After six months of silence, her mother-in-law finally spoke. Those first words left her own daughter frozen.
“Mum, please, just say something!” Emily squeezed the cold hand of her mother-in-law, lying in the hospital bed. “I know you can hear me. The doctor said your hearing is fine.”
Margaret Williams remained silent, staring blankly at the ceiling. It had been half a year since her stroke, and she hadnt uttered a word. Only occasionally would she blink when Emily read letters aloud from the grandchildren in America.
“Sophie rang today,” Emily continued, adjusting the pillow. “Little Emma has started nursery. She speaks better English than she does Russian. Can you imagine?”
The door to the ward swung open abruptly. Standing in the doorway was Victoria, Margarets eldest daughter. Her hair was dishevelled, and she carried a large bag of groceries.
“Here you are again, giving orders!” she snapped, without even a greeting. “Think I dont know what youve been telling the doctors? That we, her own children, abandoned her?”
Emily sighed, accustomed to these weekly arguments.
“Vicky, lets not shout. Mum gets exhausted by all the noise.”
“Shes *my* mother!” Victoria pushed past her sister-in-law and leaned over the bed. “Mum, can you hear me? Its meyour own daughter. Not some stranger whos moved into your flat.”
Margarets hand twitched, as if she wanted to speak, but only a faint groan escaped.
“See how upset she gets when you shout?” Emily stood, shielding her mother-in-law. “Maybe we should talk in the corridor?”
“Or maybe *you* should leave? Im sick of your grand gestures! Do you think I dont know why you come here every day? Guilt, is it? After what happened with Peter?”
Emily paled. They never spoke of her son in front of Margaretthe doctors had warned that any distress could trigger another stroke.
“Vicky, please”
“Not a pleaa demand!” Victoria pulled a jar of homemade jam from her bag. “This is Mums favouriteapricot. Not that hospital slop you feed her.”
“She cant have anything acidic. You know that.”
“Oh, I know, I know! You know everything better than her own children!” Victoria set the jars on the side table. “Heres fresh cottage cheese, boiled chicken, bone broth in a flask. And what have you brought? Those awful yoghurts again?”
Emily noticed Margarets eyes following her daughters movementsthe first flicker of interest in months.
“Mum, do you want some cottage cheese?” Victoria perched on the edge of the bed. “Just like you used to make for me, remember? Straining it through muslin, adding a bit of sugar”
Margaret gave the faintest nod.
“See?” Victoria turned triumphantly. “She understands *me*not you and your hospital rules!”
Emily bit back the reminder that dairy was restricted for kidney patients. Perhaps the doctors were rightemotional bonds sometimes mattered more than medicine.
“Vicky,” Margaret whispered suddenly.
Both women froze.
“Mum! You spoke! You know me!” Victoria clutched her mothers hand.
Margaret turned her head with effort. “Where is Peter?”
Silence fell. Victoria looked helplessly at Emily.
“Mum, he he cant visit. His job keeps him abroad,” Emily lied.
“Liar.” The word was barely audible. “I know everything.”
Victoria burst into tears. “Mum, dont think about that. Please.”
“He drank?” Margarets eyes fixed on Emily.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Badly, these past few years.”
“Forgave him?”
Emily nodded, unable to speak.
“Then so do I.”
Margaret closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks.
“Mum, dont cry,” Victoria pleaded. “Youll get better. Youll come live with metheres space”
“No.” Margaret shook her head. “Home I want Emilys home.”
Victoria recoiled as if struck.
“But Im your daughter! Your own blood!”
“And she is too. Thirty years by my side. You only at holidays.”
“We had jobs! Families!”
“She had a child too. A good boy. I helped raise him.”
Emily turned to the window, where rain streaked the glass. She longed to step outside, let the drizzle wash away years of grief.
“Peter rang,” Margaret continued. “Before the end. Asked forgiveness. I gave it.”
“Mum, dont”
“I must. Emily was good. Stayed when he fell ill.”
She turned to her daughter-in-law.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not letting him die alone.”
Emily sank onto a chair, legs weak.
“He loved you deeply. Said no one had a mother like you.”
“Now Im a burden.”
“Never!” Emilys voice broke. “Youre my only family now.”
“You have grandchildren. In America.”
“Theyve built lives there. Sophie married after universityAmerican now. Its how things are.”
“You miss them.”
“Emma, terribly. But life moves on.”
Victoria listened, face darkening.
“How touching,” she finally spat. “And what about *my* rights? Should I hand Mum over to an outsider?”
“Vicky!” Margarets voice was firm.
“What? I worked double shifts for thirty years, raised kids alone because my husband drank as much as your Peter! Now I can help, and you call me a stranger?”
“No one said that. But I want my home.”
“With *her*?” Victoria jerked her chin at Emily. “What if she leaves? Goes to America?”
Emily turned from the window, where dusk gathered.
“I wont. I promise.”
“And if you remarry?”
Emily laughed bitterly. “At fifty-two? Whod take me? Old, sick, a lifetime of troubles.”
“Not old,” Margaret murmured. “Still lovely. And kind.”
“Youre tired. Let me help you wash up.”
Victoria watched them, then sighed.
“Maybe this is best. My Daniel enlists soon, then uni. Thomas is in year eleven. And truthfully, my husband finds elderly disruptive.”
“Vicky!”
“Its true! His jobs stressful enough without night groans and doctors visiting.”
“Then its settled,” Emily said. “Once discharged, Mum comes home with me.”
“And your job?”
“Ill adjust. Go part-time.”
After a pause, Victoria muttered, “Ill send money. Monthly. And if anything happenscall.”
“Of course.”
“Just no guilt trips. I cant bear hearing Im a terrible daughter.”
“You wont.”
Margaret listened, eyes closed but awake.
“Mum, what do you think?”
“I think God gave me another daughter. A good one.”
Victoria fled, sobbing.
“Shes hurt,” Margaret whispered.
“Shell come around. Always sensitiveand Neil makes it worse.”
“Men dont understand a womans heart.”
“Not all. Your Peter did when sober.”
“Yes a good boy. Pity how it ended.”
Silence settled, broken only by distant hospital sounds.
“Emily,” Margaret murmured.
“Yes?”
“Do you regret marrying him?”
Emily considered.
“There were moments. Especially during the worst. But then I thoughtwould another man have been better? We never know. With someone else, I might never have had Sophie. And shes wonderful.”
“Clever like you.”
“And stubborn like you.”
Margaret smiledher first in months.
“Good. A woman needs strength.”
A nurse entered.
“Visiting hours are over.”
“Ill come early tomorrow,” Emily promised. “Perhaps a walk, if the weather holds.”
Margaret nodded. “Be kind to Vicky. Shes exhausted.”
“I will. Sleep well.”
At the front desk, an administrator stopped her.
“Are you Mrs. Williamss daughter-in-law? Her daughter demanded we bar you from visiting.”
“She was upset.”
“We need clarity on medical decisions. If something happens”
“I have her power of attorney.” Emily produced the document.
The woman examined it. “All in order. Apologiesfamily disputes complicate things.”
Outside, Emily breathed in the cool air. The rain had stopped, stars peeking through clouds. Waiting for the bus, she reflected on the past yearPeters death, Margarets illness, Sophies move abroad. Life divided into before and after.
Victorias words echoed: *”Dont let her in!”*
*How odd,* Emily thought. *As if love were measured by blood alone. But it isnt always so.*
The nearly empty bus arrived. Riding home, she watched the city lights blur past. An empty flat awaitedcold supper, the hum of the telly. But tomorrow, shed return to the hospital,
