My son is no good at all nothing worthwhile will ever come of him!
Margaret froze in the doorway, almost letting the cake tumble from her hands. Her mother, Eleanor Whitmore, watched her with a sharp disapproval, as if Margaret had committed some crime.
Mother, what are you on about? Margaret set the cake down on the table. What does Michael have to do with this?
Because hes already in his seventh year at the local secondary school, and still at a regular school! Eleanor snapped, raising her voice. No special tracks, no advanced programmes. How on earth will he get into a respectable university? How will he achieve anything?
Margaret bit her lip. The conversation fell into the familiar pattern, and a burning sense of injustice flared in her chest.
Mother, Michael does well. He gets top marks in most subjects. He has a maths tutor, and he wants to make a career of programming, just like his father.
Exactly! Eleanor flailed her arms. Programming! Sitting behind a computer, like your brother Samuel. An ordinary job, an ordinary salary. And you? A teacher! A tutor! Earning next to nothing. Do you even feed your child properly?
Margaret clenched her fists. Her mothers words struck the most tender spots. Yes, Samuel and she were not wealthy; they had to watch every pound. Yet their son Michael grew up happy.
Were fine. Michael is happy.
Happy? Eleanor snorted skeptically, moving to the window. Look at Edwards boy now thats a proper treasure. Anthony attends a school with an intensive English programme. Can you imagine? English from the first year! He speaks fluently already. Edward and his wife Helen are doing wonders they spare no expense for their child.
Margaret listened in silence. Her brother had always been the favourite. Hed started a modest business, bought a larger house, and his wife Helen stayed at home to tend to the house and their son. Every time Eleanor found a chance to set them against each other.
Anthony is such a capable lad! her mother went on, warming up. Hell surely make something of himself. Edward says they plan to send him abroad for language courses at thirteen. Thats true foresight, thats the future. Not this ordinary school of yours.
Margaret stepped closer, seeing the tension in Eleanors shoulders and the stern set of her face.
Mother, I know you want grandchildren to succeed. But Michael isnt any worse than Anthony. They just have different paths.
Different paths! Eleanor turned sharply. One leads upwards, to success. The other slumps into dreariness and poverty. Is that what you want for your son? To live in penury?
Something inside Margaret tightened.
Were not poor. We live within our means. Michael will grow into a good man smart, kind, hardworking.
Hardworking! Eleanor sneered. Thats not enough today, dear. You need connections, money, a prestigious education. What does Michael have? A regular school and a mother whos a teacher, barely scraping ends together.
Margaret turned away. Before her lay the cake, its berries glistening, baked with love. Now the dessert seemed pointless.
Mother, I wont argue. Well raise him as we see fit. Hes happy.
The future is what matters! Eleanor stepped nearer. Youre ruining your child with your carelessness. Edward understands. He does everything so Anthony becomes someone of note. You just drift along.
Margaret shook her head. Arguing was futile; her mother would not budge.
All right, Mother. Lets just have lunch. Samuel and Michael will be here soon.
As expected, the meal passed under a tense veil. Eleanor boasted about Anthonys progress, praised Edwards pride. Michael ate quietly, stealing glances at his grandmother. Margaret forced a smile, trying to convince herself that all was well.
After that lunch Margaret realised she would have to limit visits with her mother. The endless comparisons were too painful. She still called Eleanor and Edward on holidays, sent their greetings, but stopped arranging family gatherings. Eleanor took offense, yet Margaret held firm. She needed to shield Michael from that negativity.
Years slipped by. Michael grew, studied, and fell in love with programming. Margaret only occasionally heard news of her brothers side. Anthony graduated with a gold medal, entered a prestigious university, though not without his fathers connections.
Michael also finished school and secured a place at a regular technical university on a scholarship, passing the exams honestly. By his third year he was working in a small IT firm. Margaret beamed with pride. Samuel was proud too. Yet Eleanor kept talking only about Anthony.
More years passed, and the children neared thirty. For Eleanors birthday the whole family gathered. Edward and Helen arrived, as did Anthony a tall, handsome man with a careless mop of hair. Hed quit his job shortly after university, saying he wanted to pursue music, form a band. Edward poured money into equipment. Two years later the band was still unknown, and Anthony lived with his parents, unemployed.
Margaret watched her mother glow as she fussed over Anthony, patting his head, asking about his musical ventures. He responded lazily, yawning, scrolling on his phone. Eleanor failed to see his indifference; to her he remained a golden grandson.
Michael sat beside his wife Amelia, who was in her fourth month of pregnancy. He worked for a large IT corporation, earned a good salary, rented a flat and saved for a house. Yet his grandmother seemed blind to his achievements.
Margaret saw her husband tense. Samuel sat nearby, jaw clenched. Amelia looked at Michael with worry, but he smiled, gently stroking her hand. Evening stretched long. Eleanor regaled the guests with stories of how wonderful Anthony was, insisting his band would soon be famous. Anthony nodded complacently. Margaret kept quiet.
At last the evening wound down. Samuel, Michael and Amelia were the first to leave, saying they would wait by the car. Margaret was pulling a scarf over the hallway rack when her mother approached.
Emily, wait a moment. I have something to say.
Margaret froze. Eleanor spoke low, but seriously.
Your Michael is so dull, Emily. Grey, ordinary. Just like you and Samuel. No spark at all. Anthony, on the other hand, is something else a genius, a star. Hell show everyone. Your son merely lives, works, marries, will have a child. Theres nothing special about that. Hes just another one of millions.
Margaret stood, staring at her mother. Something inside her shattered. She exhaled slowly and met Eleanors gaze.
You know, Mother, Ive thought about this for a long time. I thought you wanted me to be a better mother, to care more for Michael, to invest more in him. I believed your criticism came from good intentions, to spur me on.
Eleanor frowned, but Margaret lifted her hand.
But the truth is simpler. You never loved my son. All this time you showed it through comparisons, through criticism, through praising Anthony. You didnt want him to be better. You just wanted me to know that, in your eyes, my son wasnt good enough.
Eleanors face went pale. Margaret calmly fastened the buttons of her coat.
But you know what? My son is the best. Smart, kind, diligent, decent. He has grown into a fine man. Hell soon be a father and a wonderful one, because I never let him see that, to you, he was a unwanted grandchild. I protected him from your poison, Mother. I did everything to let him grow happy.
Eleanor stared, eyes wide open. Margaret gathered her bag.
You can keep your opinions about me, Samuel and our son to yourself. I dont care any more. I spent far too many years trying to prove we were worthy of your love. I wont do that again. Live as you wish. Love whomever you like. Im washing my hands of this game. Ill soon have a grandchild of my own, and Ill love him as a grandmother should.
Margaret left the flat and shut the door behind her. She descended to the car where her husband, son and daughterinlaw waited. Samuel embraced her, Michael smiled. She slipped into the passenger seat, leaned back, and felt a strange, unfamiliar calm. It was as if a great weight had lifted from her shoulders. No more pretence. No more trying to fit a mould. No more proving anything.
It took many years, but at last she freed herself from her mothers judgment. She had what truly mattered: a real family. What more could a person ask for?
