The kitchen smelled of meatballs when the front door swung open—Julia’s daughters were back from their grandmother’s. They should’ve been happy, but instead, their faces were filled with hurt.
“Mum, Gran doesn’t love us!” Emily and Sophie said in unison.
Julia stepped into the hallway, wiping her hands on a tea towel.
“Why would you think that?”
The girls exchanged a glance, and one began to explain quietly. Gran let their cousins, James and Lily, run around, jump on the furniture, and eat whatever they wanted. But with Emily and Sophie? No noise, no sweets, no chocolate. She even walked James and Lily to the bus stop, but for them? Just a slammed door.
Julia froze. She knew her mother-in-law, Margaret, wasn’t the warmest woman, but she hadn’t realised it had gone this far.
Their relationship had always been neutral—not close, but not hostile. Everything changed when Margaret’s sister-in-law, Beatrice, had children. Gran was utterly smitten, gushing for hours about how clever they were, how much they took after their mother.
When Julia and her husband, Richard, had twins, Margaret just shrugged.
“Two at once? Goodness… I couldn’t handle two.”
“Good thing we’re not asking you to,” Richard shot back.
“Beatrice could use the help—hers are so close in age.”
“And ours aren’t *real* children?” Julia snapped.
“A brother’s duty is to help his sister,” Margaret said coldly.
That was when Julia knew there’d be no support. At least her own mum was there, travelling across town to help when she could.
Margaret, meanwhile, never missed a chance to praise James and Lily. “Now *these* are my proper grandchildren,” she’d say. As for Emily and Sophie? If anyone asked, she’d just wave a hand. “Oh, they’re fine…”
Eventually, even friends noticed. When Margaret once muttered, “Who knows if they’re even really my granddaughters, even if they carry Richard’s name,” the words got back to him. He was furious, demanding an explanation. She backpedalled, but the damage was done.
Every visit left Richard and Julia feeling sour—constant complaints: the girls were too loud, ate sweets without asking, gave her headaches. And always, the comparisons to the “perfect” cousins.
Then came the final straw. When James and Lily left, Gran walked them to the bus, gave them gifts. But Emily and Sophie? She sent them across the wasteland where stray dogs roamed. Six years old. Alone. No warning.
Richard called his mother.
“Are you feeling unwell, Mum?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Then why send the girls alone through that wasteland?”
“They need to learn independence!”
“They’re *six*. You’d never let James and Lily go alone!”
“Don’t you dare accuse me! This is all your wife’s—”
And she hung up.
Years passed. The girls grew, now in Year 7. Margaret fell ill. Suddenly, she remembered her “spare” granddaughters. She called Richard.
“Send Emily and Sophie round to tidy up. What sort of children don’t help their own gran?”
“Maybe remember why they don’t visit,” Richard said calmly. “You’ve got your favourites—ask them.”
Fuming, Margaret called Julia.
“You *have* to make them come! I’m their grandmother!”
“You stopped acting like one years ago. You’ve got Beatrice, and the ‘right’ grandchildren. Rely on them.”
Lily refused—”Too much homework.” James said, “I’m not a cleaner.” Margaret was left in silence. Only then did she realise love shouldn’t be divided. But it was too late.
