“Happiness Is Hers, but We Pay the Price”
“Oh, Emma, thank goodness I caught you outside! Saves me the trouble of coming up,” gasped Margaret, Natalie’s mother-in-law, slightly out of breath.
“Hello,” Natalie replied, a bit taken aback by the sudden meeting.
Their relationship wasn’t exactly strained, but Margaret rarely visited—her whole world revolved around her daughter, Beatrice.
“Emma, lend me two hundred quid. Bea and little Alfie are off to a wellness retreat. One thing after another, and everything’s so dreadfully expensive these days. You know how it is,” Margaret sighed, rolling her eyes.
Once again, Natalie bit her tongue. A thousand times, she’d wanted to snap, *I’m not your cash machine!* She’d say it to Margaret, to Beatrice—straight to their faces, just to end this endless begging.
But she hesitated. Margaret was her husband Andrew’s mother, the grandmother of their daughter, Daisy. Speaking up meant risking conflict, upsetting the peace, dividing the family. Andrew would be torn between his wife and his mother, and Natalie couldn’t bear that thought. So she stayed silent, even as resentment boiled inside her. With a tight grip on her purse, she fished out her wallet.
—
Natalie trudged home in a foul mood. A surprise audit at work, nitpicking inspectors, a manager snapping at everyone—she’d stayed two hours late, dashed to the shops, and now faced cooking dinner, helping Daisy with homework, and laying out clothes for tomorrow. There was no end to it.
She let herself in, exhausted.
“Mum, hi! We’ve got this project on British birds for tomorrow. Will you help me?” Daisy, nine and eager, bounced toward her.
“Of course, sweetheart. Let me change, whip up dinner, and we’ll sort it.”
“Emma, didn’t even hear you come in. Work trouble again?” Andrew asked.
“Just the usual nonsense.”
“Look, I sent Mum two hundred quid. Alfie needed a new spring coat.”
“Andrew, when does this stop? Alfie has a father—why isn’t *he* providing? Why are *his* problems always dumped on us?” Natalie’s voice tightened.
“Emma, don’t start. You know their situation.”
“What situation, Andrew?!” She barely kept from shouting. “Bea won’t work, her ex never pays child support, your mum pours her entire pension into them. How is it *our* job to buy Alfie a coat? We work hard too!”
“That’s just it—*we* work! Why should Daisy go without so we can fund another family? Explain that!”
“Emma, let’s not argue over this. I’ll help with dinner.”
Beatrice was Andrew’s younger sister. Five years ago, she’d married a “successful entrepreneur,” Jeremy.
“Bea and Jeremy are off to Spain again—five-star hotel! Meanwhile, you’re stuck in that dreary office, slaving away,” Margaret would crow.
Then the truth came out—Jeremy had racked up loans to fund their lavish lifestyle. Money vanished, and the mess began. First came the fights over who owed what, then missed payments, bank threats, legal warnings. Jeremy solved his problem swiftly—he vanished, rumored to be in Scotland.
Beatrice was left with debts and a child. Margaret used part of her pension to cover loans, leaving scraps for herself, Beatrice, and Alfie.
So Andrew and Natalie stepped in. At first, it was just utilities, groceries—small sacrifices. But the requests grew larger.
“Prices keep rising,” Margaret would say, as if that excused everything.
Their breaking point came when Natalie spotted Beatrice lounging in a café, sipping lattes and eating pastries.
“Bea, what are you doing here?” Natalie blurted, stunned.
“Just having a break after shopping. Why?”
“We’re giving you money, and you’re blowing it on cafés?”
“So *you* can eat out, but I can’t?!” Beatrice huffed.
That evening, Margaret unleashed fury—Natalie was selfish, petty, ruining the family, tormenting poor Beatrice, who was still “recovering” from her divorce.
“I’d *love* for Bea to enjoy cafés—if she worked for it! She could pay for banquets daily if she just got a job.”
“Mum, Emma’s right. Alfie’s old enough for nursery now.”
“Nursery?! My grandson, left with strangers? He’s always ill!” Margaret wailed.
“All children go! Daisy started at 18 months—she was fine.”
“Fine! Keep your money! I’ll work myself before I abandon my family!” Margaret stormed out, slamming the door.
Silence followed. No calls, no pleas.
Andrew agonized, but Natalie stood firm—Beatrice was an adult. She needed to drag herself out of this mess: sue for child support, find work, enroll Alfie in nursery.
Andrew agreed—his wife was right. The problem? Beatrice *refused* to change. And Margaret, instead of pushing her, enabled it.
—
One day, at the mall, they ran into the trio—Beatrice, Margaret, and Alfie—laden with shopping bags.
“Bea’s got a *wonderful* job now. She’s providing!” Margaret gloated.
“Brilliant! Long overdue,” Andrew said sincerely.
“Truly happy for you, Bea. A job, and maybe love next?” Natalie added.
Beatrice preened, flaunting a new phone.
The joy was short-lived. Beatrice had tricked them all—she’d taken out a credit card, splurged, missed payments, and now the banks circled.
Again, she begged. Again, Natalie and Andrew caved. Beatrice swore she’d turn her life around—get a job, repay them. Weeks passed. Nothing changed.
—
“Emma, just the person! Save me the stairs.”
“Hello.”
“Lend me two hundred. Bea and Alfie are off to a retreat. Prices are mad!”
Natalie’s hands trembled—but this time, she snapped her purse shut.
“Look—*we’re* broke too!” She held the empty wallet out.
Margaret gaped.
“What’s this charade? Trying to shame us?”
“Not at all! We’ve clothed Daisy, fixed the car—where’s *our* holiday? Why does *Bea* deserve a retreat?”
“You spiteful little—!” Margaret hissed.
“*Exactly*,” Natalie said, turning away.
She told Andrew everything. Silence resumed—until three weeks later.
“Bea’s met someone—Paul Oakley, a businessman. He’s giving her a job,” Margaret announced proudly.
Natalie stiffened. “Andrew, my boss warned—Oakley’s a fraud. Shell companies, debts.”
But Beatrice cut them off: *Keep your noses out! Don’t ruin my happiness!*
Natalie and Andrew exchanged a look. One thing was certain—they wouldn’t pay for this “happiness” anymore.
**Lesson:** Generosity has limits. Enabling others only prolongs their helplessness—sometimes, the kindest act is saying *no*.
