20October2025
I still hear the clatter of the cake tin as I set it on the kitchen table, the way it seemed to wobble in my mothers hands just before she let it slip. Margaret stood in the doorway, arms folded, eyes narrowed as if Id committed some unseen sin.
Mother, what on earth are you on about? I asked, wiping the frosting off my fingers. What does Michael have to do with this?
She snapped, her voice rising. Hes already in Year7 and still at an ordinary state school! No specialisms, no enrichment programmes. How on earth will he get into a respectable university? How will he ever achieve anything?
The familiar sting of her criticism flared up inside me, a familiar fire of injustice. I bit my lip, trying to keep my composure.
Mother, Michael does well. He gets As in most subjects, has a maths tutor, and wants to go into programming just like his father. I tried to stay calm.
Thats exactly it! she exclaimed, gesturing wildly. Programming! Sitting behind a computer like your brother Sam. A dull job, a dull wage. And you? A teacher, a tutor, scraping by on pennies. Are you even feeding your son properly?
Her words hit the soft spots Id tried to protect. Yes, Sam and I never lived in luxury; we had to count every pound. Yet Michael grew up happy, his smile never waned.
Were fine. Michael is happy. I said, forcing a smile.
Happy? she scoffed, moving to the window. Victors son, thoughnow thats a proper treasure. Anthony is at a specialist academy where they teach English intensively from the first year. Hes fluent already! Victor and his wife Helen have spared no expense for him.
I listened in silence. My brother had always been the golden child. Hed started his own small business in Manchester, bought a larger flat, and his wife never worked, staying at home with their son. Every conversation seemed to turn into a subtle comparison.
Anthony is a brilliant lad, Margaret continued, her tone softening slightly as she spoke of him. Theyre planning to send him abroad for language courses at thirteen. Thats foresight, thats ambition. Not this ordinary schooling you settle for.
I stepped closer, feeling the tension in her shoulders, the strict set of her jaw.
Mother, I know you want grandchildren who succeed. But Michael isnt any worse than Anthony. They just have different paths.
Different paths? she snapped, turning sharply. One leads up to success, the other to drudgery and poverty. Do you want your son to live in squalor?
Something inside me clenched.
Were not impoverished. We live within our means, and Michael will grow up to be a good mansmart, kind, hardworking. I tried to keep my voice steady.
Hardworking isnt enough these days, dear, she huffed. You need connections, money, a prestigious education. What does Michael have? A regular school and a mother whos a teacher, barely getting by.
I turned away. The cake, now adorned with fresh berries, stared back at me. It seemed a frivolous thing now.
Mother, Im not looking for a fight. Were raising our son the way we think is right, and hes happy. I said, my throat tight.
The future is what matters! she pressed, leaning in. Youre spoiling him with your carelessness. Victor knows whats whathes doing everything so Anthony becomes someone important. Meanwhile you just drift along.
I shook my head. Arguing felt pointless; she was set in her ways.
Fine, Mother. Lets just have lunch. Sam and Michael will be here soon.
The meal that followed was tense, her voice constantly humming about Anthonys brilliance, Victors pride. Michael ate quietly, glancing at his grandmother now and then. I forced a smile, hoping to mask the unease.
Afterwards I realized Id have to keep my visits to her to a minimum. The endless comparisons were too painful. I still called her and Victor on holidays, sent the usual greetings, but I stopped organising family gatherings. She complained, but I held my ground. I needed to shield Michael from that negativity.
Years passed. Michael grew, immersed himself in coding, while I heard occasional updates about Victors side of the family. Anthony graduated with a gold medal, entered a prestigious universitythanks, no doubt, to his fathers connections.
Michael finished school, secured a place at a reputable technical university on a maintenance grant, passed his exams honestly, and by his third year was working for a modest IT firm in London. I was proud; Sam was proud. Yet Margaret still spoke only of Anthony.
A few more years slipped by. The children were approaching thirty. For Margarets birthday, the whole clan gathered. Victor and Helen arrived, as did Anthonya tall, goodlooking man with a casual mop of hair. Hed left his engineering job early, saying he wanted to form a band. Victor fronted the money for gear. Two years later the band still hadnt broken through; Anthony lived at home, unemployed.
I watched Margaret beam at Anthony, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, asking about his music projects. He responded lazily, eyes on his phone, yawning. She didnt see the indifference; to her, he remained the golden grandson.
Michael sat beside his wife Ivy, who was four months pregnant. He worked for a large tech company, earned a solid salary, rented a flat, and was saving for a home. Yet Margaret seemed blind to his achievements.
I could see Sams tension, his jaw clenched, while Ivys worry was evident. Michael, however, smiled, gently stroking Ivys hand. Evening stretched on, and Margaret kept praising Anthonys future stardom. He gave a halfhearted nod, while I remained silent.
At last the guests began to leave. Sam, Michael, and Ivy were the first to step out, saying theyd wait by the car. I was tying a scarf by the hall door when Margaret approached, a serious look softening her usual sharpness.
Olivia, wait a moment. I need to tell you something.
She lowered her voice, but the words landed like a hammer.
Your Michael is dull, ordinary. Grey, like you and Sam. No spark. Anthony, on the other hand, is a genius, a star. Hell show the world. Michael just lives, works, marries, soon has a child. Theres nothing special about that. Hes just another face in the crowd.
I stood there, feeling as if something inside me shattered. I exhaled slowly, meeting her eyes.
Mother, Ive thought about this for a long time. I assumed you wanted me to be a better mother, to push Michael harder, to invest more in him. I thought your criticisms came from a place of goodwill, to motivate me.
She frowned, but I raised my hand gently.
It turned out to be simpler. You never truly loved my son. All this time you expressed it through endless comparisons, through praise of Anthony, through constant critique. You didnt want him to be better; you wanted me to know that, in your eyes, my son wasnt good enough.
Her face went pale. I buttoned my coat calmly.
But you know what? My son is the best. Hes smart, kind, diligent, decent. Hes become an admirable man, soon to be a father, and will be a wonderful dad. Ive protected him from your poison, Mother. Ive let him grow up happy.
She stared, eyes wide. I grabbed my bag.
Your opinions about me, Sam, and our son can stay with you. Im done listening. Ive spent years trying to prove we deserve your love, and I wont any longer. Live as you wish, love whom you wish. Im washing my hands of this game. Ill soon have a grandchild, and Ill love him as any proper grandmother should.
I walked out, closed the door behind me, and headed to the car where Sam, Michael, and Ivy waited. Sam hugged me, Michael beamed. I sank into the passenger seat, leaning back, a strange, unfamiliar calm settling over me. It felt as if a weight had finally lifted from my shoulders. No more pretence, no more trying to prove myself.
It took years, but at last Im free from my mothers judgment. I have what truly matters: a genuine family. What more could anyone ask for?
