«I won’t live with some stranger’s granny,» said the grandson, looking his mother in the eyes.
«Mum, tell him yourself! I’m tired of explaining!» Helen nervously twisted the edge of the tablecloth, refusing to meet her son’s gaze.
«What’s there to explain?» Jonathan set his mug of tea on the table and sat across from his mother. «I’ve made myself clearIm moving out next week. The flats rented, deposit paid.»
«Love, but what about us here…» Helen began, but Jonathan cut her off with a sharp wave.
«Mum, I’m twenty-seven! Dont you think its time I stood on my own two feet?»
From the next room came a muffled cough, followed by the sound of something clattering to the floor and a grumble of irritation.
«You see?» Helen sighed. «Shes dropped something again. Id better check.»
«Dont.» Jonathan rested a hand on her shoulder. «Let her sort it out herself. Youre not her carer.»
«Jon, shes old…»
«Mum, enough!» His voice hardened. «Shes nothing to you. Nothing! Just Dads motherthe same woman who never had a kind word for you in all these years.»
Helen flinched as if struck. It was true. Her mother-in-law, Margaret, had never accepted her. Twenty-eight years ago, when she and John had married, Margaret had greeted her coldly, telling neighbours her son could have done betterthat Helen wasnt from the right sort of family, that she had a sharp tongue. And when Jonathan was born, shed declared shed raise him herself because his mother was too inexperienced and foolish.
«Remember what she called you?» Jonathan pressed, seeing hed hit a nerve. «‘That wife of yours.’ Not even by namejust ‘that wife.’ And when Dad died…»
«Stop,» Helen whispered. «Dont bring that up.»
But he wouldnt let it go. Three years had passed since his fathers funeral, yet the memories still stung. Margaret had bluntly stated the house belonged to her son, so now it was hers. That Helen and Jonathan should find somewhere else to live. That shed suffered enough from «those outsiders.»
«And who picked her up off the floor when she had that stroke?» Jonathan demanded. «Who called the ambulance? Who stayed at the hospital?»
«Thats enough,» Helen said, rising to clear the table.
«No, its not! You see what shes doing! Banging things at night, dropping pans so you cant sleep, blaring the telly. And all those snide remarks about the food being rubbish or the wrong medicine…»
«Helen!» Margarets sharp voice carried from her room. «Helen, come here!»
Helen moved automatically toward the door, but Jonathan caught her wrist.
«Where do you think youre going? If she needs something, she can get up herself.»
«Jonathan, shes ill…»
«Ill? Shes fitter than both of us! Shes just used to barking orders. Dad waited on her hand and footnow you do.»
«Helen!» The shout was impatient. «Are you deaf?»
Helen pulled free and went to her. Margaret lay in bed, blankets drawn to her chin, a newspaper sprawled on the floor beside her.
«Pick that up,» she ordered, nodding at it. «I want to read.»
«Margaret, have you got your glasses?»
«Of course I have! Think Im blind?» The old woman fumbled them onto her nose. «And bring tea. Properly hot this time. Last nights was like dishwater.»
Silently, Helen retrieved the paper, set it on the nightstand, and went to put the kettle on. Jonathan sat at the table, glowering.
«So, off to obey orders again?»
«Dont start,» she said wearily.
«Mum, listen to me.» He pulled his chair closer. «Im moving out. And youre coming with me.»
Helen froze, kettle in hand.
«What?»
«Its simple. The flats got two bedroomsplenty of space. Youll finally live properly, without the shouting and nitpicking.»
«And her?»
«She can manage however she likes. You reap what you sow.»
«Jon, I cant… Shell be entirely alone.»
«Good. Maybe then shell understand what lifes like without you.»
Helen set the kettle on the hob, bracing her hands against the counter. Guilt and relief warred in her chest.
«Mum, remember what she said after Dads funeral?» Jonathans voice softened. «‘You can start packingthe house is mine now.’ Remember?»
Helen nodded. That moment was etched in her memory forever. Theyd returned from the cemetery, changed out of black, sat down with teathen Margaret, silent all through the service, announced everything would change. That Helen and Jonathan didnt belong there. That it was time they found their own place.
«And who told her you werent going anywhere?» Jonathan continued. «Who said youd care for her no matter what?»
«I did,» Helen admitted. «But it was different then. Shed just buried her son…»
«Mum, its been three years! Three years of you waiting on her like a maidcooking, cleaning, taking her to appointments. And what thanks have you had? Even once?»
Helen thought. Margaret had never once said thank you. Only complaintssoup too salty, laundry poorly done, wrong pills bought. Just last week, shed told the neighbour, Mrs. Thompson, that she lived with strangers who were only waiting for her to die so they could take the house.
«Helen! Wheres my tea?»
«Coming!» Helen called, but Jonathan blocked her path.
«No. Sit down.»
«Jonathan…»
«Mum, please. We need to talk.»
Reluctantly, she sat. Jonathan took her hands.
«Mum, I wont live with some strangers granny,» he said, holding her gaze. «And you shouldnt either. Youre fifty-twoyouve got your whole life ahead. Why waste it on someone who doesnt appreciate you?»
«Shes not a stranger. Shes your grandmother.»
«Grandmother?» He laughed bitterly. «Shes never liked me. Remember how shed say I took after youbad temper and all? And when I got into uni, she said it was a waste of money because Id never amount to anything.»
Helen stayed quiet. She remembered every cruel word, how theyd cut. But John had always told her to ignore itthat his mother was difficult but fair deep down.
«Helen!» Margarets voice turned shrill. «Have you died in there?»
Jonathan stood abruptly and marched to her room. Helen heard him say, «Gran, Mums busy. If you want tea, make it yourself.»
«How dare you speak to me like that?» Margaret spluttered. «Send your mother in!»
«No. And just so you knowwere moving out next week.»
«Moving where?»
«To our own place. Me and Mum.»
Silence. Then Margarets disbelieving voice:
«And what about me?»
«Youll stay here. Alone. Like you always wanted.»
«Jonathan!» Helen called, but he was already returning, looking satisfied.
«Done,» he said, rubbing his hands. «Now let her think about that.»
«Why did you do that? You shouldve talked to me first…»
«Mum, whats to discuss? Weve been over it a hundred times. Youve said yourself youre worn outthat you cant take her nonsense anymore.»
It was true. She had complained, especially after Margaret had called her a freeloader in front of the neighbours.
«But shes old, shes ill…»
«Mum, shes seventy-five, not a hundred. And no more ill than anyone her age. Shes just learned how to play it up.»
Sobbing came from the other room. Helen rose, but Jonathan shook his head.
«Dont. Its an act. Shell cry, then switch to guilt.»
«Jon, what if shes really upset?»
«Really?» He scoffed. «Mum, youve forgotten what she said after Dad died? ‘Start packing.’ Where were her tears then? Where was her pity for us?»
Helen remembered. Margaret had been dry-eyed, firm, almost triumphant.
«And what happened after? A stroke. And who saved her? Who called the ambulance, took her to hospital, ran for prescriptions?»
«I did,» Helen whispered.
«Exactly. And what did she do? The second she recovered, it was back to ‘this isnt right, that isnt right, youre not trying.'»
The crying stopped. The room fell silent.
«See?» Jonathan nodded toward it. «No audience, no performance.»
Helen drank a glass of water slowly, thoughts churning. Jonathan was right. Margaret had never loved or valued heronly criticized, belittled, even tried to throw them out.
But leaving an old woman alone… It felt cruel.
«Mum, I know this is hard,» Jonathan said softly. «Youre kind. Youve got a conscience. But think of yourself. You deserve a life too, dont you?»
Helen nodded. She did. One without constant tension, without daily jabs, without waking up braced for blame.
«Remember how things were before?» Jonathan asked. «When Dad was alive? We talked, went out sometimes. Now? When did you last do anything for yourself?»
Helen thought. In three years, she hadnt gone anywhere. Just work, home, hospital, shops. Her friend Susan had invited her to the cinema, but shed refusedcouldnt leave Margaret alone.
«Mum, what if we try it?» Jonathan urged. «Move out, live a month or two. If she truly cant cope, well decide what to do.»
«But what if something happens?»
«Shes got a phone. Neighbours. Or she can hire helpif shes willing to pay.»
Footsteps shuffled down the hall. Margaret appeared in the doorway, leaning heavily on the frame.
«So,» she said, voice trembling, «youre abandoning me?»
«Gran, no ones abandoning you,» Jonathan said calmly. «Were just living separately.»
«And how am I supposed to manage? Old and ill as I am?»
«Youre not as ill as you pretend,» he replied. «Besides, you were the one who told us to leave three years ago. Remember?»
Margaret blinked. «That… that was different.»
«How?» Jonathan stepped closer. «Same house, same people. What changed?»
«Im frail now! I need help!»
«Then maybe you shouldve thought of that sooner.» His voice turned cold. «Maybe you shouldnt have hurt the person whos looked after you all this time.»
Margaret turned to Helen. «Helen, you wouldnt leave me? Im old, I need you…»
Helen stayed silent, torn between pity and resentment, duty and longing.
«Mum,» Jonathan said quietly, «tell her the truth. How tired you are of the criticism. How it hurts to be called a stranger in your own home.»
«I never called her that!» Margaret protested.
«No? What did you tell Mrs. Thompson? That you lived with outsiders waiting for you to die?»
Margaret faltered. «I… didnt mean it like that…»
«Then how?» Jonathan pressed. «Mums been in this family thirty years. Thirty years of putting up with you. And you still treat her like an intruder.»
Helen walked to the window, heart heavy. She wanted to cry, but no tears came.
«Margaret,» she said without turning, «do you remember what you said to me three years ago?»
«Helen, I was grieving…»
«You said, ‘You can start packingthe house is mine.’ Remember?»
Silence.
«And you said youd suffered enough from ‘those outsiders.’ Recall that too?»
«Helen, I didnt»
«Whether you meant it or not doesnt matter,» Helen faced her. «What matters is you said it. And we havent forgotten.»
Margaret sank onto a chair, suddenly frail.
«But Im ill… I need help…»
«You do,» Helen agreed. «So why should it come from the people youve always pushed away?»
Margaret twisted the hem of her dressing gown, silent.
«Margaret,» Helen continued, «youve spent years making sure I knew I didnt belong here. Why should I stay now that youre the one who needs me?»
«Because… because its the right thing,» Margaret whispered.
«Right for whom?» Jonathan cut in. «You? And whats right for us? A lifetime of being told were not good enough?»
Margaret looked up at him, eyes wet with unexpected tears.
«Jon, youre my grandson…»
«A grandson you never loved. One you said would never amount to anything.»
«I… didnt think youd remember…»
«I remember. And so does Mum. We remember everything.»
Something in Helen snappeda tension held too long, finally breaking.
«You know what, Margaret?» she said, quiet but firm. «We are moving out. Next week.»
Margaret stiffened. «Helen…»
«Not Helen. Mrs. Carter. And yes, were leaving. Youll live alone, just as you wanted.»
«But how will I»
«How would we have?» Helen sat across from her. «Three years ago, when you tried to throw us out? Wed have managed, wouldnt we?»
Margarets head drooped.
«I was… grieving…»
«So were we,» Helen said. «Burying a husband, a father. But we didnt cast you out.»
The quiet stretched. Jonathan stood by the window; Helen at the table; Margaret hunched opposite, aged by the conversation.
«Perhaps… we could reconsider…» Margaret murmured at last.
«Reconsider what?» Jonathan asked.
«Well… maybe I was… too harsh…»
Helen shook her head. «Its too late, Margaret. Far too late. Weve made our decision.»
And she had. Right there, at the kitchen table, looking at the woman whod made her life small. She deserved her own lifea calm home, a son proud to bring friends over, mornings without dread.
Jonathan squeezed her shoulder. «Mum, Im proud of you.»
Helen noddedand smiled properly for the first time in months.
*The lesson? Kindness shouldnt be endless when respect never began. Some bridges burn not because we set them alight, but because others spent years leaving them to rot. The next week passed in quiet resolve. Boxes were packed, goodbyes said to no one in particular. On moving day, Helen paused at the front door, key in hand, and looked back through the empty hallway. Margaret watched from her bedroom doorway, wrapped in a shawl, saying nothing. Helen didnt wave. She simply turned, locked the door behind her, and walked to the car where Jonathan waited. The new flat smelled of paint and possibility. That evening, she opened her windows, let the evening light in, and cooked a meal without criticism hanging in the air. For the first time in years, the silence felt like peace, not tension. She sat across from her son, laughed at something he said, and didnt brace for a voice from another room. Somewhere, a phone rang. Neither of them answered it.
