Emily stood by the window of her flat in Manchester, watching as Paul strapped their four-year-old son, Oliver, into the car seat. The little boy chattered excitedly about the trip to his grandparents’ house. Every weekend, they drove him to Emily’s parents so they could enjoy time with their grandson. But each time they returned home, Emily felt a simmering frustration in her chest. Her mother, Margaret, genuinely believed that by looking after Oliver, she was doing her daughter and son-in-law a massive favour. The thought made Emily’s blood boil, though she bit her tongue to keep from snapping.
It had started two years ago, when Oliver was old enough to spend weekends with his grandparents. Emily and Paul thought it was the perfect way to give Margaret and her husband, Arthur, a chance to bond with him. They adored Oliver—baking him biscuits, taking him to the park, reading him bedtime stories. Emily loved seeing her son’s face light up around them. She remembered how much she’d enjoyed staying with her own grandmother as a child and wanted Oliver to have those same warm memories. But she never imagined her good intentions would be so misunderstood.
Every time they picked Oliver up, Margaret greeted them with the air of a martyr who’d sacrificed her weekend for their sake. “Well, there you go—I’ve done my bit so you two can have a break,” she’d say, fanning herself for effect. Or: “He’s a handful, but I don’t mind. Anything to help you out.” Emily clenched her fists, her temples throbbing. She wanted to shout, “We didn’t ask you to babysit! We brought Oliver so YOU could enjoy him!” But instead, she forced a tight smile and muttered, “Thanks, Mum.” Even Paul, usually unflappable, was losing patience. On the drive home, he’d mutter, “Does she really think we dump him here just to go out for pints? It’s for them, not us!”
It wasn’t that Emily and Paul didn’t cherish their time with Oliver. On the contrary, they loved building train tracks with him or walking along the River Mersey. But they saw how Margaret missed him during the week, how her eyes sparkled when Oliver rushed into her arms shouting, “Nana!” They wanted to give her that joy—and let Oliver grow up surrounded by family love. Yet with each visit, Margaret’s comments grated more. “I’m exhausted, but it’s fine—I managed for your sake,” she’d sigh, as if they’d offloaded him to jet off on holiday. Emily felt guilty, though she didn’t know why.
The breaking point came last weekend. They dropped Oliver off as usual on Saturday morning. Margaret met them with a weary sigh. “Here we go again—another day running after him. But I know you’ve got your own lives.” Emily snapped. Her voice shook as she said, “Mum, we don’t bring Oliver because we can’t be bothered with him! We want you and Dad to spend time with him—so he knows you, loves you! This isn’t a favour to us, it’s for you!” The room fell silent. Margaret blinked in confusion, while Arthur coughed and buried his nose in the newspaper. Paul squeezed Emily’s hand as if to say, “Well done. Finally.”
That evening, when they collected Oliver, Margaret was quieter than usual. No sighs, no complaints—just a soft hug for Oliver and a murmured, “Come again soon.” Emily felt relief, tinged with guilt. Had she been too harsh? But Paul, sliding into the driver’s seat, smiled. “Let her get used to the idea that we’re not dumping him here—we’re sharing something precious.” In the backseat, Oliver hummed a nursery rhyme, and Emily realized she’d say it all again if it meant preserving his happiness.
Now, they still take Oliver to his grandparents—but cautiously. Emily hopes her mother finally understands: they’re not after a babysitter, but a family bound by love. Yet whenever Margaret hints at “doing them a favour,” Emily feels that old frustration rise. She knows their family isn’t a transaction—it’s a gift. And if her mother forgets that, Emily won’t hesitate to remind her. For Oliver’s sake. For the truth.
