OLIVIA: THE STORY OF AN UNWELCOME DAUGHTER-IN-LAW
When Michael brought his girlfriend Olivia home for the first time, the air in the house grew thick with tension. His father, William, sat silently in the corner, not uttering a word—for or against. It was almost as if his opinion didn’t matter in that house. His mother, Margaret, on the other hand, seized every opportunity to fire off another dozen questions. She eyed Olivia with suspicion, as if trying to spot some hidden flaw, some hint of insincerity—or simply proof that she just *wasn’t the one*.
Olivia didn’t make a good first impression. Petite, plain, dressed in laughably simple clothes—she looked more like a schoolgirl than a grown woman. The twin braids didn’t help. Where was the manicure, the makeup, the stylish outfit? No, this wasn’t the daughter-in-law Margaret had envisioned for her only son. Take their neighbors’ daughter, Emily—striking, confident, her father a CEO of a dairy company, her mother a top accountant. And Emily had always fancied Michael. *That’s* the kind of girl he should’ve married, not this… little mouse.
But Michael wasn’t having it. He loved Olivia madly. When his mother pulled him aside and started pushing for Emily instead, he cut her off sharply:
*”I love Liv. We’ve already filed the paperwork. Enough, Mum—end of discussion.”*
The wedding was quiet, modest—just as Olivia wanted. She insisted they save the money for their future. Margaret was livid, calling it a disgrace. But Michael stood by his wife.
The newlyweds moved in with his parents. Margaret never missed a chance to criticize her daughter-in-law—the cooking was poor, she didn’t take care of Michael properly, the cleaning was slapdash. Michael gritted his teeth, but finally put his foot down:
*”We’re moving out.”*
They rented a flat. Money was tight, and times were hard, but he worked himself to the bone. Then, he took on building their own house. To top it off, Olivia enrolled in teacher training—not exactly a lucrative career. It all rested on Michael’s shoulders.
Olivia threw herself into her studies, graduating with first-class honours. Eager for approval, she rushed to her mother-in-law, hoping *maybe now* she’d see how hard she’d worked. But Margaret just muttered:
*”You’re making my son’s life difficult. You were the wrong choice, Michael. Emily would’ve been easier.”*
Olivia left in tears. She didn’t complain to Michael—her life had already been full of pain. Her father had walked out when her mother turned to drink. And though her mum loved her, the binges made her a stranger, someone terrifying. Olivia had gone hungry, hiding from drunken visitors. Only Michael’s love had saved her.
They finished their home, and children followed. First, she became a teacher, then a head of department. Two sons came along—Oliver and Thomas. Margaret adored her grandsons, fussing over them with delight… but remained icy, almost hostile, toward Olivia. Their exchanges never went beyond *”hello”* and *”goodbye.”*
The boys grew up, left for flight school in another city—first one, then the other. The house felt empty. William passed—quietly, unnoticed, just as he’d lived. Margaret was alone now, yet even then, she refused to visit Olivia. The frost between them never thawed.
Olivia turned 45. For her birthday, everyone gathered—sons with their girlfriends, friends, neighbors. Even Margaret came, though she sat off to the side. Amid the celebration, Olivia suddenly felt faint. She sat down, paling. Everyone panicked.
The next day, she went to the hospital. She returned with news that stunned even her: she was pregnant. That evening, she told Michael. He was silent for a long time before saying gently:
*”We’re too old for this, Liv. We should… not go through with it. People will laugh…”*
She nodded. But inside, something shattered. Alone, she curled up in pain. The next morning, she went to her mother-in-law. Her own mother was gone—there was no one else to talk to. She thought, *Maybe if Margaret says something cruel, it’ll make the decision easier…*
Margaret said nothing at first. Then, suddenly, she wept. She spoke of how Michael had been a fragile baby, how she’d nursed him through sleepless nights, terrified she’d lose him. Olivia listened in silence, then—for the first time—stepped forward and hugged her. And then she cried too, pouring out stories of her childhood, her mother’s drinking, the fear and hunger.
They cried together for what felt like an hour. Strangers, yet in that moment—family.
That evening, Margaret turned up at their doorstep unannounced.
*”I’m not here for you, Michael. I’m here for Liv,”* she said.
Olivia burst into tears. No one had ever called her *Liv* like that—not her mother, not her mother-in-law.
They sat at the table. Margaret took Olivia’s hand.
*”Don’t you dare get rid of that baby. We’ll manage. You’re not old. This is a blessing—not everyone gets one. And I’ll handle Michael.”*
So it was decided. And in due time, Olivia gave birth to a little girl—Sophie. A cherub with curly hair and lashes for miles. When they placed her in Olivia’s arms, she cried—not from pain, but from joy.
Michael and Margaret met them at the hospital. Margaret sold her old flat and moved closer to help with the baby. She came every day, like clockwork. She and Olivia didn’t just get along—they became friends. They spent hours chatting, sharing secrets, laughing.
And for the first time in her life, Olivia had a mother. Not by blood—but in every way that mattered. Warm, accepting. The kind who hugged her in the darkest moment and said, *”You’re not alone.”* And that was the most precious thing in the world.
