**Family Recipe**
You seriously want to marry someone you met online? Margaret Wilkins eyed her future daughter-in-law with the same suspicion one might reserve for counterfeit banknotes. Her heavy, scrutinising gaze swept over Emilys simple hairstyle and modest dress. You barely know each other!
Emily felt goosebumps prickle down her spine. They sat in the small but spotless kitchen of the council flat where Thomas had grown up. The air smelled of vanilla and old wooden floors.
Mum, enough, Thomas cut in, sliding an arm around Emilys shoulders. We didnt meet onlinewe met at a book club. We just talked online first. For six months! And Emily is wonderful.
Their story had begun when Emily, who ran a small blog about forgotten classics, posted about *Wuthering Heights*. Thomas, a quietly passionate software engineer with a love for literature, stumbled upon it. Their debate spilled into private messages, then long phone calls. They discovered they laughed at the same jokes, cherished the same thingsquiet evenings, honesty, the scent of old books. Their first meeting at the Brontë Parsonage wasnt a date, just a continuation of their conversation. With her, Thomas felt at ease. She saw in him a thoughtful, slightly shy man with hidden depth.
*Wonderful*, Margaret scoffed, clinking her spoon loudly against her teacup. And yet shes from another town, no job herewho even knows what shes after? I raised my son, put him through school, and now some girl waltzes in
Emily clenched her jaw but stayed silent. She understood: to Margaret, she wasnt a person, just an intrudersomeone stealing her son away. Margarets life ran on strict rules and relentless discipline. After her husbands death five years ago, shed tightened her grip on Thomas.
Every attempt to bridge the gap failed.
When Emily baked a spiced apple pie (my grans recipe), Margaret took a tiny bite and muttered, Too sweet. We dont make it like that. When Emily offered to help clean, the reply was sharp: No need. I know where everything goes.
Alone in Thomass roomcluttered with model trains and physics textbookshe sighed. Dont take it to heart. Mums just prickly. Like a hedgehog.
Im trying, Emily whispered, staring at the identical balconies outside. Living in a cold war is exhausting. And we cant afford to move out yet.
But Emily refused to give up. She believed every fortress had a hidden door.
One Saturday, while dusting shelves, Margaret pulled out an old photo album. Emily asked to join her and noticed how Margaret lingered on a faded picturea younger, smiling Margaret beside a tall, dark-haired man.
Whos this? Emily asked gently.
Margaret stiffened, as if caught doing something forbidden. My brother, David. We fell out. Twenty years ago, over something stupid.
What happened?
A row about our parents cottage. Both of us too stubborn to back down. Harsh words were said. Her voice softened for the first time, edged with regret.
Emily stayed quiet, but an idea formed. Thomas had once mentioned his mother grew even more withdrawn after that fight.
Days later, chatting with the talkative neighbour Mrs. Higgins, Emily happened to ask about Thomass family.
Oh, Margaret and David! Mrs. Higgins sighed. Thick as thieves, they were! David lives over in the new estates now. Had heart surgery last yearhis kids are in Edinburgh, poor mans all alone.
That evening, as Thomas read and Margaret knitted, Emily ventured, Margaret did you know your brother had heart surgery last year?
The needles stilled. Margaret paled. What? How do you know that?
Mrs. Higgins told me. Said hes been struggling, no one to help
Margaret said nothing. She left the room, and Emily heard her pacing. The air hung heavy with silence.
The next morning, Margaretnever an early riserwas already dressed. Visiting a friend, she mumbled, buttoning her best coat.
She returned late, eyes red-rimmed but softer. Spotting Emily in the kitchen, she paused. Thank you, she said hoarsely, then hurried away.
Later, Emily learned Margaret had taken the bus to Davids. She stood outside his door for half an hour before knocking. When he answered, they staredtwo greying, stubborn peoplethen embraced, crying over childhood memories and the absurdity of old grudges.
You were right, Margaret admitted days later over tea, watching the steam rise. Sometimes you just have to take the first step. Twenty years wasted over a patch of land ridiculous.
After that, she treated Emily differentlynot as an outsider, but as family. One evening, while sorting groceries, she asked quietly, Emily that pie of yours. With the cinnamon. Could you show me?
Hands trembling, Emily reached for the flour. They worked side by side in the tiny kitchenMargaret, for once, offering no criticism. When Thomas came home, he blinked at the scene. Did you two actually bake together?
Emily leaned into him and nodded. Some wounds ran deep, but love had been there long before her. Shed simply found the right thread to pull.
