
What?
Child support, she repeated. You earn well, Stephen. The court will award me a fair sum.
His face twisted with fury.
I dont want this child, Stephen spat. Enough! Im done. Im not responsible for anyone!
He stormed out of the flat. Dorothy lunged after him.
Stephen! Stephen, wait! she shouted. Because of you I cant see my grandson! Do you understand?
I dont give a toss! Stephens voice echoed from the hallway. I dont care about you or the baby!
Emily shut the door, went to Charlie, who reached for her hands. She lifted him, holding him tight.
A small smile touched her lips. The plan had worked. Stephen didnt want the boy, and now she was finally free of Dorothy Whitaker.
Everything fell into place just as shed hoped. At last she could breathe.
