“Mum, please tell me you didn’t forget!” Emily shrieked as she barged into the hallway, tossing her expensive handbag aside. “Mum! I reminded you a month ago!”
Margaret slowly turned from the mirror where she’d been adjusting her grey hair. Her hands trembled slightly, but her gaze remained steady.
“What’s this about, love?” she asked softly.
“What do you mean, what’s this about?!” Emily flung her bag onto the sofa. “Liam’s birthday! He’s fifteen tomorrow! Are you seriously in your own world again?”
“No, I remember,” Margaret sighed, settling into the armchair and folding her hands in her lap. “I was just thinking maybe we shouldn’t make a fuss…”
“Shouldn’t make a fuss?!” Emily froze in the middle of the room, staring at her mother. “He’s my son! Your grandson! Fifteen! And you’re saying we shouldn’t celebrate?”
Margaret closed her eyes briefly. She knew what was coming. It was always like this when Emily visited for the weekend, bringing Liam along. Her daughter had always been fiery, demanding—but since the divorce, she’d become even worse.
“Emily, just breathe. I remember. I got him a gift, ordered a cake from the bakery,” she said wearily. “But maybe he doesn’t want a big party? He’s been so quiet lately…”
“Quiet?” Emily scoffed. “He’s a teenager! Of course, he’s quiet around adults. That doesn’t mean we skip his birthday. If anything, we should show him how loved he is!”
A creak came from the hallway. Liam appeared—lanky, tousled brown hair, eyes serious like his father’s.
“Hi, Nan,” he muttered, glancing at his mum. “What’s all the shouting?”
“We’re not shouting, we’re discussing your birthday,” Emily immediately softened her voice. “Tomorrow’s a big day, sweetheart! Nan’s ordered a cake, and I’ve got presents—”
“Don’t need anything,” Liam muttered, sinking onto the edge of the sofa. “It’s fine.”
“How is it fine?!” Emily huffed. “Fifteen is a huge milestone!”
Liam shrugged and buried himself in his phone. Margaret watched him with worry. Something was off. For months, he’d grown more withdrawn, barely talking to her, answering his mum in monosyllables.
“Liam, love, what would you like as a gift?” she asked gently.
“Nothing,” he mumbled, not looking up.
“Nothing?!” Emily sat beside him. “What about a new phone? Or we could upgrade your laptop?”
“Mum, just drop it,” Liam stood abruptly. “I’m going to my room.”
“Wait, we just got here!” Emily jumped up. “Let’s plan who to invite—”
“Don’t invite anyone!” Liam snapped, turning sharply. “Got it? No one! I just wanna be alone!”
“But why?” Emily blinked, confused. “You used to love parties…”
“Yeah, well, things were different then,” Liam gave a bitter smile. “No point pretending we’re all happy now.”
He slammed the door behind him. Emily stayed rooted to the spot, stunned.
“What’s wrong with him? He used to be so cheerful!”
Margaret sighed heavily. She’d seen the change in Liam—how he’d suffered since the divorce, torn between his parents, exhausted by their constant sniping.
“Emily, sit down,” she said. “We need to talk.”
“About what? It’s obvious—James is turning him against me! I know how he works!”
“It’s not James,” Margaret said carefully. “Liam’s just tired. Of the arguments, the back-and-forth visits…”
“Arguments?!” Emily scoffed. “We had a civil divorce!”
“Civil?” Margaret shook her head. “Emily, I hear your phone calls with his father. The jabs, the custody arrangements…”
“I’m fighting for my son!” Emily flared. “He’s my child!”
“And James’s too. Liam knows that. He’s caught in the middle,” Margaret stood, walking to her daughter. “Love, maybe think about what he needs, not what you want?”
“I *am* thinking of him! That’s why I want to give him a proper party—to show he’s loved!”
“Or maybe show him he can have peace? A quiet, stable home?”
Emily scoffed and stormed to the window. Outside, rain drizzled over the grey London street.
“You’re taking his side, aren’t you?” she muttered. “Like everyone else.”
“I’m on *Liam’s* side. And yours. But sometimes what we think is right… isn’t what’s needed.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Margaret sat back down, silent for a moment.
“When you were little, I thought I knew best. Made you take piano lessons when you preferred art. Sent you to ballet when you wanted football. I thought I was preparing you for life.”
“And?”
“And you grew up and did the *opposite*. To spite me—sometimes even yourself—because I never listened.”
“What’s that got to do with Liam?!”
“Everything,” Margaret said softly. “He doesn’t want a party. He *said* so. And you’re not listening.”
“He’s a child! They don’t always know what’s best!”
“Do adults?” Margaret smiled sadly. “Love, I’m seventy-two. And I’ve learned—children often know exactly what they need. We just don’t hear them.”
Emily sank onto the armrest.
“Mum, I’m so scared of losing him,” she whispered. “He’s become so distant since the divorce. Like there’s a wall. I thought a big celebration would remind him I love him.”
“He knows,” Margaret patted her hand. “But right now, he needs calm. Stability. A night where he doesn’t have to force a smile.”
“So we do nothing?”
“Ask *him*. Honestly. What he wants. Then do that.”
Emily hesitated. Outside, rain drummed harder.
“Fine,” she finally said. “But what if he says nothing?”
“Then we just *be* there. Sometimes that’s enough.”
Another creak. Liam lingered in the doorway.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course, love,” Margaret smiled.
Liam sat opposite them, fidgeting.
“Sorry for shouting,” he muttered. “I’m just… tired of it.”
“Tired of what?” Emily asked softly.
“You and Dad always ask if I’m alright, if school’s okay, if I’m happy,” he said. “But you can’t even talk to each other without snapping.”
“We try—”
“Try?!” Liam lifted his head. “Mum, I’m not stupid. I *see* you fuming after his calls. I hear Dad saying I can’t trust you. And you calling him a prat. You think that’s easy?”
Emily opened her mouth—then closed it.
“And now you want to throw me a party,” Liam continued. “Everyone smiling, giving gifts, eating cake. While I know it’s all fake. You can’t stand each other, and I’m just the poor kid you both pity.”
“We *don’t* pity you! We love you!”
“Then why can’t you act like it? Just for *me*?” Liam’s voice cracked. “Why do I have to choose?”
“You don’t—”
“You *make* me.” Liam shoved his hands in his pockets. “Know what I want? For you to stop fighting. To talk like normal people. To let me love *both* of you without feeling guilty.”
Emily knelt before him.
“Liam, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t realise—”
“Realise *what*? That I have feelings? That it *hurts*?”
“I thought I was protecting you—”
“From *Dad*?” Liam shook his head. “Mum, he’s my father. I love him. Like I love you. Why’s that so hard?”
“It’s not,” Margaret said softly. “Emily, listen to him.”
Emily nodded, tears welling.
“I hear you. I just… don’t know how to fix it.”
“Start small?” Liam offered. “Tomorrow. If you *really* want a party… invite Dad.”
“What? But we—”
“Are divorced, I know. But you’re *both* my parents. If this is *my* day, I want you both there.”
Emily looked to Margaret, who nodded.
“Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll try.”
Liam smiled—his first all evening.
“Then let’s do it. Just a quiet dinner. The four of us.”
“Four?”
“Yeah. You, me, Dad, Nan. We’re still family.”
Emily’s breath caught. Even now, Liam saw them that way.
“Promise me,” he said. “No snide commentsThe next evening, as Liam blew out his candles surrounded by the people he loved most, the room felt lighter—not just with the glow of birthday wishes, but with the quiet hope that this was the first step toward healing.
