Grandma’s Broken Heart: The Family Drama of Sophie
Sophie was flipping burgers in their cosy London flat when the front door slammed, and her daughters burst into the hallway, back from visiting their grandmother.
“Oh, my girls! How was Granny’s?” Sophie wiped her hands on her apron and stepped out to greet them with a smile.
“Granny doesn’t love us!” chorused Emily and Lily, their voices trembling with hurt.
“What? Why would you say that?” Sophie froze, her heart tightening with dread.
“Granny did something awful today…” the girls began, exchanging glances.
“What did she do?” Sophie’s voice sharpened as a chill settled in her chest.
Emily and Lily, fighting back tears, spilled everything. With every word, Sophie’s face hardened in horror.
“Granny doesn’t love us!” the girls repeated as they stepped inside.
“What makes you say that?” James, their father, lowered his newspaper, frowning. Sophie glanced at him, waiting for an explanation.
“She gave all the best treats to Oliver and Chloe—I saw it!” Emily began, fidgeting with her jumper. “We got nothing. They were allowed to run around, stomp, and shout, but we had to sit quietly. And when they left, Granny stuffed their pockets with sweets, gave them each a chocolate bar, hugged them, and walked them to the bus stop. But us…” Lily sniffled, “she just shut the door behind us!”
Sophie felt the blood drain from her face. She’d long noticed her mother-in-law, Margaret, adored her daughter Claire’s children more than theirs. But to be this blatant? It was too much. Their relationship with Margaret had always been civil—neither warm nor quarrelsome. That changed when Claire and her husband had Oliver and Chloe. Then Margaret truly showed her colours.
Over the phone, she’d gush for hours about Claire’s “perfect little angels,” insisting they took after their mother. Sophie had hoped her own girls might get a scrap of that love. But when Emily and Lily were born as twins, Margaret had been icy.
“Two at once? You’re having a laugh! I haven’t the energy for that.”
“No one’s asking you to,” James had replied, baffled. “We’ll manage.”
“Good! Claire needs the help more. Hers are such darlings!”
“And ours aren’t?” Sophie snapped. “You always said Claire’s kids were easy.”
Margaret glared. “A brother should help his sister. He’s family—unlike you.”
After that, Sophie and James knew better than to expect support. The twins demanded endless time and effort, but Sophie’s mum helped tirelessly, never complaining. Margaret, though, only had eyes for Claire’s family. She’d wax poetic about Oliver and Chloe for hours but dismiss James’s daughters with a shrug: “They’re fine, I suppose.”
They lived far from Margaret and visited rarely. Avoiding Claire was easier—four kids in one house meant chaos. The moment play got rowdy, Margaret would clutch her head, complaining of a migraine, and they’d hurry home. Claire’s family always stayed.
When they did visit, the nitpicking began: Emily and Lily had eaten sweets without asking, knocked something over, been too loud. Again, the migraine, the plea to leave. Meanwhile, Margaret never tired of praising Claire’s children: “What treasures my daughter’s given me! So quiet, so sweet—always ‘Granny this, Granny that’!”
Oliver and Chloe got new clothes weekly, sweets, toys. Emily and Lily? Token gifts on birthdays. Friends noticed first. When asked why she favoured Claire’s kids, Margaret declared, “They’re my blood!”
“And James’s girls?”
“Who knows whose they are? They’ve his name, that’s all.”
Those venomous words reached James and Sophie through gossip. James finally lost his temper and confronted his mother. Margaret quieted—briefly.
Claire lived nearby, visiting often. James brought the girls less, but they loved playing with their cousins. At first. Soon, even Oliver and Chloe noticed Granny treated them differently. Naturally, they pinned every mishap on Emily and Lily—and Margaret believed them.
The final straw was the girls’ story. Margaret had showered Oliver and Chloe with sweets, hugged them, and walked them to the bus stop. Emily and Lily? She shoved them out, muttering about her “bad head.” Their stop was a ten-minute walk across a rough patch of waste ground.
“You went alone?!” Sophie gasped, her skin turning cold.
“Yeah,” Emily mumbled, wiping her nose.
“There were stray dogs… We were scared,” Lily added, her eyes glistening. “We’re never going back!”
Sophie and James exchanged glances. They backed the girls’ decision, but James still phoned his mother.
“Mum, were you really that unwell?”
“What do you mean?”
“Then why send them off alone? You knew where their stop was! You could’ve called me or Sophie.”
“Don’t be dramatic. They’re not toddlers. They made it, didn’t they? They need to learn independence.”
“Mum, they’re six! They had to cross wasteland with stray dogs! You’d never let Claire’s kids do that. Why?”
“Oh, so now you blame me? Is this Sophie’s doing? I won’t be spoken to like this!” Margaret hung up.
James stared at Sophie, bewildered. She sighed. Of course, it was her fault. At least James was on her side. It took ages to calm him—he couldn’t fathom why his mother played favourites. Sophie knew: Claire was her daughter; her kids were “hers.” Emily and Lily? Just the in-law’s children.
James still struggled. “Mum raised Claire and me the same! She was thrilled at our wedding…”
Sophie reminded him how Margaret had crowed over Oliver’s birth, ringing everyone, spoiling Claire. Chloe, too, was her “precious granddaughter.” Their girls? “Two at once? You’re having a laugh.”
“Enough,” Sophie said firmly. “They won’t go back. Let her dote on her ‘perfect’ grandkids. Ours have a grandma who loves them equally.”
Margaret didn’t seem to notice when Emily and Lily stopped visiting. Or when their parents did. By secondary school, Margaret fell seriously ill. Doctors ordered complete rest. She called Chloe, begging for help cleaning.
“Granny, I’ve loads of homework,” Chloe whined.
Oliver refused too: “You want me to scrub floors? No way!”
Then Margaret remembered James’s girls. Grown now—surely they’d help? But she didn’t have their numbers. She called James.
“James, it’s Mum. Tell Emily and Lily to come clean. Too grown-up for Granny now, are they?”
“Remembered them, have you? After five years? Ask your favourites—you’ve two of them.” He ended the call.
Furious, Margaret rang Sophie.
“Sophie! Why won’t your girls help their sick Granny?”
“Because their Granny cut them out long ago,” Sophie replied evenly. “You made your choice. Claire’s the mother of your darlings—ask her. I’m away for work. James too. The girls are with their other grandma—the one who loves them.”
Margaret glared at her phone. Claire had made excuses too. Was she really to hire a cleaner? The shame! And those ungrateful girls—no wonder she’d never warmed to them! Never mind that she’d pushed them away. Or that her “perfect” Oliver and Chloe couldn’t be bothered. Oliver was right—cleaning wasn’t men’s work, what a sharp lad! And Chloe was studious, unlike those two…
