You’re holding him wrong!
The sharp, sudden scream cut through the air, but Emma didn’t flinch. Over the past months she’d grown used to that voiceher former motherinlawalways appearing at the most inconvenient moment.
Emma turned slowly, clutching her eightmonthold son, Jack, snug in his warm onesie. The park was nearly empty on a weekday; a few hurried walkers wrapped in coats kept to the paths.
Good afternoon, Mrs. Margaret Hargreaves, Emma said politely.
Mrs. Hargreaves brushed off the greeting as if swatting an annoying fly. Her cheeks were flushed with irritation and the cold. She stepped closer, lips pressed, eyeing the baby critically.
What are you doing Margaret’s voice quivered with outrage. Do you realise what you’re doing? It’s freezing out there! My grandson is barely dressed! He’ll catch cold! Do you want him to get sick?
Emma glanced at Jack. He wore a onesie, a warm hat, a scarfeverything appropriate for the weather.
Mrs. Hargreaves, it’s +8°C today. He’s dressed properly.
Properly? the motherinlaw moved a step closer. Do you even know how to hold a child? Youll ruin his posture! Hell become a hunchback! He’s so skinny! Are you starving him?
Emma clenched her teeth. Jack was perfectly healthy; his paediatrician praised his development at every checkup. Yet Margaret pressed on.
And these walks of yours! she continued, relentless. Twohour strolls in the wind! Are you tormenting him? He needs warmth and rest, not a draft!
Emma shifted Jack to her other arm. The baby squirmed, opened his eyes, then drifted back to sleep.
Mrs. Hargreaves, let’s not
Not? Margaret snapped. Let’s! You have no idea how to raise a child! Ive brought up three of my own, and you? This is your first baby and you think you know better than anyone! Clever, aren’t you?
Inside Emma felt a tightening coil. The torrent of accusations was painfully familiar. Every visit from her former motherinlaw turned into an interrogation; every encounter felt like a nightmare.
And, in truth, Margaret stepped even closer, eyes flashing, youre to blame for everything! You ruined the family! My son was happy until you turned his life into a circus! You drove him away! You deprived the child of his father! All of it is yours!
Emma went still. The air seemed to freeze around her, Margaret’s words echoing in her mind. Was she at fault? Had she destroyed the family?
We should go, Emma whispered, turning away.
Running away from me? Margaret shouted after her. Youve shattered my sons life! And my grandsons too!
Emma quickened her pace, her legs carrying her away from the park, away from the shouting, away from the blame. Jack stirred but did not wake. Margarets cries faded behind her. When enough distance placed between them, the shouts finally died, and Emma exhaled, hands trembling, heart pounding in her throat. How could Margaret speak as if Emma were the guilty one?
Memories flooded back. That night, the flat. The door Emma had opened an hour early. Her exhusband, Paul, and his new partner in their bedroom. Emma hadn’t shouted or wept then. She simply began packing his things. Paul tried to excuse himself, muttering about mistakes that meant nothing. Emma pointed to the door in silence.
Three days later she filed for divorce. Two weeks after that she discovered she was pregnant and told Paul, who was still her ex.
Mrs. Hargreaves burst into Emmas flat that evening, hammering on the door until Emma opened.
Cancel the divorce! she shouted from the doorway. What are you doing? Youre pregnant! The child needs both parents! You must forgive my son! Youre not in his shoes, darling!
Emma leaned wearily against the wall. Margaret went on:
He made a mistake. Men do that sometimes; thats what they are. But youre a woman! You must forgive! Think of the family! Think of the child!
Which child? Emma asked quietly. The one wholl be ashamed of his father?
ashamed? Margaret roared. How dare you! You should be ashamed! Youre tearing the family apart with your pride! Your selfishness! Youve thought about how the child will grow up fatherless? A man who strays wed close our eyes for the sake of the child!
Emma shut her eyes.
Mrs. Hargreaves, please leave. she said.
I wont go! Margaret stomped. I wont leave until you change your mind! Youre just being stubborn! Youre ruining your childs future! Stubborn girl
But Emma didnt rescind the divorce. The courts stamp severed her ties with Paul. Jack was born soon aftersmall, warm, entirely hers.
Emma never claimed child support. She didnt even list Paul as the father; he made it clear he wanted nothing to do with the baby. Emma worked from home, earned a good salary, and her own mother helped when she needed a break. She asked nothing from Pauls familyno pennies, no visits. Paul never called to ask about the babys gender or health; it was indifferent from the start.
Mrs. Hargreaves, however, harried from every angle. She turned up at the hospital uninvited with a massive bouquet.
What did you name him? she asked as soon as Emma emerged with the infant.
Jack, Emma replied.
Margarets face twisted.
Jack? Why not Colin? After my father! I told you! I asked
You asked, Mrs. Hargreaves, but hes my son and I named him as I wished.
Margaret pursed her lips but said nothing.
Visits then became a routine. Margaret appeared five times a week, unannounced, demanding entry to see her grandson. She offered endless advicehow to feed, swaddle, bathe, put him to sleep, hold, walk.
Emma endured, nodded, and did things her own way. One day she finally snapped.
Mrs. Hargreaves, enough! Emma shouted as Margaret began another tirade about the formula. Stop telling me what to do! Hes my child, and I know how to care for him!
Margarets complexion drained, then flushed like a tomato.
Youre shouting at me? At me?
Yes! Emma held her gaze. I cant take this any longer! You come every day and poison me with criticism! Im fed up!
Margaret turned and stalked out, stamping loudly. After that she came less oftentwice a weekbut each visit still felt like torture.
Now there was no peace even on the street.
Emma entered her blocks stairwell and rose to her flat. The house was quiet and warm. She put Jack into his cot, shed her coat, and sank onto the sofa. Margarets words still rang in her ears: You destroyed the family. Was it really her who had shattered everything, or had Paul ruined all their plans, all their hopes? Emma had only wanted to keep her baby, to raise him. What was wrong with that?
Jack breathed softly in his crib. Emma adjusted his blanket; the infant smiled in his sleep.
Everything was as it should be, she told herself.
Two weeks passed peacefully; Margaret didnt appear or call. Emma began to hope the nightmare was finally over. Then, on a Saturday morning, a sharp knock sounded at the door.
Emma opened it to find Mrs. Hargreaves standing on the threshold.
Hello, the old woman tossed the greeting and swept into the flat.
Emma froze, unable to answer. Margaret headed straight for the nursery where Jack played on a soft mat, bent down, and cooed.
My little grandson, my sweet bunny!
Emma followed, arms crossed.
Mrs. Hargreaves, whats happening?
Margaret turned, a bright smile on her face.
Tomorrow there will be a christening! Ive arranged everythingchurch, godparents, all set!
Emma stared at the former motherinlaw.
What?
The christening, Margaret repeated as if stating the obvious. Tomorrow at two oclock. I chose a lovely parish church and found wonderful godparents. Everything is ready.
Emma stepped forward.
You cannot decide when my sons christening will be!
Margarets smile hardened.
I can. Who else should decide? You, dear? Youre just a youngster, naïve! Ive got the experience! You must listen, because you cant raise a child alone! Youre not grown enough.
Something inside Emma ignited, a blaze of anger. All the months of hurt, humiliation, and insults surged as a flaming wave.
You have no right to be here! Not a single one!
Margaret took a step back.
How can that be? Hes my grandson!
Not on paper! Emma shot back. In Jacks birth certificate theres a blank where a fathers name should be. Legally he has no father, and therefore you have no grandson! Until that changes, youre not welcome here!
Margarets face turned ashen, her lips trembling with outrage.
You youre throwing me out?
Yes, Emma said firmly. Leave.
Margaret snatched her bag and fled the flat. Jack began to cry in the nursery. Emma lifted him, pressing him close.
Itll be alright, love, she whispered. Itll be alright.
The week passed in quiet.
Then the doorbell rang again.
Emma opened it to find two people: Margaret and her former husband, Paul, looking tired and irritable. Margaret clutched Pauls elbow as if afraid he might slip away.
Hello, Emma, Paul grunted, avoiding eye contact.
Margaret shoved Paul forward into the flat. Emma couldnt stop them. The motherinlaw dragged Paul into the nursery.
Look! she shouted, pointing at Jack. This is your son! You must legally become his father! Youre obliged!
Paul glanced at the child, then turned away.
Emma leaned against the doorframe, watching Pauls stubborn expression. She knew what to do.
Then Ill claim child support, Emma said evenly.
Paul flinched, turning sharply toward her.
What?!
Child support, she repeated. You earn well, Paul. The court will award me a fair sum.
Pauls face twisted into anger.
I dont want this child, he spat. Enough! Im done! I wont be responsible for anyone!
He stormed out of the flat. Margaret chased after him.
Paul! Paul, wait! she cried. Because of you I cant see my grandson! Do you understand?
I dont care! Pauls voice echoed from the hallway. I dont care about you or the child!
Emma closed the door and turned to Jack, who reached for her hands. She lifted him, cradling him close.
A faint smile touched her lips. The plan had worked. Paul didnt want his son, and now Margaret was finally out of her life. At last she could breathe.
She realized that the true freedom she had gained wasnt just the absence of a meddling motherinlaw, but the understanding that she could protect her child without letting anyone else dictate her worth. In the quiet of her flat, with Jacks gentle breaths as a soundtrack, Emma knew that a mothers strength lies not in opposition, but in the steadfast love that guides her through every storm.
