«Youre holding him wrong!»
The shout slices through the air, sharp and sudden. Yet Emma doesn’t flinch. Over the past months she has grown accustomed to that voiceher former motherinlaw, Lydia Hartleyalways appearing at the worst possible moment.
Emma turns slowly, clutching her son to her chest. Eightmonthold Jack snuggles peacefully against her shoulder, wrapped in a warm onesie. The parkSt. James’slies almost empty on this weekday; only a few hurried walkers rush past, bundled in coats.
«Good afternoon, Mrs Hartley,» Emma says, her tone flat.
Lydia brushes off the greeting as if swatting an annoying fly. Her cheeks are flushed with anger and the chill in the air. She steps closer, lips pressed together, eyes appraising the toddler.
«What are you doing…» Lydia’s voice rings with outrage. «Do you even realise what you’re doing? It’s bitterly cold out there! My grandson is dressed so lightly! Hell freeze! Do you want the boy to fall ill?»
Emma glances at Jack. Onesie, warm hat, scarfeverything suitable for the weather.
«Mrs Hartley, it’s eight degrees outside. He’s dressed appropriately.»
«Appropriate?» Lydia narrows the distance a step more. «Do you even know how a child should be held? This will ruin his posture! Hell become a hunchback. And youre letting him stay so skinny! Are you starving him?»
Emma clenches her jaw. Jack is perfectly healthy; the paediatrician has praised his development at every checkup. Yet Lydia presses on.
«And these walks of yours!» the former motherinlaw continues, relentless. «Twohour strolls with the baby out in the wind! Are you mocking him? He needs warmth and rest, not to be tossed about!»
Emma shifts Jack to her other arm. The infant stirs, opens his eyes briefly, then drifts back to sleep.
«Mrs Hartley, could we»
«Could we what?» Lydia snaps. «Enough! You have no idea how to raise children! You think you know everything after one baby! Fancy yourself an expert, do you?»
Emma feels a tightening in her chest. This barrage of accusations feels all too familiar. Every visit from Lydia turns into an interrogation; every encounter feels like a trial.
«And besides,» Lydia steps even closer, eyes flashing, «this is all your fault! Youve torn the family apart! My son was happy until you turned his life into a circus! You drove him out! Deprived the child of his father! All because of you!»
Emma stands frozen. The air seems to thicken, Lydia’s words echoing in her mind. Is she to blame? Did she ruin the family?
«We should go,» Emma whispers, turning to leave.
«Running away from me?» Lydia yells after her. «Do you see the truth? Youve ruined my son’s lifeand his grandsons!»
Emma quickens her pace, her feet carrying her away from the park, away from the shouts, away from the blame. Jack stirs but doesnt wake. Lydia shrieks something else, but Emma cant hear it any longer. Only when enough distance lies between them, the cries fade behind, does Emma breathe out. Her hands tremble, her heart hammers against her throat.
How could Lydia have the nerve to say its Emmas fault?
Memories surge. That evening, the flat. The door Emma opened an hour early. Her exhusband, Simon, and that other woman, in their bedroom, in their bed.
Emma didnt scream then. She didnt weep. She simply began packing his things. Simon tried to justify himself, babbling about mistakes, about it not meaning anything. Emma pointed silently to the door. Three days later she filed for divorce.
Two weeks after that, she discovers shes pregnant and tells Simon, who was still her husband at the time.
Lydia bursts into the flat, pounding on the door until Emma, exhausted, opens it.
«Cancel the divorce!» Lydia shouts from the threshold. «What are you doing? Youre pregnant! The child needs both parents! You must forgive my son! Youre not in the right position, my dear!»
Emma leans wearily against the wall. Lydia continues:
«He made a mistake. Men err, thats what they do. But you, as a woman, must forgive, think of the family, think of the child!»
«The child?» Emma asks quietly. «The one who will be ashamed of his father?»
«Shame?» Lydia snaps. «You should be ashamed! Youre destroying a family out of pride and selfishness! You imagined what it would be like for a child to grow up without a father? Yes, he cheated, but for the sake of the child we close our eyes!»
Emma shuts her eyes.
«Lydia Hartley, please leave,» she says.
«I wont!» Lydia stomps. «I wont leave until you see sense! Youre just being stubborn, ruining your childs future!»
Emma doesnt cancel the divorce. The courts decree soon severs her ties with Simon. Then Jack is bornsmall, warm, hers alone.
Emma never seeks child support, never lists Simon as the father. He makes it clear he wants nothing to do with the baby.
Emma works from home, earning a decent salary. Her mother helps when she needs a break. She asks nothing from Simons familyno cent, no assistance. He never calls, never asks whether it was a boy or a girl, never inquires about health. It was clear from the start he didnt care.
Lydia, however, presses from every angle. She shows up at the hospital uninvited, bouquet in hand.
«What did you name him?» she asks as Emma emerges with the infant.
«Jack,» Emma replies.
Lydias face twists.
«Jack? Why not Charlie, after my father? I told you!»
«You told me, Lydia, but this is my son and I name him as I wish.»
Lydia bites her lip, says nothing more.
Soon the visits become a routinefive times a week, unannounced, just appearing at the door and demanding access to her grandson. She offers unsolicited advice on feeding, swaddling, bathing, bedtime, holding, walking.
Emma endures, nodding, doing things her own way. One day she snaps.
«Enough, Lydia!» Emma shouts as the motherinlaw again criticises her choice of formula. «Stop telling me what to do! Hes my child! I know how to care for him!»
Lydia first turns ashen, then bright red.
«Are you shouting at me?» she asks.
«Yes! Because I cant take this any longer! You come every day and poison me with your criticism and accusations! Ive had enough!»
Lydia storms out, stomping loudly. After that she appears only twice a week, but each visit still feels like torture.
Now there is no peace even on the street.
Emma climbs the stairs to her flat. The house is quiet and warm. She puts Jack into his cot, sheds her coat, and collapses onto the sofa. Lydias words still echo: «You destroyed the family.» Was it really Lydia, or Simon who shattered all their plans? Emma only wanted to keep her baby, to raise him. Whats wrong with that?
Jack sighs softly in his crib. Emma leans over, adjusts his blanket. The infant smiles in his sleep.
«Everything is as it should be,» she tells herself.
Two weeks pass, calm and quiet. Lydia doesnt show up or call. Emma begins to hope shes finally left her alone. Then, on Saturday morning, a sharp knock rattles the door.
Emma opens it. Lydia stands there, eyes bright.
«Hello,» she breezes past Emma into the flat.
Emma freezes, barely managing a response. Lydia heads straight to the nursery where Jack plays, bends down and coos.
«My little grandson! My sweet bunny!»
Emma follows, arms folded.
«Mrs Hartley, whats happening?»
Lydia turns, smiling broadly.
«Tomorrow is the christening! Ive arranged everythingchurch, godparents, all set!»
Emma stares at her former motherinlaw.
«What?»
«The christening,» Lydia repeats, as if stating the obvious. «Tomorrow at two oclock. I chose a lovely church, found perfect godparents. Everything is ready.»
Emma steps forward.
«You cant decide when my sons christening will be!»
Lydia straightens, her smile stiffening.
«I can. Who else should decide? You, little girl?» she snaps.
«I am his mother!» Emma retorts, breathing hard.
«You?» Lydia huffs. «Youre young and foolish! You know nothing! I have experience! You must obey me, because youll never raise a son properly on your own! Youre not grown enough!»
Something inside Emma flares, hot and bright. All the months of insults and humiliation wash over her in a single, scorching wave.
«You have no right to be here! Not one!»
Lydia steps back a pace.
«How can that be? Hes my grandson!»
«Not on paper!» Emma says, moving toward her. «In his birth certificate theres a blank where the fathers name should be. Legally, he has no father, and thus you have no grandson! Until that changes, you stay out!»
Lydias face pales, her lips quiver with outrage.
«You youre throwing me out?»
«Yes,» Emma says firmly. «Leave.»
Lydia snatches her bag and darts out. Jack wails in the play area. Emma picks him up, pressing him close.
«Its all right, love,» she whispers. «Its all right.»
A week passes in silence.
Then the doorbell rings again.
Emma opens it and freezes. Two figures stand on the threshold: Lydia and her exhusband, Simon. He looks tired, irritated, his arm held tightly by Lydia as if she fears he might bolt.
«Good afternoon, Emma,» Simon grumbles, avoiding eye contact.
Lydia pushes Simon forward into the flat. Emma cant stop them. Lydia drags Simon into the nursery.
«Look!» Lydia exclaims, pointing at Jack. «Hes your son! You need to recognise him officially! You must become his father!»
Simon glances at the child, then looks away.
Emma leans against the doorframe, watching Simons stubborn expression. She knows what she must do.
«Then Ill apply for child support,» Emma says evenly.
Simon startles, turning sharply.
«What?»
«Child support,» Emma repeats. «You earn a good salary, Simon. The court will award me a fair amount.»
Simons face twists in anger.
«I dont need this child,» he spits. «Enough! Im done. I wont be responsible for anyone!»
He storms out of the flat. Lydia lunges after him.
«Simon! Simon, wait!» she yells. «Because of you I cant see my grandson!»
«I dont care!» Simons voice echoes down the hallway. «I dont care about you or this child!»
Emma shuts the door, moves to Jack, who reaches for her hands. She lifts him, holds him tight.
A small smile flickers on her lips. The plan works. Simon doesnt want the boy, and she finally frees herself from Lydias meddling.
Now she can finally breathe.
