**Grandma’s Divided Heart: The Drama of Emily’s Family**
Emily was frying pork pies in the kitchen of their cosy flat in Manchester when the front door slammed, and her daughters rushed down the hall, back from their grandmother’s.
“Oh, my girls! How was your visit with Gran?” Emily wiped her hands on her apron and stepped out with a smile.
“Gran doesn’t love us!” piped up Lily and Sophie in unison, their voices trembling with hurt.
“What? Why would you say that?” Emily froze, her chest tightening with alarm.
“Gran did something horrible today…” The girls exchanged glances.
“What did she do?” Emily’s voice sharpened, a chill creeping through her.
Lily and Sophie, fighting back tears, poured out their story. With every word, Emily’s face hardened in disbelief.
“Gran doesn’t love us!” they repeated as soon as they crossed the threshold.
“What makes you say that?” James, their father, lowered his newspaper, frowning. Emily looked at him, silently pleading for answers.
“She gave all the best sweets to Noah and Olivia—I saw it!” Lily tugged at her jumper. “We got nothing. They could run around and laugh, but we had to sit quietly. And when they left, Gran stuffed their pockets with chocolates, hugged them, and walked them to the bus stop. But us…” Sophie sniffled, “she just shut the door!”
Emily’s face drained of colour. She’d noticed before how her mother-in-law, Margaret, doted endlessly on her daughter Claire’s children while barely sparing hers a glance. But this was outright cruel. Their relationship had always been civil—neither warm nor hostile—until Claire had given birth to Noah and Olivia. That was when Margaret’s true colours showed.
Over the phone, she’d gush for hours about Claire’s perfect children:
“Such clever little angels, just like their mum!” Gran would gush enthusiastically.
Emily had hoped that when their own twins arrived, Margaret might show them even a sliver of that affection. But when Lily and Sophie were born, her reaction was icy:
“Twins? Goodness, you don’t do things by halves, do you? I haven’t the energy to cope with that!”
“No one’s asking you to,” James had retorted, baffled. “We’ll manage.”
“As if that’s the point!” Margaret scoffed. “Claire needs the help more—with two so close in age!”
“And ours aren’t children?” Emily snapped. “You always said Claire’s were so easy, no trouble at all.”
Margaret narrowed her eyes. “A brother ought to help his sister. He’s her blood—unlike you.”
From then on, Emily and James knew better than to expect Margaret’s support. Raising twins was exhausting, but Emily’s own mother stepped in without hesitation, making the long trek across town to help whenever needed. Meanwhile, Margaret had eyes only for Claire’s family—Noah and Olivia were her pride and joy, while Lily and Sophie barely merited a passing remark:
“They’re fine. Growing up, I suppose.”
Emily and James lived too far to visit often, and they rarely crossed paths with Claire now—four children in one house was chaos. The moment Lily and Sophie started giggling, Margaret would clutch her head, moaning about her blood pressure, and they’d have to leave. Claire and her children always stayed.
When they *did* visit, the criticisms piled up—Lily and Sophie had taken sweets without asking, knocked something over, been too loud. Always, Margaret would complain of headaches and shoo them out early. Yet she never tired of praising Claire’s children:
“Now *these* are the grandchildren my daughter gave me! So well-behaved, so loving—always ‘Gran this, Gran that’!”
Noah and Olivia got new clothes almost weekly, endless sweets, and mountains of toys. Lily and Sophie? Only token gifts at Christmas.
Others noticed first. When asked why Margaret favoured Claire’s children, she replied proudly, “They’re *mine*!”
“And James’s girls?”
“How should I know whose they are? They’re under my son’s name, that’s all.”
That poisonous remark eventually reached James and Emily through well-meaning friends. James stormed to his mother’s house for the first real argument of his life. Margaret quietened down—but not for long.
Claire lived nearby and visited often. James rarely took the twins over, but they loved playing with their cousins—until even Noah and Olivia realised Gran treated them differently. Soon, every misdeed was blamed on Lily and Sophie, and Margaret always took their favourites’ side.
The final straw was the story the girls came home with. Margaret had showered Noah and Olivia with sweets, given them each a chocolate bar, hugged them, and walked them to the bus stop. But Lily and Sophie? She shoved them out the door, saying her “head was pounding.” Their bus stop was ten minutes away—across a rough patch of waste ground.
“You walked alone?!” Emily gasped, stomach dropping.
“Yeah,” Lily mumbled, wiping her nose.
“There were stray dogs… we were scared,” Sophie added, eyes shining with tears. “We’re not going back!”
James and Emily exchanged glances. They agreed—but James still rang his mother:
“Mum, were you really that ill?”
“What? No!” Margaret sounded surprised.
“Then why send Lily and Sophie off alone? You know where their stop is! You could’ve called me or Em.”
“Don’t be dramatic—they’re not babies. They made it, didn’t they? Ought to toughen them up.”
“Mum, they’re *six*! They had to cross that wasteland with dogs! You *never* let Noah or Olivia go unsupervised!”
“Oh, so now you’re blaming me? This is *her* doing, isn’t it? I won’t be spoken to like this!” She hung up.
James stared at Emily, stunned. She exhaled slowly. Once again, she was the scapegoat. At least James was on her side—though he struggled to understand why his mother divided her love this way.
Emily saw it plainly: Claire was her daughter—her children were *hers*. But Lily and Sophie? They belonged to the *other* woman.
James refused to accept it: “Mum raised Ks—Claire and me the same! She was happy at our wedding—”
Emily reminded him how Margaret had crowed over Noah’s birth, calling everyone she knew, showering Claire with gifts. Olivia, too, was her “precious girl.” But their twins? “*Twins? Good grief—you don’t do things by halves!*”
“That’s enough,” Emily cut in. “They won’t see her again. She can dote on her *perfect* grandchildren in peace. They’ve got another Gran who doesn’t play favourites.”
Margaret didn’t even notice when Lily and Sophie stopped visiting—nor did their parents. Years passed, the girls now in Year 7, when Margaret fell seriously ill. The doctor ordered complete rest. She called her beloved Olivia, begging her to come help tidy up.
Olivia whined, “Gran, I’ve got *homework*!”
Noah scoffed, “Me? Do *cleaning*? No chance!”
That’s when Margaret remembered her son’s girls. Grown now—they could help. She called James:
“James, tell Lily and Sophie to come tidy up. They’re old enough—too good for their Gran now?”
“Remembered them, did you? After *five years*?” His voice shook. “Want me to remind you why they won’t come? Need help? Ask your *real* grandchildren—you’ve got two.” He hung up.
Furious, Margaret rang Emily:
“Why won’t your girls help me? A sick old woman!”
“Because you cut them out years ago,” Emily replied calmly. “You made your choice. Ask Claire—mother of your favourites. I’m away on business, James too. The girls are with their *other* Gran—the one who loves them.”
Margaret glared at her phone. Claire had refused too—no reason given. Was she really going to *pay* a cleaner? The shame! And those girls—her son’s daughters—typical, just as she’d always thought! Ungrateful little…
Had she pushed them away? She’d forgotten. Or didn’t care to remember.
As for her darlings? Well, Noah was right—cleaning *wasn’t* a man’s job, good lad! Olivia was working hard, focused on her studies—she’d have helped if she could. Not like *those* two…
