Gwendolyn had just tucked her son into bed when the message arrived: «I’ll be there soon.» The sender—Eleanor Whitmore, her mother-in-law. A woman of complicated temperament, to put it mildly. No warmth, no kindness—just brimming with audacity, vanity, and an eternal need to appear younger. No one knew her real age—she guarded the numbers fiercely, insisting she was «eighteen at heart.»
When Gwen was pregnant, Eleanor made it clear from the start: she wouldn’t be relied upon. Her busy life—gym classes, ballroom dancing, dates—left no room for rocking a newborn. She was firm:
«I’ve done my time with nappies. Not a day more.»
Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. There stood her mother-in-law in a gaudy dress, hair styled like a TV presenter’s, stilettos so loud their click seemed to echo through the entire block. She swept inside as if she owned the place, kicked off her shoes, and marched to the kitchen.
«Gwen dear, put the kettle on, would you? I’ve been darting about like a mad thing—work, errands, shops… utterly exhausted. Oh, and that emerald dress of yours—the one you wore to the office do—remember it?»
«I do,» Gwen replied, wary.
«Give it to me. You’ve put on weight since the baby—you’d never squeeze into it now.»
Gwen looked down. The words stung. Yes, her body had changed—but to hear it from family, and in that tone… it burned. Eleanor, as ever, pressed on.
«Aren’t you going to ask why I want it?»
Gwen stayed silent. She knew the drill—Eleanor was always hunting for her next «prince,» someone younger, wealthier. Her life was one endless audition. No fling lasted more than a few weeks.
«I’ve a new beau,» Eleanor announced smugly. «Handsome, with a flat and a car. Bit of a player, though. So you’ll help—message him on Facebook. See if he bites.»
«Sorry, I won’t be part of that,» Gwen said firmly.
«Oh, is that so? Fine. Keep the dress. Use it as a rag, since it’ll never fit you anyway!» With a huff, Eleanor stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Of course, she complained to her son. When Geoffrey came home, he heard both sides. He knew his mother was volatile—needed handling. But it still grated.
«I’ll talk to her,» he murmured, pulling Gwen close.
Days passed. Guests gathered for Geoffrey’s birthday, but an old friend couldn’t make it. Meanwhile, Eleanor called—not with well-wishes, but to lament another failed romance.
Then she turned up again. Brought a jar of marmalade and an apology.
«Forgive me, Gwen. I snapped. I’m just… tired. Being alone is hard. I keep searching, but it’s always a letdown. Take Henry, for instance. We were going to move in together—then his son rang, accused me of wrecking the family. Said Henry’s in debt, still married, and I was just a… distraction. And just like that, he cut me off. As if I’d been switched off in his life.»
«Maybe he was scared?» Gwen offered gently.
«Maybe. Or spineless. His son threatened to settle his debts if he ditched me. So he did. Simple as that. Probably thought I’d drag him to the registry, then claim his estate. Can you imagine?»
As Eleanor lamented her misfortunes, Gwen listened in silence. Geoffrey walked in. While he ate, his mother launched into her usual act—woeful tales of betrayal and loneliness, fishing for sympathy.
«Mum, maybe stop chasing so hard? The right one’ll come along,» he said calmly.
«Oh, so I should just sit at home and mope?»
«No. But less drama? Take your grandson to the park. Life isn’t just flings.»
«Ah, right. Turn me into a free babysitter? No thanks—your child, your problem!»
«Mum, you’re twisting everything. Just find a hobby, not another disaster.»
«A hobby? I want love! And if I make mistakes, that’s my business! Meanwhile, tell your wife to sort herself out—she’s let herself go since the baby. No spark, no effort. Think that’s how marriages last?»
«Enough! Leave Gwen alone! She just had a baby—she’ll bounce back. You could’ve supported her instead of tearing her down!»
Eleanor slammed the door on her way out. Gwen, listening behind the wall, swallowed the lump in her throat and silently hugged Geoffrey.
Because she knew: Eleanor would never change. Some battles weren’t worth fighting. The only choice was to live with it—or shut her out entirely.
