For three years, Margaret,» Emily’s voice trembled with barely contained indignation. «Three years you pushed me for a grandson, scolded me for dragging my feet. And now, in front of everyone, you dote only on Oliveryour daughters boy. But my Alfie is your grandson too! Or have you forgotten?»
Margaret adjusted her immaculate updo and regarded her daughter-in-law with icy superiority. Behind her, in the sitting room, childrens laughter and music swirledOlivers birthday party in full swing.
«And when you ignore Alfie, when you never bring him gifts like you do for the other grandson,» Emily pressed on, «he notices. Hes ten now, Margaret. Old enough to understandyou dont love him.»
Margaret scoffed, flicking her hand as though shooing a bothersome fly.
«Youre imagining things, Emily. I treat both grandsons the same. And really, must you pick today to make a scene?» She arched a disdainful brow. «Its my grandsons birthday, guests are here. Ive no time for your melodramas.»
With that, she pivoted on her heels and swept back into the party, leaving Emily stranded in the hallway. A lump of hurt rose in her throat. Emily leaned against the wall, steadying herself. To his grandmother, Alfie was invisiblea pane of glass, looked through, looked past.
Drawing a deep breath, Emily returned to the festivities. What she saw made her chest tighten further. Margaret fussed over Oliver, cooing at his every word, stroking his hair, slipping him sweets. Meanwhile, Alfie hovered by the wall, shoulders slumped, watching with poorly concealed longing. His eyes held such quiet sorrow that Emily nearly rushed to gather him up and flee.
That night, once Alfie was asleep, Emily sat beside her husband on the sofa.
«James, we need to talk about your mother,» she began. «The way she treats Alfieits wrong. He understands. Hes hurting.»
James pinched the bridge of his nosea tell she knew well. He did this when avoiding unpleasant talks.
«Em, youre overthinking it,» he dismissed. «I was the less-favoured child too. My sister always came first. Alfie will learn not to expect much from Gran. Hell cope. Boys do. Besides, she loves him in her own way. Just… differently than Ollie.»
Emily stared. How could he say such things so lightly? As if their son should simply accept neglect?
—
A week later, Margaret arrived unannounced. Alfie was at the kitchen table doing homework when the doorbell rang. His face lit up at firstthen dimmed, gaze dropping.
«Alfie, darling, Ive brought you treats!» Margaret declared, thrusting forward a handful of penny sweets.
Emily noted it immediatelythe cheapest kind. For Oliver, she bought lavish chocolate boxes.
«Thanks, Gran,» Alfie murmured, taking them.
Margaret turned to Emily, triumphant.
«See? No favouritism. All this nonsense about unequal treatment.»
Alfie lingered, shifting awkwardly, then mumbled something about finishing his work and vanished to his room. Emily knew whyhed realised, again, he was an afterthought.
Alone in the kitchen, Emily tried once more to bridge the gap. Maybe if she shared Alfies achievements…
«Margaret, did you know Alfie won a maths olympiad? His teacher says hes brilliant»
«Yes, yes, well done,» Margaret cut in, perking up. «But Oliver won the borough swimming finals last week! Came first out of all the schools! His coach says he could go pro.»
«How lovely,» Emily said tightly. «But about Alfiehes started drawing. His art teacher»
«Drawing?» Margaret snorted. «A hobby, nothing more. Now sportthats proper! Olivers so strong, so capable. Top of his class in French, too. His teacher says hes exceptional.»
Emily clenched her teeth. No matter what she said, Margaret steered back to Oliver.
«…and just yesterday, Ollie fixed his own bicycle! Eight years old! Clever hands, just like his grandfather»
Emily slammed her palm on the table. Cups rattled.
«Why, Margaret?» Her voice was wire-taut. «Why do you do this? You begged us for a grandson!»
Margarets face twisted, as if biting into something sour. For a moment, she hesitatedthen spoke.
«I wanted my grandson. A proper one. But Alfie…» She wrinkled her nose. «Hes your double. Spitting image. Even moves like you. Dreadful.»
Emily froze. The absurdity was so glaring, she couldnt speak.
«You… dont love him because he looks like me?»
Margaret nodded, as if explaining the obvious to a dim child.
«I never approved of Jamess choice. But I thoughtfine, at least give me a sturdy grandson. Youre healthy enough. But he…» She waved a hand. «Your copy. Face, mannerisms. Even the way he turns his head. Ghastly.»
Emily sat paralysed. This couldnt be real.
«Perhaps if you had another?» Margaret mused, oblivious. «A proper one, this time? One that takes after our side?»
Emily shot up. Her chair crashed back. Rage blackened her vision.
«Another? Have you lost your mind? Get out,» she hissed. Then louder: «Get out of my house!»
«Excuse me?!» Margaret spluttered. «This is my sons home!»
«Its ours! And I wont let you poison my child anymore! Go!»
Emily wrenched the door open. Margaret, purple with outrage, snatched her handbag and stormed out.
«This isnt over!» she spat.
The door slammed. Emily pressed her forehead to the wall, shaking.
—
That evening, James listened as Emily relayed the conversation. With each word, his face darkened.
«She actually said that? That she dislikes Alfie for looking like you? And demanded another child?»
Emily nodded. Tears shed held back all day spilled over.
«How can anyone reject a child for resembling his mother? Its monstrous!»
James pulled her close.
«Thats it. No more visits unless absolutely necessary. Alfie comes first.»
—
Months passed. Life steadied. Then, a change: Emilys parents sold their countryside cottage and moved nearby.
«Missed you both,» her mother, Rosemary, said. «Thought you could use the help.»
Alfie blossomed under their lovetheir only grandchild, previously seen too seldom. His smiles returned, his shoulders straightened.
On Alfies birthday, Emily reluctantly invited Margaret. No sign of Jamess sister.
Margaret arrived with a small box. Inside: a flimsy plastic carthe sort sold in tube stations.
«Thanks, Gran,» Alfie said politely, then turned. «Nana Rose, Grandad Tom, can I open yours now?»
Emilys parents exchanged a glance and handed him a large parcel. Alfie tore it opena graphic tablet for drawing.
«Thank you! Thank you!» He flung his arms around them. «This is the exact one I wanted!»
Margaret sniffed.
«Ridiculous expense. Youll spoil him.»
Rosemary turned, calm.
«Actually, Alfie wants to be a graphic designer. Hes terribly talented. This will help.»
Alfie beamed, kissing their cheeks.
«Dad, help me set it up!» He grabbed Jamess hand.
«Right-o, birthday boy!» James winked, and they disappeared into Alfies room with Emilys parents.
Left alone with Margaret, Emily watched her mother-in-laws stunned expression.
«Something wrong, Margaret? Dont like seeing him happy?»
Margaret flinched, then babbled:
«Well, Oliver just won»
«If you mention him,» Emily cut in, «leave now. This is Alfies day. I wont have it ruined.»
«But Olivers better, its plain as day! Stronger, brighter»
Emily strode to the door and yanked it open.
«I warned you. Go.»
«You cant»
«I can. My house. My sons birthday. Goodbye.»
The door shut in Margarets face. Emily exhaled. No more bending to keep peace. Her son mattered more.
From Alfies room came delighted laughter. Emily smiled and went to join them.
