Youll only see your grandson on holidays, the daughterinlaw announced at the first family dinner, her voice cutting through the clatter of cutlery.
Margaret, stop oversalting! Youll ruin the broth! the neighbour, Susan, called from the stove, eyeing the ladle hovering over the pot of beef stew.
Come on, Susan, Im sure I havent added enough yet, Margaret muttered, reaching for the salt for the third time.
Youre not feeling anything today, are you? You look nervous, Susan said, leaning over the counter. Let me try a taste.
Margaret slipped away from the stove, wiping her trembling hands on her apron. Susan was righther fingers shook, thoughts jumbled, everything felt like it was slipping through her grasp. How could she stay calm on such an important night?
Her only son, Andrew, was finally bringing his wife home to meet his mother. They had tied the knot quietly a month earlier, a civil ceremony at the registry office, no fanfare. Margaret had been bitter about thatshe hadnt even been invited to the signing. Andrew had explained that his wife, Charlotte, disliked noisy gatherings and preferred a modest affair.
Here, Margaret, Susan said, tasting the stew. Its fine, actually quite good. Now get changed, tidy your hair. The guests will be here soon.
What if she doesnt like me? Margaret fretted. What if I make a bad impression?
Youre a wonderful motherinlaw! You dont meddle, you dont overstep, you live your own life. Whats the worry? Susan coaxed.
Margaret nodded and slipped into the bedroom. Susan stayed behind, finishing the salads. It was a relief that the neighbour was helping; Margaret could never have managed alone.
In front of the mirror, Margaret saw a sixtytwoyearold woman with silver hair, crowsfeet around her eyes, the ordinary face of a senior. Andrew had been a lateborn childhed become a father at thirtyfive, after his wife had given up hope of motherhood. Her husband had died ten years earlier, and shed been living alone in a modest twobedroom flat on the outskirts of Manchester.
Andrew had grown into a competent software engineer, earning a respectable salary, renting a flat in the city centre, visiting his mother once a week, bringing groceries, fixing anything that broke. Then he met Charlottea striking, intelligent solicitor. Margaret had begged to see a photo; Andrew showed her a picture on his phone. She was tall, slender, darkhaired, with bright makeup, but her eyes seemed distant.
Margaret chose her best dressa dark navy number with a crisp white collardid her hair, applied a touch of lipstick, and gave herself a critical glance in the mirror. Decent enough, she thought.
The doorbell rang precisely at six oclock. Margaret smoothed her damp palms on the dress and opened the door.
Andrew stood there with a woman who surpassed the photograph. Charlotte was even more elegant, wrapped in an expensive coat, towering heels, immaculate nails.
Mom, hello! Andrew embraced his mother. This is Charlotte.
Hello, Charlotte said, extending a hand. The handshake was formal, a touch too cool.
Welcome, welcome! Come in! Margaret urged, ushering them inside, helping remove the coat, offering slippers. Charlotte surveyed the modest flat, her gaze lingering on the faded curtains, the worn carpet, the threadbare curtains.
What a cosy flat, she said with a faint smile.
Thanks, dear. Its not much, but its tidy. Please, have a seat at the table.
Susan was already setting the table. When she saw the guests, she smiled brightly.
Oh, the newlyweds! Hello! Im Susan, the neighbour.
Hello, Charlotte replied curtly.
They all sat down. Margaret began ladling stew, offering salads. Andrew ate heartily, praising the food.
Mom, its as good as ever! Ive missed your stew, he said.
Eat up, love, Margaret encouraged.
Charlotte poked at her salad, taking small bites.
Do you watch your figure? Susan asked. Its important at your age.
I just avoid fatty, fried foods, Charlotte answered. Im watching my health.
Margaret felt a sting. Was her cooking too rich? Shed always prepared it this way, and Andrew loved it.
Mom, hows Aunt Vera? She feeling better? Andrew changed the subject.
Seems better. I visited her last week with some treats, Margaret replied.
A brief awkward silence fell. Charlotte set her fork down and turned to Margaret.
Margaret, Andrew mentioned youre retired. What do you do these days?
Oh, just the usual household chores, regular visits to the GPmy blood pressure is a bit erraticchatting with neighbours, occasional theatre if I can spare the money, Margaret said.
And you dont plan on looking after the grandchildren? Charlotte asked.
Margarets heart leapt. Grandchildren! She had dreamed of them.
Of course! Id love to! she exclaimed.
Good, because Im pregnantfour months along, Charlotte announced, a smile flickering.
Susan beamed. Andrew looked away, embarrassed.
Andrey! Darling, why didnt you tell us sooner? Margaret gasped.
I wanted Charlotte to say it first, he stammered.
Oh, what joy! Congratulations! Margaret rushed to hug her son, then turned to Charlotte, who accepted the embrace with a cool, detached politeness.
Thank you. Were thrilled, Charlotte said.
The dinner continued. Margaret floated on a cloud of happiness. Ill help you! Ill come over, look after the baby, cook for youboth of you work, itll be tough for you, she babbled.
Charlotte sipped water, then fixed her gaze on Margaret.
Margaret, we have some guidelines, she began.
What kind of guidelines? Margaret asked, uneasy.
Ive read a lot of modern parenting literature, and Andrew and I have decided to raise the child according to a specific system.
Thats fine, of course, Margaret nodded. Youre young, you know best.
Exactly. So we ask you not to interfere with the upbringing. No oldfashioned advice, no unsolicited input.
A chill ran through Margaret.
I wasnt planning to interfere. I just wanted to help.
Help can take many forms, Charlotte said, dabbing her lips with a napkin. Well accept financial support, but the childs upbringing is our responsibility.
Andrew interjected, We discussed this, Charlotte. Mom just wants the best.
Yes, we did discuss it, Charlotte said sharply to her husband. Remember?
No buts, she added. Weve agreed.
Susan watched silently, her fists clenched. Margaret felt a lump tighten in her throat.
Charlotte, I understand you have your own views, but Im a grandmother! How can I not be involved in my grandchilds life? Margaret pleaded.
You will be involved, Charlotte replied icily. Youll see your grandchild only on holidaysbirthdays, New Years. That will be enough.
Margarets breath caught. Only on holidays? Just a few times a year?
This is unfair! she protested.
Its reasonable, Charlotte cut in. I dont want to hurt you, Margaret, but youre an elderly woman with outdated ideas. Youd spoil the child with rich food, clothe him in too many outfits, frighten him with old folklore. I cant allow that.
Every grandmother says that, then does it her own way, Charlotte continued. Better to set boundaries now.
Andrew hung his head. Margaret stared at him, begging.
Andrew, tell her! Tell her Ill be a good grandmother! she implored.
Mom, he said, eyes upturned, weve thought a lot. We decided its best for everyone.
Margaret could not believe her ears. The son she had raised, sacrificed for, was siding with his wife.
Youre serious? she whispered.
Dont be upset, Mom. Were not forbidding you altogether, just not daily. Only on special occasions, Andrew said gently.
Only on special occasions, Margaret repeated, numb. What about help? You both work. Who will look after the baby?
Well hire a nanny, Charlotte shrugged. We have the money.
A nanny, not a family member! I want to be there!
Thats why we keep it professional. A nanny can be replaced if needed, whereas relatives tend to overstep.
Susan finally exploded, Excuse me, but how can you speak like that! Margaret is a wonderful woman who has been waiting for grandchildren!
Mrs. Susan, Charlotte turned to the neighbour, this is a family matter. Please leave us alone.
Im not meddling, Im just
Enough. Please leave the table, Charlotte commanded.
Susans face flushed. She grabbed her bag. Margaret, Ill stay next door. Call if you need anything.
When Susan left, a heavy silence settled. Margaret sat, hands clenched on her lap, tears brimming but not falling.
Ive waited my whole life for grandchildren, she whispered. Dreamed of pushing a pram, reading bedtime stories, baking pies.
Margaret, Charlotte sighed, I understand your feelings, but I need a calm environment for the baby, no extra people.
Am I unnecessary? Margaret asked.
Youre a grandmother, but a distant one, Charlotte replied.
Margaret rose abruptly. Leave.
What? Charlotte asked, surprised.
I said leave. From my house. Now. Margarets voice quivered with pain.
Andrew! he shouted, rushing in. What are you doing?
I dont want to see either of you. Get out, Margaret snapped. Both of you, leave this house right now.
Please, Mum, dont
Get out! I told you! she shouted, slamming the door.
Andrew fled, and Charlotte gathered her things, following him out. The door closed behind them, leaving Margaret alone on a chair, sobbing uncontrollably, as if a child had been ripped from her arms.
Susan returned half an hour later, finding Margaret amidst untouched dishes, a hollowedout shell.
Margaret, what happened? Susan asked gently.
How could he agree to this? Margaret wept.
I dont know, dear. Maybe his wife convinced him.
But shes his wife! Their child! How can she shut a grandmother out?
Susan embraced her, patting her shoulder. These days many daughtersinlaw think the motherinlaw is the enemy.
I did nothing wrong! I hadnt even met her before today!
Still, she assumes youll interfere.
Margaret cried on, Susan cleaned up, then they sat with tea in a heavy silence.
What now? Margaret asked.
Keep living, Susan replied. He hasnt turned his back on you, hes just been swayed.
How can I live when my son turned his back on me?
Hes not turned his back, just been persuaded. Maybe hell see sense later.
Or maybe not, Margaret whispered.
A week passed without a call from Andrew. Pride kept Margaret from reaching out. She drifted through her flat like a ghost, eating little, sleeping little, her mind fixed on the grandson she would see only on holidays, on a son who chose his wife over her.
Susan visited daily, coaxing her to eat, to chat, but Margaret barely heard. Then a call from an old school friend, Nina, broke the quiet.
Gally, I heard youre married now, Nina said, laughing.
Married, Margaret corrected. Andrew is married.
Is the daughterinlaw good?
Shes terrible, Margaret replied.
Nina gasped. Youve got to do something.
What should I do? Margaret asked, voice shaking.
Dont call, dont visit. Let them think you dont care. Theyll eventually miss you, Nina advised. A stubborn grandma can be a powerful weapon.
Margaret considered it, the bitter taste of resignation mixing with a flicker of defiance.
A month later, Andrew finally turned up at Margarets door, weary and older than shed seen him before.
Hi, Mum, he said, hanging his coat.
Hello, Margaret replied, voice flat.
Can I come in?
Come in.
They sat at the kitchen table. Andrew looked exhausted, his eyes tired.
Im sorry, he began. Charlotte was harsh. I should have stopped that.
You let it happen.
I know. Im ashamed.
Margaret stared, waiting.
Mom, I understand youre hurt, but Charlotte truly believes this is best for the baby.
What do you think?
Andrew lowered his gaze. I love you, Mum. I love my wife. Im torn.
Even if shes wrong? Margaret asked.
Even if shes wrong, he whispered. Ive got to support her.
Margaret nodded slowly, the realization settling like cold water. Her son had made his choice, and it wasnt hers.
Alright, Andrew. Live as you wish. I wont interfere, she said, voice steady. But Ill still be here.
But Mum
Its only on holidays. I remember, she reminded him.
He sighed. Well try to see you more.
He left, and the house fell silent once more.
Winter arrived, and Margaret prepared for New Years alone with Susan. They set the table, turned on the telly, poured a modest bottle of champagne.
To a better year, Susan toasted. May it be kinder.
Margaret raised her glass, but the hope felt thin.
In February, Charlotte gave birth to a boy, Max, and sent a photo. Margaret stared at the tiny face, dark hair, chubby cheeks, and tears welled, then spilled over.
A week later Andrew called, Mum, Id like you to come over Sunday, meet Max.
Okay, Margaret replied, heart racing.
On Sunday, she packed a bag of giftsbooties, soft blankets, a wooden toydonning her best dress once more. Andrew drove her to their suburban threebedroom house, sleek and modern.
Charlotte opened the door, smiling politely. Hello, Margaret, she said.
Hello, dear, Margaret replied, forcing warmth.
The nursery was bright, a crib holding sleeping Max. Margaret leaned forward, heart pounding.
May I hold him? she whispered.
Better not, Charlotte said, shaking her head. Hes asleep. Waking him would be difficult.
Ill be very gentle
Please, no, Charlotte insisted. Let him rest.
Margaret stepped back, fighting tears. They sat in the living room, sipping tea while Charlotte recounted the birth, the first days. Margaret listened, absorbing every word.
Do you breastfeed? she asked quietly.
No, we use formula. I want to keep my figure, Charlotte replied, nonchalantly.
Margaret swallowed her urge to argue, recalling the earlier warning.
Max awoke, wailing. Charlotte lifted him onto the sofa, and Margaret reached out.
May I take him? she asked, voice trembling.
For a minute, Charlotte relented, handing the baby to her.
Margaret cradled Max, his warm body pressed against her, his breath sweet with milk. She whispered, Youre beautiful, my little one, tears blurring her vision.
Enough, give him back, Charlotte said, taking him quickly. He needs to eat.
Margaret watched, heart aching, as Max was taken from her arms.
Later that evening, Andrew drove Margaret home.
How was it? he asked.
Wonderful, she said, a smile trembling on her lips. I know its hard for you both, but I understand your need to decide.
Well still invite you, Andrew promised. Not often, but well try.
Margaret returned to her flat, sat by the window, darkness outside mirroring the emptiness inside. She had held her grandson, even if only briefly.
Susan entered later, smiling. Did you see the baby?
Hes lovely, Margaret said softly.
And the daughterinlaw?
Cold as ice, Margaret replied.
Susan sighed. Youre thinking of giving up, arent you?
Maybe, Margaret admitted. Or maybe I should stay back, keep my dignity.
How will you see him then?
Children remember the love they felt. Maybe one day hell seek me out.
Weeks turned into months. Max turned eight months old, and Margaret saw him only on birthdays, a baptism, and an occasional just because visit. Each time, Charlotte controlled every interactionno unsupervised cuddles, no extra treats, no loud laughter.
One rainy afternoon, Andrew called, Mum, the nannys ill. Could you look after Max tomorrow for three hours?
Margarets heart leapt. Of course! Ill be there.
When Andrew arrived with Max, a small boy in a warm onesie, he handed Margaret a sheet of instructionsfeeding times, nap schedule, permissible toys, a strict routine.
Just follow this, he said.
Dont deviate, Charlotte added over the phone later. Ill be checking.
Margaret spent the next three hours feeding Max by the book, playing only the approved games, reading the prescribed stories. Max stared at her with large eyes, smiling faintly.
When Andrew returned, Max clung to Margaret, whimpering, I dont want to go back!
Ill miss you, Margaret whispered, fighting the lump in her throat.
Thanks, Mum, Andrew said, gratitude mixed with relief. Well need you more often.
For the next weeks, Margaret was called in wheneverFor the next weeks, Margaret was called in whenever the nanny fell ill, and each time she felt the fragile thread of her love for the grandchildren tighten, even as the house held its quiet rules.
