**The Road to Hell**
*”Yes, I know you’re not obliged! But hes your own flesh and blood! Would you leave a little boy without warm clothes in winter? Alex, is this what I raised you to be?”* Her voice was sharp, slicing through the quiet of the room.
The phone lay on the table, speaker blaring. After one too many family explosions, Alex had learned: when his mother called, it was better to have Lydia Sergeyevna on loudspeaker. Otherwise, she’d break them one by one.
*”Lydia, were not refusing to help,”* Emily countered, her voice steady. *”But if looking after Oliver is too much for you, let us take him. Sophie doesnt mindweve spoken about it.”*
A heavy silence. Lydia was calculatingweighing the relief of shedding responsibility against the loss of control over her daughter. The latter won.
*”You havent the faintest idea what youre asking for!”* Her laugh was brittle, mocking. *”Youve never had a child, never even had a pet! You both work all hourswholl look after him? Or do you think children raise themselves like weeds? They need care, attention, love!”*
*”I understand that,”* Emily replied calmly. *”But if it comes to it, wed manage. Id quit. Consider it my maternity leave instead of Sophies.”*
*”Oh, and how will you live, then? Rolling in money, are you?”*
*”Youve always said my job barely pays. Wed survive without my pennies.”*
The line went quiet. Alex exhaled, drained. Emily was still new to the familys storms, but he was drowning in them.
*”Fine. Ultimatums now, is it?”* Lydias voice dripped venom. *”Go on, then. Youre young, stupidyouve no idea what youre signing up for. Im the one trying to help, carrying the burden. But if you insist on playing the hero, remember this: while you posture, that child is freezing. And its on you.”*
The click of the hang-up echoed. Emily sank beside Alex, pulling him close, her mind tracing back to the beginning.
—
At first, Lydia had seemed warmeccentric, perhaps, but kind. Shed welcomed Emily into her home with open arms long before the wedding, tables groaning under feasts, sending them off with bags of groceries.
She wove herself into Emilys life effortlessly. Daily calls, invitations, even pulling strings to get Emilys mother top-tier hospital care. The gratitude had been real.
But Emily noticed the cracks. Miss a call, cut a chat short, and Lydia transformed. Weeks of icy silence, clipped tones, the unspoken demand for penance.
*”Too busy for me, are you?”* Lydia would mutter, wounded.
Emily laughed it off, but the *care* felt suffocating, a debt never settled.
Then there was SophieLydias daughter. Sixteen, flinching at raised voices, retreating to her room. Emily chalked it up to teenage angst.
*”Whats Sophie into?”* Emily had asked once, before Christmas. *”Im stumped on gifts.”*
*”Nothing,”* Lydia snapped. *”Glued to her phone, miserable. Useless. Doesnt appreciate a thing.”*
That was when Emily knew: something here was broken. Her own mother would never speak of her that way.
The disdain grew clearer. Lydia could coo over Emily, then turn and scream at Sophie for a smudged glass, the wrong friends, the wrong music.
No wonder Sophie married at eighteen. Not for lovefor escape.
*”The girls a fool!”* Lydia had raged. *”That runt will dump her in a month!”*
With Sophie gone, Lydias focus shifted to Alex and Emily. Advice became intrusion, visits unannounced, the relentless *”When grandchildren?”*
*”Emily, why cling to that shop? They pay peanuts,”* Lydia had pressed. *”I could get you better.”*
Emily knew the trap: agree, and shed owe Lydia everything. *”No, thanks. I love my job. The girls there are lovely.”*
Lydias lips pursed. *”Suit yourself. I only want better for you. But if youre content scraping byfine.”*
Sophies marriage lasted eighteen months, not one. Long enough for a baby.
She confessed to Emily once, raw and shaking: *”Hes never home. Lies about where he is. Ive caught him. And oncehe raised his hand.”*
*”Sophie, leave.”*
*”And go where? Back to *her*? Id rather endure this.”*
That said everything.
When the divorce came, Sophie returned to Lydia with Oliver. The berating began: *”Useless. No degree. Youll die in a gutter.”* But Lydia watched the boy, helped with moneyuntil Sophie snapped.
One day, she vanished, leaving Oliver behind.
*”Id take him, but where?”* she told Emily later. *”Im camping on a friends sofa. I need to breathe. See a therapist. Some days, Mum had me so frayed, I”* A shudder. *”Oliver doesnt deserve that. I need time.”*
Lydia turned to Alex and Emily, demanding help, playing martyr.
Emily watched, certain: Oliver couldnt stay there. Sophie bore the scars of Lydias *love*. Alex, though tight-lipped, bent too easily.
Yet it was Alex who suggested taking Oliver. Too afraid to tell Lydia, though. Emily was sure they could make it work.
*”Sophie, do you want Oliver to grow up like you did?”* Emily urged. *”Bring him to us.”*
*”And wrestle him from her? The uproar”*
*”Social services, then.”*
*”Theyre toothless. But youre right. Ill think of something.”*
She did. Two weeks of pretending to reconcile, then *”a walk”*straight to Emily and Alex.
Lydia erupted. Threats, police, relatives mobilized, shrieking *”Theyve stolen my grandson!”* Nothing stuck. Sophie landed in hospital, shattered. But it was over.
Emily quit to care for Oliver. Alexs salary covered it. Theyd wanted children anyway. If Sophie reclaimed him, good. If notthey had a son.
—
Five years later, Sophie had a steady job, a flat-share, peace.
*”Mummy Emily, look!”* Oliver beamed, pointing at a wobbling tower of blocks.
He lived with Sophie now but spent weekends with Emily and Alex, adoring his *”little brother”* George. Emily bought two of every toyfairness mattered.
Lydia? Gone. The lettersfull of blamestopped. Rumors said she was broke, friendless. The hangers-on had fled.
Sometimes Emily pitied her. But watching Oliver and George, she knew: thered been no other way. Lydia had wanted an army, not a family. Now the *deserters* built their own happiness, leaving the past behind.
