**As Close As It Gets**
It’s a shame Anna Margaret didn’t come again, Emily murmured to her husband as their three-year-old grandson Henry blew out the candles on his birthday cake. She never got to meet her great-grandson… It stings.
“If she doesn’t want to, then forget her,” William replied sharply. “I wrote to her two weeks ago. How many times do we have to invite her?”
“Maybe we should’ve called? Just to remind her? She’s not young anymore.”
“Em, enough. She doesn’t forget things that matter to her. If she hasn’t made time for her grandson in three years, she doesn’t care. She has our number, our address. Her pride just matters more than family.”
Emily stayed quiet. Five years had passed, but the hurt lingered like an open wound—stubborn, pointless, persistent. No one was really to blame, yet here they were.
William had met Emily at a friend’s wedding. Back then, she wasn’t alone—she was with a man who turned heads. Tall, striking, effortlessly confident. The kind people called an “alpha.” William never quite worked up the courage to approach her then. Later, he heard that man had left Emily with their little girl. Through a mutual friend, he arranged a “chance” meeting. He took his time—patient, determined. They married before little Sophie turned one.
Anna Margaret, his mother, had accepted his new wife coolly. No excitement, no interference. She’d assumed it wouldn’t last—someone else’s child, Emily being older… But William was happy. And for his sake, she kept her doubts to herself.
Only once did she say what she really thought. When William decided to adopt Sophie, his mother sat him down for a “serious talk.”
“Why would you take on another man’s child? She’s not your responsibility.”
“Mum, Sophie isn’t ‘another man’s child.’ She calls me ‘Dad.’ She’s never known anyone else.”
“But her real father is out there! Even if he walked away, that doesn’t change facts.”
“Does it matter who she came from if I’ve been there since the beginning?”
“Yes! What if you and Emily divorce? You’d be paying for a child you had no legal obligation to!”
“Mum! Do you really think we’d split up?”
“I just want you to think about your future children. Your real ones.”
“And if we don’t have any? Then what?”
“You will! Everything you have should go to your blood, not some stranger’s girl!”
William stood.
“That’s enough. If you think I’d ever leave Emily or Sophie, you’re wrong. I love them. And Sophie’s going to be your granddaughter, whether you like it or not.”
Seven years later, James was born. To Anna Margaret, he became the centre of her world. She doted on him, spoiled him, took him everywhere. Sophie, meanwhile, faded into the background. Emily never brought it up—she didn’t want trouble. James and his grandmother were inseparable. He stayed with her whenever they travelled. Sophie noticed—she was sharp. One day, she asked:
“Why doesn’t Granny spend as much time with me?”
“She just always wanted a grandson,” Emily explained gently. “James looks so much like your dad at that age.”
Sophie grew up, but at fourteen, she put the pieces together. One evening, she came straight out with it:
“Mum, tell me the truth—is William not my real father?”
“…No, he isn’t.”
“I thought so. But who cares? He’s still my dad. The only one that counts.”
And just like that, the weight lifted.
But then, when James turned sixteen, everything shattered. At his birthday dinner, Anna Margaret raised her glass and announced,
“James, it’s time you found a wife. When you do, I’ll give you a flat. I want to meet my great-grandchildren while I still can!”
James laughed.
“Granny, I’m way too young! Give it to Sophie—she’ll have kids before I do.”
Anna Margaret went still. Then, calmly, she said,
“But you’re not really related. She has a different father.”
Silence fell. James went pale. He looked at his parents, then stood.
“Come on, everyone. Party’s over.”
Guests left quickly. Emily screamed at her mother-in-law like never before.
“Why?! Why now? What was the point?”
“I won’t take secrets to my grave. He should know the truth.”
“Who does that help?!”
She didn’t answer.
After that, James stopped calling his grandmother. He understood—his parents had been honest, acted out of love. But Granny? All those years, she’d showered him with affection while whispering poison about Sophie. He realized family wasn’t about blood. And he cut ties.
Sophie got married. Anna Margaret ignored the photos. When the great-granddaughter was born—silence. William tried calling. Nothing. She stood by her belief: family was blood.
Then, at eighteen, James announced he was getting married. His parents were stunned.
“It’s too soon!”
“Granny wanted great-grandkids,” he shrugged. “Guess she didn’t mean it.”
That was when Anna Margaret took offence. She waited for an apology. She never even came to meet her great-grandson.
That spring, Emily fell seriously ill. Just as she recovered—a call.
“Anna Margaret’s in hospital. Broken hip.”
Emily was silent. Then, quietly: “Tell her I’ll come.”
Three days later, she stood in the ward with a bag of treats. Anna Margaret turned to the window.
“I brought you liquorice. You always liked it…”
No reply.
“We miss you.”
Still facing away: “Is James still angry?”
“No. He wants us to be a family again.”
They brought Granny home. Everyone helped—first occasionally, then daily. No one spoke of the past. Only once, when her great-grandson handed her a mug and said,
“Drink up, there’s dinosaurs in there,”—she cried. Too late, but finally, for the first time—from happiness.
