Youll only see your grandson on holidays, the daughterinlaw announced at the first family dinner, her voice cutting through the clatter of plates.
Grace Thompson, wiping her hands on the kitchen apron, snapped, Enough already, Zoe! Dont oversalt the stew youll ruin it!
Zoe, the neighbour from next door, hovered over the pot, eyes flickering with worry as Grace reached for the salt shaker for the third time.
Come on, Zoe, love, I feel theres still room for more, Grace said, halflaughing.
Youre not feeling anything today, are you? You look nervous! Let me try, Zoe replied, taking the spoon.
Grace stepped back, her hands trembling as she brushed a strand of silver hair from her face. Zoe was right. Her fingers shook, thoughts tangled, everything seemed to slip through her grasp. How could she stay calm on a day this important?
Her son Andrew was finally bringing his wife home, introducing her to his mother. Theyd been married quietly a month earlier at the registry office, no ceremony, no guests. Grace had been hurt then the only child shed ever had, and she hadnt even been present at the legal signing. Andrew had explained that Laura, his wife, preferred a small, private affair.
Listen, Grace, Zoe said, tasting the broth. Its perfect actually delicious. Now get changed, fix your hair. The guests will be here soon.
Zoe, what if she doesnt like me? What if I make a bad impression? Grace fretted.
Dont worry! Youre a wonderful motherinlaw. You dont meddle, you keep your distance. Whats the problem? Zoe reassured her.
Grace nodded and slipped into the bedroom. Zoe stayed behind, finishing the salads. It was a relief that the neighbour had offered to help; Grace knew she couldnt manage alone.
In front of the mirror, Grace saw a sixtytwoyearold woman with a thin line of grey at her temples, fine wrinkles around her eyes. A typical elderly lady. Andrew had been a lateinlife child born when Grace was thirtyfive, after years of hoping for a baby. Her husband had died ten years earlier, and shed since lived alone in a modest twobed flat on the outskirts of Manchester.
Andrew had grown into a respectable man: university graduate, steady programmer, earning a decent salary, renting a flat in the city centre, visiting his mother once a week, bringing groceries, fixing anything that broke.
Then he met Laura. He talked about her with such enthusiasm beautiful, intelligent, a solicitor. Grace begged to see a photo; Andrew showed one on his phone. She was indeed striking: tall, slim, dark hair, bright makeup, but her eyes were oddly cold.
Grace dressed in her best navy dress with a crisp white collar, did her hair, even applied a touch of red lipstick. She inspected herself in the mirror, giving a curt nod she looked respectable.
At exactly six oclock the doorbell rang. Grace smoothed her damp palms on the dress and went to answer.
Andrew stood in the hallway with a woman who eclipsed the photograph. Laura wore an expensive coat, towering heels, immaculate manicure.
Mom, hi! Andrew embraced his mother. This is Laura.
Hello, Laura extended a hand. The shake was formal, chilly.
Welcome, welcome! Come in, please! Grace hustled, helping Laura shed her coat, offering slippers. Laura glanced around the modest flat, eyes scanning the dated furniture, the faded curtains, the threadbare carpet.
What a… cosy home, she said with a faint, almost sarcastic smile.
Thanks, dear. We dont have much, but its tidy. Please, have a seat, Grace replied, leading them to the kitchen.
Zoe was already setting the table. Spotting the newcomers, she beamed.
Oh, welcome! Im Zoe, the neighbour, she announced.
Laura nodded, her expression flat.
They all sat. Grace ladled out the soup, offered salads. Andrew ate heartily, praising the food.
Mom, its as good as ever! Ive missed your soup, he said.
Eat up, love, Grace urged.
Laura poked at the salad with a fork, taking small bites.
Do you watch your figure? Zoe asked, halfjoking. Its important at your age.
I just avoid greasy, fried food, Laura replied. Im watching my health.
Grace felt a sting. Was her cooking too rich? Shed always made hearty meals; Andrew loved them.
Mom, hows Aunt Vera doing? Is she better? Andrew changed the subject.
Seems shes improving. I visited her last week with some biscuits, Grace said.
A brief silence fell. Laura set down her fork and looked directly at Grace.
Mrs. Thompson, Andrew mentioned youre retired. What do you keep busy with? she asked.
Oh, just the usualhouse chores, regular checkups at the clinic, my blood pressures a bit erratic. I chat with the neighbours, go to the theatre when I can afford it, Grace answered.
And do you plan on looking after your grandchildren? Laura probed.
Grandchildren. The words hit Grace like a cold wind. Shed dreamed of them for years.
Of course, Id love to! Grace exclaimed.
Laura smiled, a calculated smile. Thats good, because Im pregnant. Four months along.
Grace gasped. Zoes eyes lit up; Andrew turned a deep shade of crimson.
Andrey! Darling, why didnt you tell us straight away? he blurted.
I wanted Laura to be the one to share the news, Andrew muttered.
Congratulations! Thats wonderful! Grace swooned, hugging her son, then Laura. Lauras embrace was frosty, barely acknowledging the gesture.
Thank you. Were delighted, she said.
The dinner continued. Grace floated on a cloud of joyher grandson, perhaps a granddaughter, finally on the way.
Ill help you however I can. Ill come over, look after the baby, cook for you. You both work, itll be tough, she promised, voice trembling with excitement.
Laura sipped water, then spoke carefully.
Weve been thinking about the childs upbringing. We have a set of guidelinesmodern, researchbased. Wed like you to stay out of the daytoday decisions. No oldfashioned advice, no interference, she said.
What kind of rules? Grace asked, heart sinking.
Everythingdiet, sleep schedule, educational methods. Well handle the parenting; you can offer financial support if you wish, Laura replied, dabbing her lips with a napkin.
Grace felt a chill creep over her. I wasnt planning to meddle. I just wanted to help.
Help can take many forms, Laura said. Well accept money, but the childs care is our responsibility.
Andrew interjected, Laura, cant we be a bit more flexible? Mum just wants the best for the child.
Laura shot him a stern look. We agreed on this, Andrew. No buts.
Zoe watched silently, fists clenched. Grace saw Zoes tension and felt a lump in her throat.
Laura, I understand you have your own ideas, but Im a grandmother! How can I stand by? Grace pleaded.
Youll see the child only on holidaysbirthdays, Christmas. Thats enough, Laura said, voice flat.
Graces breath caught. Only on holidays? Just a handful of visits a year?
Thats unfair! she protested.
Its reasonable, Laura retorted. Youre an elderly woman with outdated views. Youll spoil the child with rich food, overdress him, frighten him with old wives tales. I cant allow that.
Not all grandmothers are like that, Grace argued. We all want whats best for our grandchildren.
Its just easier to set clear boundaries, Laura said.
Andrew lowered his head, looking guilty. Grace turned to him, eyes pleading.
Andrew, tell her Ill be a good granny! she whispered.
My mum, he said softly, we thought this would be best for everyone, for the child.
Grace felt the world tilt. Her own son, the one shed raised, now siding with his wife to push her aside.
Youre serious? she whispered, tears welling.
Dont be angry, Mum. Were not banning you completely. Just not everyday, he replied.
Not every day, Grace repeated, the words tasting like ash. What about the practical help? You both work; who will look after the baby?
Well hire a nanny. We have the money, Laura said.
The nannys a stranger! Im family! Grace shouted.
Its easier to control a professional than a relative, Laura replied.
Zoe could no longer hold back. Excuse me, but how can you speak like that? Grace is wonderful, shes been waiting for grandchildren her whole life!
Laura snapped, This is a private family matter. Please leave us alone.
Zoe, cheeks flushed, grabbed her bag and fled. Grace, Ill stay next door if you need anything, she called over her shoulder.
Silence fell heavy. Grace sat, hands clenched on her lap, tears streaming, yet no sound escaped her mouth.
Ive waited all my life for grandchildren, she whispered. I dreamed of pushing a pram, reading bedtime stories, baking pies.
Laura sighed. I get your feelings, but I need a calm environment for my child. Your presence would be disruptive.
Youre saying Im unnecessary?
Youre not unnecessary, just distant.
Grace rose, voice shaking. Leave, she commanded.
What? Laura looked up, surprised.
I said leave this house. Now, Grace demanded.
Mother! Andrew lunged forward. What are you doing?
I wont see either of you. Get out, Grace shouted, pointing at the door.
Mom, please
Theres no more room for you here! Grace screamed, and Andrew fled with Laura, slamming the door behind them.
The house fell into a mournful quiet. Grace collapsed onto a chair, sobbing uncontrollably, the sound raw and animal.
Thirty minutes later Zoe returned, finding Grace amidst overturned plates and untouched food.
Grace, love, what happened? Zoe asked, horrified.
How could he agree to this? Grace wept.
I dont know. Maybe his wife convinced him, Zoe said softly. She sees you as an obstacle.
But shes his wife! Their child! How can she push you away?
Zoe embraced her, rubbing her back. These days many daughtersinlaw think mothersinlaw are enemies.
I did nothing wrong. I hadnt even met her before tonight!
Zoe whispered, She decided youd meddle, regardless.
Graces grief lingered for weeks. Pride kept her from calling Andrew; she moved through the flat like a ghost, eating little, sleeping little, haunted by the thought of a grandchild shed only see on holidays.
Zoe visited daily, coaxing her to eat, to talk. Still, Grace heard only distant echoes.
One afternoon her old school friend Nina called. Theyd known each other since they were girls.
Gail, I heard youre expecting a baby, Nina said brightly.
Expecting? No, my sons married, Grace replied, voice flat.
Is the daughterinlaw difficult?
The daughterinlaw, Laura, is harsh, Grace confessed.
Nina laughed bitterly. Youve got a real tyrant on your hands. My advice? Stay silent. Dont beg. Let her think youve given up. Shell stop trying to control you.
But I cant just give up! Grace protested.
Just wait. Let her tire of the power play. When she sees you wont chase her, shell loosen up, Nina instructed.
Months passed. Grace kept her distance, barely calling Andrew, living a routine of clinic visits, grocery trips, occasional tea with Zoe. The emptiness grew.
One evening the doorbell rang. Andrew stood there, shoulders slumped, eyes downcast.
Hey, Mum, he said quietly.
Hello, Grace managed.
Can I come in?
Yes, come in.
They sat at the kitchen table. Andrew looked exhausted, older than his years.
Im sorry for that night, he began. Laura was sharp. I shouldnt have let it happen.
But you did, Grace said softly.
I know. Im ashamed. Laura thinks its best for Max for everyone.
What do you think? Grace asked.
Andrew stared at his hands. I love you, Mum. I love Laura. Im torn.
Even if shes wrong? Grace asked.
I dont know. I want whats right for our son, he murmured.
Grace nodded, feeling the weight of his conflict. Okay, Andrew. Do what you feel is right.
He stood, hesitated, then left. The house fell silent again.
Winter arrived. Grace bought a Christmas tree, hung ornaments, hoping Andrew might invite her for the holiday. He never did.
On New Years Eve, Grace and Zoe sat together, glasses of champagne in hand.
Heres to a better year, Gail, Zoe said, smiling weakly.
Grace forced a smile. To a better year.
February brought news: Laura gave birth to a boy, Max. Andrew sent a photo a chubby infant with dark hair.
Grace stared at the image, tears spilling, heart breaking and swelling all at once.
A week later Andrew called.
Mom, Id like you to see Max. Can you come on Sunday?
Of course, she replied, excitement bubbling, packing gifts, a soft blanket, a new sweater.
Andrew arrived in a small car, both of them silent on the drive. Graces mind raced would Laura bar her entry? Would she be turned away?
When they entered the spacious threebedroom house, Laura greeted them with a composed smile.
Hello, Mrs. Thompson, she said. Welcome.
Hello, dear, Grace replied, trying to hide the tremor in her voice.
The living room was immaculate, the décor modern. In the nursery, a tidy cot held sleeping Max.
Grace approached, heart pounding. May I hold him? she whispered.
Better not, Laura replied, gently shaking her head. Hes asleep. If you wake him, itll be hard to get him back to sleep.
Grace stood back, eyes misting, yearning.
They sat in the lounge, sipping tea. Laura talked about the birth, the first days, the challenges of feeding. Grace listened, hungry for any detail.
Do you breastfeed? Grace asked tentatively.
No, we use formula. I dont want to lose my figure, Laura said bluntly.
Grace swallowed her urge to argue, remembering the earlier warning.
Max stirred, a tiny cry breaking the silence. Laura lifted him, placing him on the sofa. Can I give him to you?
Graces hands trembled as the babys warm weight settled in her arms. He smelled of milk and innocence.
Youre so beautiful, she cooed, tears spilling.
Laura, watching, said sharply, Enough, hand him back. He needs to eat now.
Reluctantly, Grace set him down. The evening passed with polite conversation, the underlying tension palpable.
When Andrew drove her home, he asked, Did you enjoy Max?
Very much, Grace replied, forcing a smile.
Its hard for you, I know, Andrew said. Laura has her way of raising him. Well try to involve you more, though it may be infrequent.
Grace nodded, the hope flickering weakly.
Back in her flat, she stared out the window, the city lights blurred. The child existed, yet remained distant, a shadow she could barely touch.
Zoe entered later, finding Grace nursing a cup of tea.
How was he? Zoe asked.
Sweet, but Laura kept me at arms length, Grace replied.
Same as before, Zoe muttered.
Im thinking of stepping back, not forcing myself, Grace said.
Wise, Zoe agreed. Preserve your dignity.
Months slipped by. Max turned eight months, then a year. Grace saw him only on birthdays, christenings, occasional holidays each visit tightly controlled. Laura dictated everything: no unsupervised feeding, no extra treats, no loud laughter.
One rainy afternoon Andrew called, voice urgent.
Mom, the nanny is sick. Could you look after Max tomorrow for a few hours?
Graces heart leapt. Of course! Ill be there.
Andrew emailed a sheet of instructions feeding times, nap schedule, approved toys and warned, No deviations. Laura will be checking.
When the day arrived, Andrew dropped off Max, a plump infant in a soft onesie, sucking his pacifier.
Heres the routine, he said, handing over the paper. Stick to it.
Understood, Grace promised.
Andrew left, the house quiet. Grace cradled Max, his eyes wide and trusting. She fed him according to the chart, sang the same lullabies, played only the approved soft blocks. He smiled, content.
Later, when Andrew returned, he looked relieved.
How was it? he asked.
Great, Grace replied, smiling at the sleeping boy. Hes wonderful.
Would you be able to do it again? he inquired.
Absolutely, she said, warmth returning to her voice.
The next weeks saw Grace invited sporadically whenever the nanny was unavailable. Those brief hours became her lifeline, each giggle, each tiny hand in hers a reminder of why she endured the coldness.
When Max turned one, a party was thrown. Grandparents of Lauras side sat at the head of the table, while Grace was placed at the far end, watching her grandson cut his first cake slice.
More salad, Mrs. Thompson? Laura asked, handing her a plate.
No, thank you, Grace murmured, eyes never leaving Max.
After the guests left, Grace helped clear the dishes. Laura washed the last plate, then said, Thanks for the help. May I say goodbye to Max?
Hes asleep now, Laura replied.
Just a quick kiss? Grace asked, hope trembling.
Quietly, Laura warned.
Grace slipped into the nursery, Maxs tiny chest rising and falling. SheShe pressed her forehead to his soft cheek, feeling for the first time that love could survive even the coldest of boundaries.
