I found your daughter on the street
Oliver was driving home from work when his phone rang. A quick glance at the screen—his mum calling.
“Oliver, where are you?” Patricia’s voice was so unusually cheerful it put him on edge.
“On my way back from the office. What’s happened?”
“Just come over. We’re waiting for you,” she replied, still bright.
“We? Who’s we?”
“You’ll see. Just come.”
“Be there soon,” he muttered, hanging up.
Twenty minutes later, he stepped into his mother’s flat, pushed open the living room door—and froze. There, on the sofa, sat Patricia… with his daughter, Lily, on her lap.
“That evening, I told Emma,” he began, standing awkwardly in the kitchen.
“And?” she said without turning around.
“Mum asked if she could come to Lily’s birthday.”
“No,” Emma snapped.
“Come on, it’s been two years. Maybe it’s time to let it go?”
“Two years for you. For me, it’s been every single day. I haven’t forgotten what she did. Never will.”
“She misses Lily. She’s sorry. Life’s too short, Em. Let her come.”
“No.” Emma’s eyes flashed. “I don’t want her here.”
“Well, I do! She’s my mother. And if we’re being honest, neither of you were blameless. Why is she the only one punished?”
“So it’s my fault? Fine. Let her come. Lily and I will leave. You two celebrate alone.”
“Emma, don’t you dare!”
“Oh, I dare.” With that, she walked out.
Once, everyone envied Emma. A handsome, successful husband, a lovely home right after the wedding. And her mother-in-law? A dream. Emma used to brag at work:
“Can you believe it? Margaret insisted Oliver buy me a proper winter coat. Said, ‘You’ll freeze at the bus stop!’ Now that’s care.”
“She brings groceries every week. Notices what we’re low on and orders it herself.”
“For my birthday—the newest iPhone! ‘Time for an upgrade,’ she said. Absolute angel.”
When Emma got pregnant, Margaret became a saint. Booked the best doctors, brought fresh fruit, cosy jumpers, vitamins.
But the moment Lily was born—everything changed.
Margaret visited every day. Bathed the baby, fed her, watched over everything.
“You’re not producing enough milk because you’re not trying.”
“I am trying!” Emma nearly cried.
“Really? You’re always half-asleep!”
Oliver asked his mother to visit less. She took offence. Then came the endless calls:
“How’s Lily? What did she eat? How long did she nap?”
“Don’t forget to air the nursery—but don’t let her catch cold!”
“Did you blend the peas properly? No lumps?”
Emma began to resent it. She wasn’t heard. Wasn’t respected. Just treated like hired help for her own child.
One day, after another lecture about proper weaning, Emma snapped.
“Leave me alone!”
“I wasn’t planning to,” Margaret shot back. “I don’t care about you. Lily’s what matters. And I’ll keep an eye on you whether you like it or not!”
An hour later, Emma took Lily for a walk. Passing the chemist’s, she remembered she needed plasters. She left the pram by the door, dashed inside—and when she came out, it was gone.
Her world shattered.
Shouting, crying, a crowd, the police… Oliver arrived within half an hour.
Then—his mum called.
“Oliver, where are you?”
“Mum?” His voice was barely steady.
“I’ve got Lily. She was all alone! How could you trust Emma with her?”
“I’m coming.”
“Don’t cry, love. It’s alright. Lily’s with me.”
“With you?” Emma turned white. “She… she did this?”
“Yeah.”
The row was vicious. Margaret defended herself:
“I wanted to teach her a lesson. Show her what happens when you’re careless!”
“A lesson?!” Oliver was furious. “What if we’d gone to the police? Do you even realise what you’ve done?”
“I don’t care! I meant well!”
“And look how that turned out.”
Emma stood stone-faced.
“I won’t forgive you. Don’t call. Don’t come near us. To Lily, you don’t exist.”
And that was that. No more visits. No calls—blocked. If Emma spots Margaret in the street, she steers Lily away.
Lily’s nearly three now. Her grandmother might as well be a stranger.
