Grandchildren youll only see on holidays, the daughterinlaw says at the first family dinner.
Eleanor Whitaker, stop oversalting! Youll ruin the soup!
Brielle, their neighbour, stands by the stove, watching anxiously as Eleanor reaches for the salt shaker for the third time over the pot of beef stew.
Come on, Zoey, Brielle says, using a pet name. I can feel theres still plenty left!
Youre not feeling anything today! Youre all nervous! Let me try.
Eleanor steps back from the stove, wipes her hands on her apron. Brielle is right. Her hands tremble, her thoughts jumble, everything feels out of control. How could she not be nervous on a day this important?
Her son James is finally bringing his wife home, introducing her to his mother. They married quietly a month ago at the register, no wedding, just a civil ceremony. Eleanor was angry then; she missed the registration completely. James had explained that his wife, Charlotte, wanted a lowkey affair, no crowds, just a simple start.
Here, Eleanor, Brielle tastes the stew. Its fine, even delicious. Now get changed, fix your hair. Guests will be here soon.
Zoey, what if she doesnt like me? What if I make a bad impression?
Dont worry! Youre a wonderful motherinlaw! You dont interfere, you keep to yourself. Whats the point of all this?
Eleanor nods and heads to her bedroom. Brielle stays in the kitchen finishing the salads. Its a relief that the neighbour is helping; Eleanor could not have managed alone.
In the bedroom she stops before the mirror. Sixtytwo, silver hair, lines around the eyes an ordinary older woman. James was a late child, born when his mother was thirtyfive, after years of hoping. Her husband died ten years ago, and she has lived alone in a tworoom flat on the towns edge.
James grew up well. He finished university, became a software developer, earned a decent salary, rented a flat in the city centre, and visited his mother once a week, bringing groceries, fixing broken things, and sending money.
Then he met Charlotte. He spoke about her with enthusiasm beautiful, intelligent, a solicitor. He showed Eleanor a photo on his phone. She was indeed striking: tall, slender, dark hair, bright makeup, but her eyes seemed cold.
Eleanor puts on her best dress dark navy with a crisp white collar does her hair, applies a touch of lipstick, studies herself in the mirror and decides she looks acceptable.
A knock sounds at six oclock. She dabs the sweat from her palms on the dress and walks to the door.
James stands there with Charlotte. Charlotte looks even more stunning than in the photo, wrapped in an expensive coat, high heels, flawless nails.
Mom, hi! James hugs his mother. This is Charlotte.
Hello, Charlotte says, extending a hand. The handshake is cool and formal.
Welcome, dear! Come in, come in!
Eleanor fusses, helps remove the coat, offers slippers. Charlotte scans the flat as if evaluating it, eyes flicking over the worn furniture, faded curtains, threadbare carpet.
What a cosy flat, she says with a faint smile.
Thanks, dear. We dont have much, but its tidy. Please, have a seat at the table.
In the kitchen Brielle is already laying the table. Seeing the guests, she greets them brightly.
Oh, the newlyweds! Hello! Im Brielle, the neighbour.
Hello, Charlotte replies curtly.
They sit. Eleanor ladles the stew, offers salads. James eats heartily, praising the food.
Mum, as always, its wonderful! Ive missed your stew!
Eat up, love.
Charlotte pokes at the salad with her fork, taking small bites.
Do you watch your figure? Brielle asks. Its important at your age.
I just avoid fatty and fried foods, Charlotte answers. Im looking after my health.
Eleanor feels a sting is her cooking too rich? She has always cooked like this; James loves it.
Mom, hows Aunt Vera? Is she getting better? James changes the subject.
Seems better. I visited her last week, brought some treats.
A brief, awkward pause follows. Charlotte puts down her fork and looks at Eleanor.
Eleanor Whitaker, James mentioned youre retired. What do you do now?
Im keeping the house tidy, going to the doctor regularly my blood pressure jumps chatting with neighbours. Occasionally I go to the theatre if I can spare the money.
Do you plan to look after your grandchildren?
Eleanor flinches. Grandchildren! She had always dreamed of them.
Of course! Id love to!
Good, because Im pregnant fourth month, Charlotte says, smiling.
Eleanor gasps. Brielle beams. James looks embarrassed.
Andrey! Darling! Why didnt you tell us earlier?
I wanted Charlotte to be the one to share it.
Congratulations! Eleanor leaps up, hugging her son, then Charlotte. Charlotte accepts the hug coolly, saying nothing.
Thank you. Were thrilled.
They continue dinner. Eleanor is on cloud nine, thinking of the grandchild a boy or a girl, finally!
Ill help you! she declares, excited. Ill visit, look after the baby, cook for you! You both work, itll be hard for you.
Charlotte sips water, then says, Eleanor, weve already discussed some rules.
What rules?
Ive read a lot of modern parenting books. James and I have decided to raise the child according to a specific system.
Thats fine, Eleanor nods. Im not opposed. Youre young, you know best.
Exactly. So we ask you not to interfere with the upbringing. No oldfashioned advice.
Eleanor feels a chill inside.
I wasnt going to interfere. I just wanted to help.
Help can be done in many ways, Charlotte says, wiping her lips with a napkin. Well accept financial help, but well handle the parenting ourselves.
Charlotte, why so absolute? James interjects. Mum wants the best.
Its already decided, Charlotte replies to her husband sharply. Remember?
James nods, but the tension remains.
Brielle watches silently, her fists clenched. Eleanor sees the neighbours frustration. A lump rises in her throat.
Charlotte, I understand you have your own views. But Im a grandmother! How can I not be involved in my grandchilds life?
You will be involved, Charlotte says coldly. Youll see the child only on holidays birthdays, New Years. Thats enough.
Eleanors heart drops. Only a few times a year? Thats cruel.
This is unfair!
Its reasonable, Charlotte snaps. I dont want to hurt you, but youre an older woman with outdated ideas. Youd smother the child with rich food, overdress him, frighten him with scary stories. I wont let that happen.
Grandparents always say that, then do their own thing. Its easier to set boundaries now.
James lowers his head, looking guilty. Eleanor pleads with him.
James, tell her Ill be a good granny!
Mum, he lifts his eyes, we thought a lot and decided this is best for everyone.
Eleanor cant believe her ears. The son she raised, all her life, agrees?
Youre serious? she whispers.
Dont be upset, Mum. Were not banning visits, just not daily.
Not daily, she repeats. What about help? You both work! Who will look after the baby?
Well hire a nanny, Charlotte says. We have the money.
A nanny isnt family! Eleanor protests. Im family!
Thats why we hire someone we can replace if needed. Relatives tend to think they have the right to interfere everywhere.
Brielle cant stay silent any longer.
This is ridiculous! Eleanor Whitaker is a wonderful person! Shes been longing for grandchildren!
Mrs. Brielle, Charlotte turns to the neighbour, this is a family matter. Please mind your own business.
Youre meddling, Charlotte snaps. Leave the table.
Brielles face turns red. She grabs her bag.
Eleanor, Ill stay at my place. If you need anything, call me.
When Brielle leaves, a heavy silence hangs. Eleanor sits, fists clenched on her knees, tears welling but not falling.
Ive waited my whole life for grandchildren, she whispers. Dreamed of pushing a pram, reading bedtime stories, baking pies.
Eleanor Whitaker, Charlotte sighs, I understand your feelings, but I need a calm environment for my child. No extra people.
So Im unnecessary?
Youre still a grandmother, just a distant one.
Eleanor stands, voice shaking.
Leave.
What? Charlotte raises an eyebrow.
I said leave. Out of my house. Now.
Mom! James bursts in, alarmed. What are you doing?
I dont want to see you or your wife. Get out.
Please, dont
Get out, I told you!
Charlotte gathers her bag.
As you wish. Lets go, James.
James hesitates, then follows. The door shuts, and Eleanor collapses onto a chair, sobbing openly, like a child.
Brielle returns half an hour later, finding Eleanor surrounded by untouched dishes.
Eleanor, love, whats happened?
How could he agree to this?
I dont know. Maybe his wife persuaded him.
But shes his wife! Its his child! How can you cut a grandmother off?
Brielle embraces her, patting her shoulder.
It happens, dear. Lots of daughtersinlaw think the motherinlaw is the enemy.
But I did nothing wrong! I never even met her before today!
You didnt, but she assumes youll interfere.
Eleanor cries for hours. Brielle cleans, washes dishes, makes tea, and they sit in silence.
What do I do now? Eleanor asks.
Keep living. What else?
How can I live when my son turned against me?
He didnt turn; his wife persuaded him. He might see reason later.
What if not?
Brielle shrugs, no answer.
A week passes. James doesnt call; Eleanor doesnt call either. Pride keeps them apart. She drifts through the flat like a ghost, not eating, not sleeping, thinking only of the grandchild shell see only on holidays, and the son who chose his wife over her.
Brielle visits daily, urging her to eat, to distract her with conversation. Eleanor barely hears.
A friend, Nina, a schoolmate, calls.
Gally, I heard youre happy! James got married!
Yes, he did.
And the daughterinlaw? Good?
No, Nina, shes awful.
Gally pours out everything. Nina listens, gasping.
What a witch! Im sorry, but thats how it sounds!
What do I do?
Do nothing. Withdraw. Show you dont care.
But I do care!
Pretend you dont. Those women crumble when ignored. They wait for you to beg, to crawl. Stay silent, no calls, no visits. Let them think you dont matter.
What if she changes?
She wont. She wants control. Without it, shell come to you.
Gally ponders. Maybe Nina is right.
A month later, Gally truly stops calling James, stops writing. She lives her own life, or at least pretends to. She goes to the doctor, the shop, visits Brielle, but inside feels empty.
One evening the doorbell rings. James stands there.
Hi, Mum.
Hi.
Can I come in?
Come in.
They sit in the kitchen. James looks tired, older.
Mum, I wanted to apologise.
For what?
For that night. Charlotte was harsh. I shouldnt have let it happen.
But you did.
I know. Im ashamed.
Gally stays silent, watching her son, waiting.
Mum, I get that youre hurt. But Charlotte truly believes this is best for the baby.
And what do you think?
James looks down.
I dont know, honestly. Part of me loves you, part of me loves Charlotte, the mother of my child. I have to support her.
Even if shes wrong?
Even then.
Gally nods, understanding. Her son has chosen, and its not her.
Alright, James. Live as you wish. I wont interfere.
Mom, were not banning visits. Just not every day.
Only on holidays. I remember.
Yeah
James, go.
But Mum
Leave, I said.
James gets up and leaves. Gally is alone again.
Two more months pass. Winter arrives. Gally prepares for New Years, buys a tree, decorates the flat, hoping James might invite her. He does not.
On 31December Gally welcomes the New Year with Brielle. They set the table, watch the fireworks on TV, sip sparkling wine.
Heres to the new year, Gally. May it be better than the last, Brielle says.
Cheers, Zoey, Gally replies, though she doesnt truly believe it.
In February Charlotte gives birth to a boy, Max. James sends a photo. The infant is cute, darkhaired.
Gally looks at the picture and weeps. A grandson she will hardly see.
A week later James calls.
Mum, Id like you to visit on Sunday, meet Max.
When?
If it works for you.
It works.
Sunday arrives. Gally packs a bag of gifts onesies, blankets, toys dons her best dress.
James arrives in his car, silent. Gallys nerves flare: will Charlotte push her away again? Will she be barred completely?
Charlotte meets them with a calm smile.
Hello, Eleanor Whitaker. Come in.
Hello, dear, Gally replies.
The flat is spacious, threeroom, with expensive furniture. In the nursery a cot holds Max, sleeping.
Gally steps closer, heart tightening with love and tenderness.
May I hold him? she whispers.
Better not, Charlotte says, shaking her head. Hes asleep. If you wake him well both be exhausted.
Ill be quiet
Eleanor Whitaker, I asked you not to.
Gally steps back, accepting it. She watches Max sleeping, feeling a pang of longing.
They sit in the living room, tea in hand. Charlotte talks about the birth, the first days with the baby. Gally listens eagerly, memorising every detail.
Are you breastfeeding? she asks.
No, were using formula. I dont want to lose my figure, Charlotte answers.
Gally stays silent, wanting to argue that breast milk is best, but remembering that advice is unwelcome.
Max wakes, cries. Charlotte brings him to the sitting room. Gally reaches out.
May I hold him?
Just a minute, Charlotte hands the baby to Gally.
Gally cradles Max, feeling his warmth, the scent of milk and infancy. Tears swell.
What a beautiful little thing, she whispers.
Enough, give him back, Charlotte says, taking the baby after a minute. Hes due for a feed.
Gally reluctantly lets go.
That evening James drives her home.
How was it? he asks. Did you like Max?
Very much, she replies, smiling sadly.
Mum, I know its hard. Charlotte has the right to decide how to raise him.
I understand.
Dont worry, well invite you over. Not often, but well try.
Thanks, Gally says, a bittersweet grin on her face.
Back home she sits by the window, looking into the darkness. The grandson exists, yet feels distant. She held him for a moment, then he was gone.
Brielle drops by later.
How was the baby?
Beautiful.
And the daughterinlaw?
Cold as ever.
Oh, Gally, Brielle sighs.
Gally thinks aloud, Maybe I should step back, stop trying to intrude?
Probably wise. Keep your dignity.
But what about the grandchild?
Theyll grow up and come to you. Children remember who loves them.
Gally clings to that hope.
Six months later Max is eight months old. Gally sees him three times birthday, christening, and a random visit when James invites. Each visit is painful; Charlotte controls everything. She wont let Gally feed him, give him extra treats, or speak loudly lest she scares him.
One day James calls.
Mom, the nanny is ill. Could you look after Max tomorrow for three hours?
Gally cant believe her ears.
Of course! I can!
Great. Well be there in the morning.
That night Gally cant sleep, thrilled at the prospect of three uninterrupted hours with her grandson, without Charlotte.
James arrives with Max, the infant bundled in a soft jumpsuit, sucking his pacifier.
Heres the schedule, James hands her a sheet. When to feed, when to nap, what games are allowed. Everything is strict.
Okay, James.
Please, no deviations. Charlotte monitors everything.
Dont worry.
When James leaves, Gally lifts Max. The baby looks at her with big eyes and smiles.
Hello, my little sunshine, Gally coos, pressing him to her chest. Ive waited for this.
They spend three hours together. Gally follows the schedule, feeds him, plays, reads a picture book. Max is calm, giggling, reaching for her hand.
When James returns, Gally hesitates to hand him back.
How did it go?
Wonderful. Hes a good boy.
Great. Maybe well ask you again.
Of course! I love it!
After that day, GallyAs the months passed, Eleanor finally found peace in the quiet moments she shared with Max, knowing that love could linger even across the boundaries others had drawn.
