Youll only see your grandson on holidays, my daughterinlaw announced at the first family dinner.
Margaret, youve had enough salt! Youll ruin the broth if you keep adding more, I warned her.
Our neighbour Emily stood by the stove, watching anxiously as Margaret reached for the salt shaker for the third time over the pot of borscht.
Come on, Em, I can feel theres still room for a little more, Margaret protested.
Youre not feeling anything today, are you? You look nervous! Let me have a taste, Emily replied.
Margaret stepped away from the cooker, wiping her hands on her apron. Emily was rightMargarets hands trembled, her thoughts were a jumble, everything seemed to slip through her fingers. How could she not be nervous on a day like this?
My brother Andrew was finally bringing his wife home to meet his mother. They had married quietly a month earlier at the registry office, no wedding, just paperwork. Margaret had been hurt then; she hadnt even been present at the ceremony. Andrew had explained that Claire, his wife, preferred a lowkey affair. She doesnt like a lot of fuss, hed said.
Listen, Margaret, Emily said, tasting the broth, its perfectly fineactually delicious. Now go change your dress and tidy your hair; the guests will be here soon.
What if she doesnt like me? Margaret fretted. What if I make a bad impression?
Dont worry, Emily reassured. Youre a wonderful motherinlaw! You keep to yourself, you dont meddle. Whats the point of worrying?
Margaret nodded and slipped into the bedroom. Emily stayed behind to finish the salads. I was grateful for the neighbours help; alone Id have been in trouble.
In the bedroom Margaret stopped before the mirror. Sixtytwo, silverthreaded hair, laugh lines around her eyesjust an ordinary older lady. My brother was a lateborn child; hed become a mother at thirtyfive, after years of hoping. My husband had died ten years earlier, and Margaret had been living alone in a modest twobedroom flat on the edge of town.
Andrew had grown into a respectable young man. Hed earned a degree, landed a job as a programmer, earned a decent salary, rented a flat in the city centre, and visited his mother once a week, bringing groceries, fixing anything that broke, and sending a bit of money.
Then he met Claire. He spoke of her with a glowbeautiful, intelligent, a solicitor. Margaret asked to see a photo; Andrew showed her on his phone. She was indeed strikingtall, slender, dark hair, bright makeup, but her eyes held a cool distance.
Margaret chose her best dressa dark navy frock with a crisp white collardid her hair, applied a touch of lipstick, and gave herself a quick onceover. Looks decent enough, she thought.
The doorbell rang exactly at six. Margaret dabbed her sweaty palms on her dress and went to answer.
At the threshold stood Andrew, handinhand with Claire, who looked even more stunning in a pricey coat, high heels, and flawless nails.
Hello, Mum, Andrew said, pulling me into a hug. Meet Claire.
Good afternoon, Claire said, extending a hand. It was cool and formal.
Welcome, love! Come in, come in! I greeted her warmly.
I bustled about, helping her take off her coat, offering slippers. Claire surveyed the flat as if taking inventory, eyes flicking over the worn furniture, faded carpet, and dull curtains.
What a cosy flat, she said with a faint smile.
Thank you, dear. We dont live large, but we keep it tidy, I replied, leading her to the table.
Emily was already setting the table. Spotting the guests, she beamed.
Ah, the newlyweds! Hello! Im Emily, the neighbour, she announced.
Claire gave a dry nod.
We all sat down. I ladled the borscht and passed the salads. Andrew ate heartily, praising the soup.
Mum, its as good as ever! Ive missed your borscht, he said.
Eat up, son, I urged.
Claire nibbled her salad, taking small bites.
Do you watch your figure? Emily asked. Its important at your age.
I just avoid greasy and fried foods, Claire replied. Im watching my health.
A sting of embarrassment hit mewas my cooking too rich? Id always cooked like this; Andrew loved it.
By the way, hows Aunt Helen doing? Is she better? Andrew changed the subject.
Shes improving, I think. I visited her last week and brought some biscuits, I said.
A brief, awkward silence fell. Claire set down her fork and looked at me.
Margaret, Andrew mentioned youre retired. What do you keep yourself busy with? she asked.
Oh, the usualhouse chores, regular visits to the GP because my blood pressure spikes, chatting with the neighbours. Occasionally I go to the theatre if I can spare the money, I replied.
And you dont plan on looking after the grandchildren? she probed.
The word grandchildren hit me like a blow. The thought of grandchildren had been a lifelong dream.
Of course I do! Id love to! I said eagerly.
Thats good to hear, Claire smiled. Because Im pregnantfour months along.
Emilys face lit up. Andrews cheeks flushed.
Andrew! My love, why didnt you tell us sooner? I exclaimed.
I wanted Claire to be the one to share it, he said sheepishly.
Congratulations! Thats wonderful! I rushed to hug both of them. Claires embrace was chilly; she barely responded.
Thank you. Were thrilled, she said politely.
We continued the meal. I was over the moon at the prospect of a grandchildor granddaughter. Ill help however I can, I declared. Ill come over, look after the baby, cook for you both. You both work, itll be a load off you.
Claire sipped water, then turned to me.
Margaret, weve been meaning to discuss something. We have a few rules.
What rules? I asked, curious.
Ive read a lot of modern parenting literature, Claire said. Andrew and I have decided to raise the child according to a specific system.
Thats fine, I nodded. Im not opposed. Youre the parents, after all.
Exactly. So wed like you not to interfere with the upbringingno oldfashioned advice, no unsolicited input.
A coldness settled over me.
I wasnt planning to interfere, just to help, I replied.
Help can take many forms, Claire said, wiping her lips with a napkin. Well gladly accept financial support, but the childrearing will be our responsibility.
I felt the room grow colder.
Claire, why so absolute? Andrew interjected. Mum just wants the best.
Claire shot a stern look at him. Remember our discussion? she reminded him.
I do, but
No buts, she said firmly. Weve agreed.
Emily watched silently, her fists clenched. I could see the tension building.
Claire, I understand you have your own views, but Im a grandmother. How can I not be involved? I asked.
You will be involved, Claire replied, her tone icy. Youll only see the child on holidaysbirthdays, New Years. That will be sufficient.
My heart sank. Only on holidays? A couple of times a year?
This is unfair! I protested.
Its reasonable, she cut in. I dont mean to hurt you, Margaret, but youre an older woman with outdated ideas. Youd probably overindulge the child with rich food and bedtime stories about bogeymen. I cant allow that.
Never I would never
All grandmothers say that, then do their own thing, she said. Its easier to set boundaries now.
Andrew lowered his head, looking ashamed. I stared at him, pleading.
Andrew, tell her Ill be a good granny! I begged.
Weve thought a lot about this, he said quietly. And we think this is best for everyone.
I could hardly believe my ears. The son Id raised, the man Id given my life to, agreeing to this?
Youre serious? I whispered.
Dont be upset, Mum. Were not banning visits completelyjust not every day.
Not every day, I repeated, trying to keep composure. What about help? You both work! Who will look after the baby?
Well hire a nanny, Claire shrugged. We have the money.
A nanny isnt family! I retorted. Im family!
Thats exactly why, she said. A hired hand can be let go if needed. Relatives tend to think they have a right to meddle.
Emily could no longer stay silent.
This is outrageous! Margaret is a wonderful person! Shes been waiting for grandchildren! she shouted.
This is a family matter, Claire snapped at Emily. Please leave us.
Emilys face flushed. She grabbed her bag.
Margaret, Ill be at my flat. If you need anything, just call, she said, stepping out.
Silence fell heavy. I sat, hands clasped, tears welling but not falling.
Ive spent my whole life longing for grandchildren, I said softly. Imagining myself pushing a pram, reading bedtime stories, baking pies.
Claire sighed. I understand your feelings, but my aim is to raise a healthy, happy child. That needs a certain atmosphere, free of extra influences.
Am I an extra? I asked.
Youre a grandmother, but a distant one, she replied.
I stood abruptly.
Leave, I said.
What? Claire asked, surprised.
I said, leave my house right now, I demanded.
Mum! Andrew yelled, rushing in. What are you doing?
I dont want to see you or your wife. Get out.
Dont
Get out! I said it!
Andrew tried to intervene, but Claire grabbed her bag and said, Fine, lets go.
When the door shut, I collapsed into a chair, sobbing uncontrollably, as if a child had been ripped from my arms.
Emily returned half an hour later, finding me surrounded by untouched dishes.
Margaret, love, whats happened? she asked gently.
How could he agree to this? I cried.
Its probably the influence of his wife, Emily guessed. Shes treating me like an enemy.
I did nothing wrong! I hadnt even met her before today!
Emily held me, soothing my shoulders.
Ill keep coming by, she promised. Youre not alone.
Days turned into weeks. Andrew stopped calling, and I, stubbornly proud, didnt call either. I drifted through my flat like a ghosteating little, sleeping little, thinking only of the grandchild Id see at most on holidays.
Emily visited daily, urging me to eat, to talk. I barely heard her.
A school friend, Lucy, phoned. Wed known each other since childhood, though we lived different parts of town.
Margaret, I heard youre expecting a grandchild! Lucy exclaimed.
Yes, I replied, bitterness in my voice. And the daughterinlaw is terrible.
Lucy listened, shaking her head. You need to give her the cold shoulder. Grandmothers who are ignored often get what they deservebeing ignored completely. Let her think you dont care.
Its not that easy, I protested.
Just stop calling, stop visiting. Shell think you dont matter, Lucy advised.
A month later, a knock sounded at the door. Andrew stood there, weary.
Hi, Mum, he said. Im sorry about everything. Claire was harsh. I should have defended you.
For what? I asked.
I want to apologise. And Id like you to see Maxour sonwhen you can, he offered.
Im not sure I can, I whispered.
Youll come, wont you? he pressed.
Ill try, I said, feeling a sliver of hope.
He entered, and after a brief chat, he left. I sat, waiting for the next call.
Winter arrived, and I set up a Christmas tree, hoping Andrew might invite me. He never did.
February brought news: Claire gave birth to a boy named Max. Andrew sent a photo; I stared at the tiny face, tears streaming down.
The next Sunday, Andrew called.
Id like you to come over and meet Max, he said.
Ill be there, I answered, packing a small gift.
Andrew drove me to their threebedroom house, furnished nicely, with a bright nursery. Max lay sleeping in a little cot.
Can I hold him? I asked, voice trembling.
Better not, Claire replied. Hes asleep. Waking him would ruin his nap.
I stepped back, heart aching, but respected her wish.
We sat with tea while Claire talked about the birth and the first days. I wanted to ask about breastfeeding, but she quickly dismissed the topic, saying shed stick to formula to keep her figure.
Max awoke, wailing, and Claire handed him to me.
Can I have him? I whispered.
Just a minute, she said, then placed him back.
I cradled the warm infant against my chest, feeling his tiny heartbeat, a flood of love washing over me.
What a beautiful little lad, I murmured.
Claire took Max back after a minute, saying he needed to eat.
Later, Andrew asked, Did you like Max?
Very much, I replied. I know its tough for you, Claire, but I understand you have a right to decide how to raise him.
She nodded, and we promised to see each other occasionally.
Back home, I stared out the window, feeling both joy and emptinessjoy for the brief contact, emptiness because most of his life would pass without me.
Emily stopped by that evening.
How was Max? she asked.
Lovely, I said.
And Claire? Emily asked.
Cold, I replied, sighing.
Emily placed a hand on my shoulder. Maybe you should step back, protect your pride, she suggested.
How do I live without my grandson? I asked.
Children eventually come to those who love them, she said softly.
Months passed. Max was eight months old, then a year, and I saw him only on his birthday, at his christening, and occasionally when Andrew needed a hand. Each visit was a short, controlled affairClaire dictated how long I could stay, what I could feed him, even how loudly I could laugh.
One day, Andrew called, breathless.
Mom, the nanny is sick. Could you look after Max tomorrow for a few hours? he asked.
My goodness, of course! I replied, heart racing.
He handed me a sheet of instructionsfeeding times, sleep schedule, permissible toys. No deviations, he warned.
When he left, I took Max in my arms. His eyes widened, and he smiled at me.
Hello, my sunshine, I whispered, pressing him close. Ive waited for this moment forever.
We spent three hours togetherfeeding him by the schedule, reading his picture book, playing with the allowed blocks. He giggled, his face lighting up. When Andrew returned, I was reluctant to let him go.
Did it go well? he asked.
Perfect, I said, smiling.
He left, and I felt a strange mix of satisfaction and sorrow.
Max turned two, then three, then four. I saw him only once a month, if luck permitted. Hed run to my lap, shouting Grandma! Id hold him, but Andrew would gently pull him away, saying, Quiet now, please.
Dont spoil him, Claire would remind us.
I tried to be gentle, but the rules weighed heavy. When Max asked for a treat, Claire would say, No, thats not allowed. I whispered, Just one, and he obeyed, eyes darting away.
Claire called each evening to check that I was following the regime. I would answer, All good, hes eating, sleeping. Inside, I felt like a liar, but the love for my grandson made me bend the rules a littleextra biscuits here, a longer playtime there. Maxs smile returned, and the house felt brighter.
One evening, after a briefIn the end, Margaret learned that love could bridge even the strictest boundaries, and the gentle moments she shared with Max became the quiet, enduring threads that stitched her family back together.
