Not yet grown, the voice snapped.
You’re holding him wrong!
A sharp, sudden cry sliced the air, but Eleanor felt no start. The sound had become a familiar echo over the recent monthsa former motherinlaw, always appearing at the most inconvenient moments.
She turned slowly, clutching her eightmonthold son, Charlie, who breathed softly against her shoulder, swaddled in a warm onesie. The park was almost deserted on a weekday; only a few hurried walkers passed, their coats pulled tight against the chill.
Good afternoon, Mrs. Whitaker, Eleanor said, tone flat.
Agnes Whitaker brushed off the greeting as one would a persistent fly. Her face flushed with indignation and the cold. She stepped closer, lips pressed, eyes appraising the child.
What are you doing? Agness voice rang with outrage. Do you realise what youre doing? Its freezing out there! My grandson is dressed so lightly! Hell catch cold! Do you want the boy to get sick?
Eleanor glanced at Charlie. He wore a snug onesie, a warm cap, a scarfeverything appropriate for the weather.
Its +8 degrees, Mrs. Whitaker. Hes dressed properly, Eleanor replied.
Properly? the motherinlaw leaned in a step further. Do you even know how a baby should be held? This will ruin his posture! Hell grow hunchbacked. And look at him, so thin! Are you starving him?
Eleanors jaw tightened. Charlie was perfectly healthy; every paediatrician visit had praised his development. Yet Agnes pressed on.
And these walks of yours! Two hours a day, dragging the child out in the wind! Are you mocking him? He needs warmth, rest, not a gust for his face! Mother
Eleanor shifted Charlie to her other arm. He fidgeted, opened his eyes briefly, then fell back asleep.
Mrs. Whitaker, lets not
Not? Agnes cut in. Lets be clear! You know nothing about raising children! Ive brought up three, and you? First time with a baby, and you think you know better than anyone! You think youre clever, dont you?
Inside Eleanor, something tightened. The torrent of accusations was a familiar pain. Every visit from the former motherinlaw turned into an interrogation; each meeting became a torment.
And besides, Agnes stepped even closer, eyes flashing, its 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!
Eleanor froze. The air seemed to solidify around her, the words bouncing back like an echo. Had she truly destroyed the family?
We should go, Eleanor whispered, turning away.
Youre running from me? Agnes shouted after her. Do you see how youve ruined my sons lifeand his grandsons too!
Eleanor quickened her pace, her feet carrying her away from the park, away from the shouts, away from the blame. Charlie stirred, but did not wake. Agness voice rose another accusation, but Eleanor could no longer hear it. Only when a sufficient distance lay between them, the cries fading behind her, did she exhale. Her hands trembled, her heart thumped in her throat. How could Agnes have turned her tongue so sharp? How dared she claim Eleanor was the cause?
Memories flooded in like a tide. That night, the flat. The door Eleanor opened an hour early. Her exhusband, Thomas, and another woman in their bedroom.
Eleanor had not screamed then. She had not wept. She had simply begun to pack his things. Thomas stammered explanations, muttering about mistakes, about nothing that mattered. Eleanor pointed to the door in silence. Three days later she filed for divorce.
Two weeks after that, she discovered she was pregnant and told the stillpresent Thomas.
Mrs. Whitaker swooped in that evening, knocking insistently on the door until Eleanor opened.
Cancel the divorce! the motherinlaw shrieked from the threshold. What are you doing? Youre pregnant! The baby needs both parents! You must forgive my son! Youre not in the right situation, my dear!
Eleanor leaned against the wall, exhausted, as Agnes continued.
Hes made a mistake. All men err, thats what they do. But youre a woman! You must forgive, think of the family, think of the child!
What child? Eleanor asked quietly. The one wholl be ashamed of his father?
Shame? Agnes snapped. You should be ashamed! Youre ruining a family out of pride! Out of selfishness! Have you thought how it feels for a child to grow up without a father? Imagine the betrayal! For the sake of a child, we can turn a blind eye to many things!
Eleanor closed her eyes.
Mrs. Whitaker, please leave, she said.
I wont go! the woman stomped. I wont leave until you see sense! Youre being obstinate! Youre ruining your childs future! Stubborn girl
But Eleanor never withdrew the divorce. Soon the legal stamp tore the tie with Thomas. Then Charlie was bornsmall, warm, entirely hers.
She never claimed child support, never listed Thomas as the father. He made it clear he wanted nothing to do with the child.
Eleanor worked from home, earned well. Her own mother helped when she needed a break. She asked nothing from Thomass familyno pennies, no visits. He never called, never asked whether a boy or a girl was born, never inquired about health. It was evident from the start.
Mrs. Whitaker, however, hovered from every angle. She turned up at the maternity ward uninvited, bouquet in hand.
What did you name him? she asked as Eleanor emerged with the infant.
Charlie, Eleanor replied.
Agness face twisted.
Charlie? Why not Colin? After my father! I told you! I asked! she protested.
You asked, Mrs. Whitaker, but this is my son and I named him as I wished, Eleanor said.
Agnes clenched her lips, said nothing more.
Visits followed, five times a week, unannounced, at the door. She inundated Eleanor with advicehow to feed, swaddle, bathe, put to sleep, hold, walk.
Eleanor endured, nodded, did things her own way. One day, the pressure broke.
Mrs. Whitaker, enough! Eleanor shouted when the motherinlaw again criticised her choice of formula. Stop telling me what to do! This is my child! I know how to care for him and what to feed him!
Agnes first turned as pale as a wall, then flushed red as a tomato.
Youre shouting at me? At me?
Yes! Eleanor met her gaze. Because I cant take it any longer! You come every day and poison me! You point, you criticize, you accuse! Im fed up!
Agnes turned and left, stomping loudly. She returned later, less frequentlytwice a weekbut each visit remained a torment.
Now the street offered no peace.
Eleanor entered the flat, climbed to her floor. The house was quiet, warm. She laid Charlie in his cot, shed her coat, and sank onto the sofa. Agness words still rang in her ears: You destroyed the family. But hadnt it been Thomas who shattered all their plans? Hadnt he betrayed? Eleanor only wanted to keep the baby, to raise him. What was so wrong?
Charlie breathed softly in his cradle. Eleanor adjusted his blanket, watched his smile in sleep.
Everything was right, she told herself. Everything, as it should be.
Two weeks passed, calm and still. Agnes did not appear, did not call. Eleanor began to hope she had finally been left alone. Then, on a Saturday morning, a sharp knock rattled the door.
She opened it to find Mrs. Whitaker standing there.
Good morning, the woman blurted, stepping straight into the flat.
Eleanor froze, unable to answer. Agnes headed straight for the nursery where Charlie played in his playpen, bent down and cooed.
My grandson, my little bunny! My sweet one! she exclaimed.
Eleanor followed, arms crossed over her chest.
Mrs. Whitaker, whats happening?
Agnes turned, a bright smile plastered on her face.
Tomorrows the christening! Ive arranged everythingchurch, godparents, all set!
Eleanor stared at the former motherinlaw.
What?
The christening, Agnes repeated, as if stating the obvious. Tomorrow, two oclock. I chose a lovely parish, found wonderful godparents. Everythings organized.
Eleanor stepped forward.
You cannot decide when my sons christening will be!
Agness smile hardened.
I can. Who else should decide? You, piglet?
Its mine! Eleanor exhaled. Im his mother!
You? Agnes scoffed. Youre young and foolish! You understand nothing! Im experienced! I know whats right! You must obey me, because you cant raise a son on your own! Youre not grown enough.
Something inside Eleanor flared, bright and hot. All the months of hurt, the insults, the humiliation surged as a fiery wave.
You have no right to be here! Not a single one! Eleanor shouted.
Agnes stepped back a pace.
How can that be? My grandson lives here!
Not on paper! Eleanor snapped, moving toward her. On his birth certificate theres a blank where the fathers name should be. Legally, he has no father, so you have no grandson! Until that changes, you stay out!
Agness face turned ashen, her lips trembled with outrage.
You youre throwing me out?
Yes, Eleanor said firmly. Leave.
Agnes seized her bag and fled the flat. Charlie wailed in the playpen. Eleanor lifted him, pressed him close.
Its all right, love, she whispered. Its all right.
A week passed in silence.
Then the door knocked again.
Eleanor opened it and froze. At the threshold stood two people: Mrs. Whitaker and Thomas, her exhusband, looking tired, irritable. His mother clutched his elbow as if fearing he might bolt.
Good afternoon, Eleanor, Thomas muttered, avoiding eye contact.
Agnes shoved Thomas forward into the flat. Eleanor couldnt stop them. The motherinlaw dragged Thomas into the nursery.
Look! Agnes shouted, pointing at Charlie. Hes your son! You must legally become his father! Youre obliged!
Thomas glanced at the baby, then turned away.
Eleanor pressed herself against the doorframe, watching Thomass stubborn expression. She knew the lever she needed to pull.
Ill claim child support, Eleanor said evenly.
Thomas flinched, turning sharply toward her.
What?
Child support, she repeated. You earn well, Thomas. The court will grant me a good sum.
His face twisted.
I dont want this child, Thomas spat. Enough! Stay away from me! Im done!
He stormed out of the flat. Agnes chased after him.
Sara! Sara, wait! she called. Because of you I cant see my grandson! Do you understand?
I dont give a toss! Thomass voice echoed from the stairwell. I dont care about you or this child!
Eleanor shut the door, went to Charlie, who reached for her hands. She lifted the infant, pressed him close.
A smile curved her lips. The plan had worked. Thomas didnt want the boy, and now she was finally free of Mrs. Whitaker. She could finally breathe.
