**Diary Entry**
*Wednesday, 15th November*
“Yes, I know you dont *have* to! But hes your own flesh and blood! Would you really let the boy go without warm clothes in winter? Alex, is this how I raised you?” My mother-in-laws voice crackled through the speakerphone.
The phone lay on the table. After a few family rows, Alex had learned his lessonwhenever his mum called, it was best to put her on loudspeaker so we could face Lydia together. Otherwise, shed wear us down one by one.
“Lydia, were not refusing to help,” I countered. “But if looking after little Jamie is such a burden for you, let us take him. Emilys fine with itweve spoken.”
A pause. Probably calculating which option gave her more control: handing off the responsibility or keeping her grip on her daughter. The latter won.
“Youve no idea what youre getting into! Never had a child, never even had a cat,” Lydia scoffed. “Both of you work all hourswholl watch him? Or do you think kids raise themselves like weeds? They need care, attention, love!”
“I understand that,” I said calmly. “But given the situation, wed figure it out. Id quit if needed. Consider it my maternity leave instead of Emilys.”
“Oh, and live on what, exactly? Suddenly rolling in it, are we?”
“Youve always said my job barely brings in pennies. Wed manage without them.”
Lydia went quiet. Alex exhaled heavilyI was still new to the family drama, but hed had a lifetime of it.
“Fine. Ultimatums now,” she finally sneered. “Go on, then. Youre young, naïveyouve no clue what youre signing up for. Im the one trying to help, taking the weight off you. But keep digging your heels in. Just rememberwhile youre busy asserting yourselves, that child is freezing and ill because of you.”
The line went dead. I sat beside Alex, hugged him, and thought back to how it all began.
—
At first, Lydia had seemed kindeccentric, yes, but warm. Shed welcomed me into her home with open arms, long before I was her daughter-in-law. Her dining table groaned under Sunday roasts, and shed pack our car boot with leftovers after every visit.
She wove herself into my life effortlessly. Daily calls*”Everything alright? Is Alex treating you well?”*and open invitations. Once, she even pulled strings to get my mum seen by specialists, arranging top-tier care. Id been so grateful.
But I noticed other things too. Miss a call or cut a chat short, and shed transform. Weeks of icy silence, clipped tones, waiting for apologies.
*”Oh, I see. Too busy for me now, are we?”*
Id laugh it off, but her “care” felt suffocating, transactional.
Lydia had a daughter, Emily, who left me uneasy. She rarely smiled, flinched at loud noises, and always vanished to her room. I chalked it up to her being sixteenawkward phase, maybe.
*”Whats Emily into? Im stumped for Christmas ideas,”* Id asked Lydia once.
*”Nothing,”* shed snapped. *”Glued to her phone, moping. Useless.”*
Thats when I knew something was off. My own mum would never speak of me like that.
The dislike grew clearer. Lydia would coo at me, then screech at Emily over unwashed dishes. Wrong friends, wrong clothes, wrong music. And that was just what I saw.
No surprise Emily married at eighteenless for love, more to escape.
*”The girls daft!”* Lydia had ranted. *”That runtll dump her in a month.”*
With Emily gone, Lydia turned full force on us. Endless advice, surprise visits, *”Whens the pitter-patter?”* The works.
*”Katherine, why not leave that shop? Pennies, what you earn,”* shed prodded. *”I could get you a proper job.”*
By then, I knew: say yes, and Id owe her forever.
*”No thanksI like my team,”* Id said.
Cue the pursed lips, the wounded sigh. *”Suit yourself. Just trying to help.”*
About Emily, though, shed been half-right. The marriage lasted eighteen months, not one. And in that time, Emily had a baby.
We werent close, but one day, she cracked. Asked for advice, then sobbed it all out.
*”Hes never home,”* shed wept. *”Lies about staying with mates. Hes raised his hand at me, too… I cant go back to Mum. Id rather stick this out.”*
That said enough. Shed endure anything to avoid Lydia.
Then her husband left anyway*”Not ready for family life”* (translation: found someone else). The baby stayed. Emily moved back in, and Lydias tirades began. *”Useless. No degree. Youll end up on the streets.”* At least she babysat while Emily worked.
Until Emily snapped. Packed a bag one day and left the baby behind.
*”Id take Jamie, but where?”* shed confided later. *”Crashing at a mates. Need to sort my head first. Sometimes Mum wound me up so tight… Id never hurt him, but I need space.”*
So Lydia refocused on us. Demanded we help, moaned about money, her health.
Watching it all, I knew Jamie couldnt stay there. Emily still bore the scars of Lydias “love.” Alex barely stood up to her. But when he quietly suggested taking the boy, I agreedwed make it work.
*”Emily, do you want Jamie going through what you did?”* Id pressed. *”Bring him to us.”*
*”Easy for you to say,”* shed sighed. *”But youre right. Ill think of something.”*
She did. Pretended to reconcile, then two weeks later, “took Jamie to the park” and brought him to us.
The fallout? Lydia erupted. Threats, police, relatives enlisted. Emily landed in hospital with a breakdown. But we held firm.
I quit to care for Jamie. Alexs salary covered us, and wed been considering kids anyway. If Emily reclaimed him, fine. If nothed be ours.
—
Five years on, Emilys an office assistant, shares a flat, and breathes easy. No shouting, no suffocation.
*”Mum Kat, look at mine and Georges tower!”* Jamie beams, pointing at wobbling blocks.
He lives with Emily but spends weekends here, adores his little cousin, and thinks hes got two mums. I buy toys in pairscouldnt love him less after what it took to free him from Lydia.
As for Lydia? No contact. She bombarded us with letters, then faded. Rumor has it shes near-skint, her hangers-on long gone.
Sometimes I pity her, alone in that silent house. But watching Jamie and George play, I know we did right. She wanted a family that marched to her tunenever grasped that love isnt a battleground.
Now her “deserters” are building happier lives. And the past? Best left where it belongs.
