**Happiness Comes Knocking**
“Mum, for heaven’s sake!” snapped Emily, irritation sharp in her voice. “Olivers twenty! Hes grownhe ought to be living on his own by now. Yet you still fuss over him like hes some precious burden. Its disgusting to watch.”
“Then dont watch,” retorted Margaret. “Mind your own life, not ours. Youve got Ethan to raise.”
“And I *am* raising him!”
“Poorly,” Margaret cut in. “That boys running wild.”
“He is *not*! Hes just at a difficult age! Dont act like Oliver was some perfect saint when he was a teen.”
“He wasnt a saint,” Margaret narrowed her eyes, “but he studied hard, helped around the house, never mouthed off. Ethan only knows how to beg for moneynever a ‘thank you’ to be heard.”
“Well, what of it? Youre his grandmother!”
“So that means manners go out the window? Hes just using you! And why am I surprised? He takes after *you*.”
“Whats *that* supposed to mean?!”
“Only that Ive never heard a kind word from youjust complaints and blame.”
“Mum!”
“What? Am I wrong? Youre raising Ethan just the same. Everyone owes him something, everyones at fault. Now hes even pestering Oliver’Dont you see I need a new laptop?’ Ive put up with his nonsense, but mark my words: my patience will snap soon.”
“And then what?” Emilys eyes flashed with undisguised anger.
“Ill cut him off. Not another penny. And Ill tell Oliver to do the same.”
“Oh, Im *terrified*,” Emily scoffed. “I thought youd come up with something scarier.”
“I dont need to *come up* with anything,” Margaret frowned. “Hes my grandson. I love him. But I wont tolerate his cheek. Ill put him in his place so hard, hell forget the way here.”
“And how will your precious Oliver live without his dear nephew?”
“*Mine*?” Margaret turned sharply, fixing Emily with a stare.
“Well*ours*,” Emily faltered. “What difference does it make? Hes so attached to him.”
Silence filled the room. Margaret bit back the words trembling on her lips.
The door creaked open, and Oliver stepped intall, lean, hair slightly ruffled. He looked wearily at his mother and sister.
“Again?” he sighed. “Will you two ever stop?”
“Stay out of it,” Emily snapped. “This isnt about you!”
“No? Then why shout at Mum? And I *do* have a right to step in. Who else will defend her?”
“A *right*?” Emily sneered. “Your only right is to mooch off her and pretend everythings fine.”
“Im *mooching*?” Oliver stepped closer, voice sharp with outrage. “I work, I help at home, I dont start rows. Youre the one who turns every visit into a circus.”
“Mum just doesnt see youre becoming a freeloader!” Emily exploded. “She coddles you! Everythings for you!”
“Emily!” Margaret cut in sharply. “Stop. Youre being unfair.”
“*Unfair*?” Emilys voice cracked with bitterness. “Ive had *half* of what he gets my whole life! All the care, all the affectionits all for him! What did I get? Scraps!”
“Whats that got to do with *me*?” Oliver asked quietly, stunned. “Youre the one always nursing grudges, picking fights Maybe thats why people keep their distance?”
“Oh, *really*?” Emilys eyes glinted. “Now its *my* fault?”
Oliver opened his mouth to retort, but Margaret stepped between them.
“Enough. Emilys your elder sister. You will respect her.”
“She doesnt respect *anyone*!” Oliver shot back. “She storms in, insults usMum, its time someone put her in her place. And Ethan too. Last week, he took a fair bit of cash from my wallet without asking.”
A heavy silence fell. Olivers words hit like a thunderclap.
Emilys face flushed, eyes blazingnot just with anger, but something far worse: helpless despair.
Margaret braced herself. One more word, and Emily would snapsay the unthinkable.
But Emily shrieked instead:
“Youre lying! Ethan would *never* do that! Hes *my* son, and he is *not* a thief!”
“Emily” Margaret said softly but firmly. “I trust Oliver. He doesnt lie. But Ethans behaviour? Thats another matter. You *need* to talk to himgently.”
“How *dare* you accuse my son!” Emily gasped, rage choking her.
“And how dare *you* call mine a liar,” Margaret fired back.
“*Yours*?” Emilys eyes widened. “*Your* son?! WhoOliver?! Hes *not* your son!”
Margaret froze.
“What?” Oliver paled. “Mum whats she saying?”
“Shes telling the truth,” Margaret whispered, face ashen. “Im not your mother.”
For a heartbeat, Oliver swayed, as if the ground had vanished beneath him. His gaze darted between Margaret and Emily, struggling to comprehend.
Emily, breathing hard, collapsed onto the sofa. Words stuck in her throat. Tears welled as memories crashed over her.
Shed been youngjust out of school.
Foolishly in love.
She hadnt realised she was pregnant until it was too late to change her mind.
The lad had just shrugged.
“You *sure* its mine?”
Shed confessed to her parents. Her mother had screamed, wept. Her father, still alive then, had threatened to throw her out for shaming them.
But the storm had passed. Theyd supported her as best they could.
Ethan was born. His grandparents adored him.
Then her father died. Money grew tight. So Emily left for LondonMargaret agreed to raise Oliver.
The first year was fine. Emily visited, sent money.
Then she vanished.
A new love, a new life, another sonone Margaret and Oliver knew nothing about for years.
Even Emilys new man didnt know Oliver existed.
Until he kicked her out.
Shed returned homeOliver now ten, Ethan five. Margaret forgave her but refused to let them stay. She saw the truth: Emily felt nothing for Oliver. How could she? Shed last seen him at two. Hed called Margaret *Mum* for years.
So Margaret had proposed the lie: Emily would be his sister, returned from afar.
Olivers voice pulled Emily back.
“Then who *is* my mother?” he asked, quiet, wary.
Emily shuddered. She couldnt say it.
Her hands shook. Tears fell unchecked.
“O-Oliver” she choked.
Margaret stepped in.
“Love, dont panic. The truth is Emilys your real mother.”
Oliver went still.
He looked at Emilycrumpled on the sofa, weeping.
Disgust twisted inside him.
“So,” he said slowly, “youre my grandmother? Or are you not even related?”
“Oliver!” Emily jolted up. “Of *course* were family! Shes my motherEthans your *brother*!”
Oliver laugheda cold, hollow sound.
“Happiness comes knocking,” he muttered, then turned to Emily with such hatred, she flinched.
“Right. Ive heard enough,” he said, voice like steel. “I need to be alone.”
He left.
The door clicked shut. The flat drowned in silence.
Emily sat, face streaked with tears, heart hammering.
“What have I done?” she whispered. “Ive got my son backand now I dont know what to do. Hell hate me. And Ethan? How do I explain Olivers his brother? He wont understand. Wont forgive Mum, why didnt you stop me?”
Margaret said nothing. She knew: Emily was mourning her own delusions. Scolding her now was pointless. Shed dreamed of this revelation for yearsnever considering the cost.
Gently, Margaret sat beside her.
“Itll pass, love. Olivers kind. Hell come round.”
“What now, Mum?” Emily sobbed. “How do we live with this? Ill never forgive myself”
Oliver was gone two days. Neither woman slept. He ignored calls.
Then he returned.
And asked for the full storyhow his grandmother had raised him, not his mother.
Emily tried to speak. Oliver cut her off.
“Quiet. Let Mum explain
