My son is the worst of allnothing good will ever come of him!
Eleanor froze in the doorway, the cake she was carrying nearly slipping from her hands. Her mother stared at her with a disapproving look, as if Eleanor had committed some grave offence.
Mother, what are you on about? Eleanor set the cake on the table. What does Michael have to do with this?
Exactly what I mean, her mother snapped, her voice rising. Hes already in Year7 and still at an ordinary comprehensive! No specialist streams, no advanced programmes. How on earth will he get into a respectable university? How will he ever achieve anything?
Eleanor bit her lip. The argument followed the same old script, and a hot sting of injustice flared in her chest.
Mother, Michael does well at school. He gets top marks in most subjects, has a maths tutor, and wants to go into programming just like his father.
Thats the point! her mother flailed her arms. Programming! Sitting at a computer like your brother Sam. A plain job, a modest wage. And you? A teacher! A tutor! Earning peanuts. Do you even feed your child properly?
Eleanors fists clenched. Her mothers words struck the most tender spots. Yes, they hadnt been wealthy; they had to watch every penny. But Michael had grown up a happy boy.
Our lot is fine. Michael is happy.
Happy? her mother scoffed, moving to the window. Look at Victors sonnow thats a real treasure. Anthony is at a school with an intensive English programme. From the first year hes been speaking fluently. Victor and Lena spare no expense for him.
Eleanor listened in silence. Her brother had always been the golden child. Hed started a modest business, bought a bigger flat, and his wife Lena stayed at home to look after the house and their son. Each time her mother found a chance, she set them up against Eleanors family.
Anthonys a brilliant lad, her mother continued, warming to the subject. Hell surely make something of himself. Victor says theyll send him abroad to a language course at thirteen. Thats true foresight, not the meagre prospects of your ordinary school.
Eleanor stepped nearer, the lines on her mothers shoulders tense, her face stern.
Mother, I know you want grandchildren to succeed, but Michael isnt any worse than Anthony. Theyre simply on different paths.
Different paths! her mother snapped, turning sharply. One leads up to success, the other drifts in drabness and poverty. Is that what you want for him? To live in want?
Something inside Eleanor tightened.
Were not destitute. We live within our means, and Michael will grow into a good mansmart, kind, hardworking.
Hardworking! her mother huffed. Thats not enough in this world, dear. You need connections, money, a prestigious education. What does Michael have? A regular school and a mother who teaches and scrapes by.
Eleanor turned away. Before her sat the cake, adorned with berries, baked with love. Now the dessert seemed pointless.
Mother, I wont argue. We raise our son the way we think best, and hes happy.
The future is what matters! her mother pressed closer. Youre ruining him with your carelessness. Victor understands that. He does everything to make Anthony a person of note. And you just drift along.
Eleanor shook her head. Arguing was futile; her mother was unmoved, and nothing could sway her.
Fine, Mother. Lets just have lunch. Sam and Michael will be here soon.
As expected, the meal unfolded under a thin veil of tension. Her mother bragged about Anthonys achievements, praised Victors pride, while Michael ate quietly, stealing glances at his grandmother. Eleanor forced a smile, trying to convince herself that all was well.
After that lunch Eleanor realized she would have to keep contact with her mother to a minimum. The endless comparisons had become too painful. She still called her mother and Victor on holidays, sent polite greetings, but stopped arranging family gatherings. Her mother took offense, yet Eleanor held firmshe had to protect her son from the poison.
Years passed. Michael grew, studied, and fell in love with programming. Eleanor heard occasional news about her brothers side. Anthony graduated with a gold medal, entered a prestigious university thanks in part to his fathers influence.
Michael also finished school, earned a place at a wellknown technical college on a grant, passed his exams honestly, and by his third year was working at a small IT firm. Eleanor swelled with pride, as did Sam. Yet her mother persisted in speaking only of Anthony.
More years slipped by. The children were nearing thirty when the matriarchs anniversary brought the whole family together. Victor and Lena arrived, as did Anthonytall, handsome, with a careless haircut. He had left his graduate programme after a short stint, saying he wanted to pursue music and form a band. Victor had funded the equipment. Two years later the band was still obscure; Anthony lived with his parents, unemployed, without income.
Eleanor watched her mother beam at Anthony, hugging him, asking about his musical projects. He answered lazily, yawning, scrolling through his phone, oblivious to the praise. To her mother, he remained the golden grandson.
Michael sat beside his wife, Annie, now in her fourth month of pregnancy. He worked for a major tech company, earned a solid salary, rented a flat, and saved for a home. Yet his grandmother seemed to ignore him entirely.
Eleanor saw Sams jaw tighten, Annies worried glance, Michaels gentle smile as he stroked her hand. Evening stretched on, and the matriarch regaled the guests with stories of Anthonys future fame. He nodded patronisingly, while Eleanor remained silent.
At last the night wound down. Sam, Michael, and Annie were the first to leave, saying they would wait by the car. Eleanor was tying a scarf in the hallway when her mother approached.
Eleanor, hold a moment. I need to tell you something.
Eleanor froze. Her mother spoke softly but with a weight that settled over the room.
Your Michael is so dull, dear. Grey, ordinaryjust like you and Sam. No spark at all. Anthony, on the other hand, is a genius, a star. Hell prove it to everyone. Your son simply lives, works, marries, will have a child. Nothing remarkable. Hes just another face among millions.
Eleanor stared at her mother, feeling something inside shatter.
She breathed out slowly, met her mothers eyes, and said, You know, Mother, I spent years thinking you wanted the best for meto push me to care more for Michael, to invest more in him. I believed your criticism came from a good place, meant to spur me on.
Her mother frowned, but Eleanor raised her hand.
But the truth is simpler. You never loved my son. All the time you showed it through endless comparisons, through praise of Anthony, through thinly veiled disdain. You didnt want him to thrive; you wanted me to know he was insufficient.
Her mothers face paled. Eleanor, calm, buttoned her coat.
And you know what? My son is the finest. Intelligent, kind, diligent, honourable. Hes grown into a perfect man, soon to be a father, and hell be a wonderful dad because I never let him hear that, to you, he was an unwanted grandchild. I shielded him from your venom, Mother. I ensured he grew up happy.
Her mother stared, eyes wide. Eleanor gathered her bag.
You can keep your opinions of me, Sam, and our son to yourself. I no longer care. Ive wasted too many years trying to prove we deserve your love. I wont do it any longer. Live as you wish, love whom you wish. Im washing my hands of this game. Ill soon have my own grandchild, and Ill love him as any proper grandmother should.
Eleanor left the flat, closed the door behind her, and descended to the car where her husband, son, and daughterinlaw waited. Sam embraced her, Michael smiled. She settled into the passenger seat, leaned back, and felt an odd, unfamiliar peace settle over her, as if a great weight had been lifted. No more pretending. No more adapting. No more trying to prove anything.
It took many years, but at last she freed herself from her mothers opinion. She had what truly mattereda real family. And what more could anyone ask for?
