**The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions**
*”Yes, I know you dont *have* to help! But hes your own flesh and blood! Would you really leave the boy without warm clothes in winter? Alex, is this how I raised you?”* His mothers voice crackled through the phone, sharp as a winter draft.
The phone lay on the table. After a few family blowouts, Alex had learned his lesson: when his mum called, it was best to put her on speakerphone so he and Emily could face the music together. Otherwise, Margaret Hammond would pick them off one by one.
*”Margaret, were not refusing to help,”* Emily countered. *”But if youre struggling with little Tommy, why not let us take him? Sophies fine with itweve spoken.”*
Silence. Margaret was clearly weighing her options: ditch the unwanted responsibility or keep her grip on her daughter. The latter won.
*”Youve no idea what youre signing up for!”* she scoffed. *”Youve never so much as raised a goldfish between you. Both working all hourswholl look after him? Or do you think children raise themselves like weeds? They need care, attention, *love*!”*
*”I understand that,”* Emily said evenly. *”But if it comes to it, well manage. Id quit my job. Call it an unexpected maternity leave.”*
*”Oh, and live on what, exactly? Fresh air?”*
*”Youve always said my salarys pocket change. Well scrape by without it.”*
Margaret went quiet. Alex sighed. Emily was still new to the family circus, but he was already sick of the tightrope act.
*”Fine. Ultimatums now, is it?”* Margaret finally sniffed. *”Well, dont come crying to me when reality bites. Im only trying to spare you the mess. But noyou *know best*. Meanwhile, that poor boys freezing because of your stubbornness.”*
Click. The line went dead. Emily sank onto the sofa, wrapping an arm around Alex, and remembered how it all began.
…At first, Margaret had seemed kindeccentric, sure, but warm. Shed welcomed Emily with open arms (and a groaning dining table) long before the wedding. Every visit ended with care packages crammed with enough food to survive a siege.
Shed slotted into Emilys life like a persistent soap opera. Daily calls: *”Everything alright? Is Alex behaving? Come for Sunday roast!”* Once, shed even pulled strings to get Emilys mum top-tier hospital care. Emily had been grateful.
But shed also noticed the flip side. Miss a call or cut one short, and Margaret transformed. Weeks of frosty silence, clipped tones, the unspoken demand for *apologies*.
*”Oh, *too busy* for me now, are we?”*
Emily would laugh it off, but the *”care”* felt sticky, like emotional velcro.
Margaret had a daughter tooSophie. A quiet, jumpy girl who vanished into her room at the first chance. Emily chalked it up to teenage angst.
*”Whats Sophie into?”* shed once asked before Christmas. *”Im stumped for gift ideas.”*
*”Into? Daydreaming and *that* phone,”* Margaret had snapped. *”Nothings ever good enough. Lazy little”*
Thats when Emily knew: something was rotten in the Hammond household. *Her* mum wouldve listed Sophies hobbies like a proud auctioneer.
Later, she saw it plain as day. Margaret could coo at Emily, then screech at Sophie for a *”sloppy”* plate. Wrong friends, wrong clothes, wrong music. And that was just the tip of the iceberg.
No surprise, then, that Sophie married at eighteen. Not for lovefor an escape route.
*”That *idiot*!”* Margaret had ranted. *”Ran off with that *waste of space*. Hell dump her within the month!”*
With Sophie gone, Margaret turned her full attention to Emily and Alex. The *”whens the pitter-patter?”* questions. The *”helpful”* career advice:
*”Emily, *honestly*quit that shop job. Pennies, love. I could get you *proper* work.”*
Emily knew the catch: one *”yes”*, and shed owe Margaret forever.
*”Im happy where I am,”* shed said.
Cue the wounded sigh. *”Suit yourself. Just trying to *lift* you up. But if youd rather *stagnate*…”*
Margaret *had* been half-right about Sophies marriageit lasted eighteen months, not one. Just long enough for a baby.
Sophie wasnt close to Emily, but one day, she cracked.
*”Hes never home,”* she sobbed. *”Says hes at mates houses. Im not *stupid*. Hes raised his hand at me twice.”*
*”Soph, *leave*,”* Emily urged.
*”And go where? *Back there*? Id rather eat glass.”*
That said it all. Sophie would *take* the abuse to avoid Margaret.
Eventually, *he* filed for divorce (*”not ready for family life”*code for *”new girlfriend”*). Sophie and Tommy moved back. Cue the tirades: *”Useless! No degree! A *failure*!”* But at least Margaret babysat.
Until Sophie snapped. One day, she packed a bag and boltedleaving Tommy behind.
*”Id take him, but where?”* she admitted later. *”Im crashing at a mates. Need to *breathe*. Mum used to wind me up till Id *scream*. Tommy doesnt deserve that.”*
While Sophie got help, Margaret turned the screws on Alex and Emily. *”My health! My *money*! *Help me!”***
Emily saw the writing on the wall. Sophie still bore the scars of Margarets *”love”*. Alex barely pushed back. But when *he* suggested taking Tommy, Emily jumped at it.
*”Soph, you *want* Tommy going through what you did?”* she pressed. *”Bring him *here*.”*
*”And *how*? Wrestle him off her?”*
*”Social services? There *must* be a way.”*
Sophie found one. She *”reconciled”* with Margaret, then two weeks later, *”took Tommy to the park”*and straight to Emilys.
What followed? Nuclear. Margaret sicced *everyone* on themrelatives, neighbours, even the police. Sophie landed in hospital with a breakdown. But the dust settled.
Emily quit her job to mind Tommy. No regrets. Theyd already talked kidsnow they had a head start.
Five years on, Sophies an office assistant, shares a flat, and *breathes* without criticism.
*”Mum Emily, look! Me and Harry built a *castle*!”* Tommy beams, pointing at wobbling blocks.
He lives with Sophie but treats weekends at Emilys like a second home. Two Christmases, double presentsEmily wont have him short-changed.
Margaret? Radio silence. Last they heard, her *”friends”* had evaporated with her pension. Sometimes Emily pities her. Then she watches Tommy and Harry giggling, and knows: no other ending was possible.
Margaret wanted a kingdom. But families arent built on battlegroundsand *she* was no queen. Now her *”deserters”* were building something better. One plastic brick at a time.
