**Diary Entry October 12th**
The moment I reached for the serving spoon, my mother-in-laws hand struck my cheek. This was made for my son, she hissed. You and your children can eat wherever you like!
I fastened our youngest daughters coat and double-checked our sons shoelaces. Outside the car window, bare trees flickered past beneath a sky smothered in grey clouds. The road stretched endlessly away from the city. At the wheel, my husband, Edward, tapped his fingers to the radios tune, whistling softly.
Mum, does Grandma have a swing? asked our seven-year-old, Thomas, twisting in his seat.
I dont know, love, I replied. Probably. Shes got a big garden.
Can we play outside? piped up four-year-old Lily, rubbing her tired eyes.
Of course, I assured her. But first, well say hello to Grandma and have lunch.
Edward caught my eye in the rearview mirror.
Emily, dont worry so much, he said. Mums changed. Shes missed the kids. Shell be happy to see you.
I nodded, swallowing the knot in my throat. His words were confident, but my stomach twisted. Margaret Hadley had never been warm. She was sharp-tongued, cold, and every visit became an ordeal.
The last time wed all visited was two years ago. Shed spent the evening criticising how I dressed the children, how I cooked, how I spoke. Edward had stayed silent. Id clenched my teeth and endured. Since then, wed only met in neutral placescafés, parks. But this time, Edward had insisted.
Shes lonely, hed said. The kids are growing up. We should visit more. Her house is lovelyplenty of space. A proper countryside break.
I hadnt argued. Maybe she *had* changed. Maybe age had softened her. People *do* change.
The car turned onto a dirt lane, passing a few cottages before stopping at a tall iron gate. Beyond it stood a two-storey house with large bay windows and a slate roof. The garden held bare apple trees and an old wooden bench.
Edward killed the engine, opened the gate, and ushered us inside.
The front door swung open before we reached it. Margaret stood in the doorwaytall, thin, her grey hair cropped short, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
So youve come, she said instead of *hello*. I hope its not for long. I like things clean.
I froze. Edward stepped forward, kissing her cheek.
Were staying the weekend, Mum. The kids missed you.
She looked them up and down.
Missed me, did they? Well, come in, then. Shoes off. And wash your hands.
Inside, the house smelled of roast beef and onionsrich, hearty. Wed only had biscuits in the car, and my stomach growled.
Margaret returned to the kitchen without another word. Edward carried the bags upstairs. I stayed with the children, unsure where to go.
Mummy, Im thirsty, whispered Lily.
Just a moment, sweetheart.
The kitchen was spotlessgleaming pots, scrubbed countertops. Margaret stirred a pot on the hob, her back to me.
Margaret, may the children have some water?
Glasses are in the cupboard, she said without turning. Dont break them.
I poured two glasses, handed them to the children, then returned.
Can I help with anything?
She eyed me.
Chop the vegetables. Properly. I dont like big chunks.
I diced tomatoes and cucumbers carefully, my hands steady despite the tension. Margaret watched, her frown deepening.
Do you always chop like that? Its uneven.
Sorry, I murmured. Ill try neater.
See that you do.
Edward reappeared, sniffing the air.
Smells amazing, Mum! Whats cooking?
Beef stew. Your favourite. You always begged for it as a boy.
Still do! No one makes it like you.
She softened, patting his arm.
Go rest, love. Itll be ready soon.
I kept chopping, my mind racing. Why hadnt he offered to help? Why leave me alone with her?
Youre dawdling, Margaret snapped. Hurry up.
The meal was served with military precisionplates aligned, gravy poured, bread sliced. Edward praised every bite. The children ate quietly.
Then I reached for a serving spoonand Margarets hand cracked across my face.
That was for *my son*! she shrieked. You and your brood can eat elsewhere!
The plate shattered on the floor. My cheek burned. Thomas and Lily stared, forks trembling.
Edward kept eating.
Margaret, thats too far, he muttered.
Too far? I cooked all day! And *she* helps herself?
I stood, gripping the table. Edward. Were leaving.
Dont be dramatic, he said. Mums tired. Lets just eat and forget it.
*Forget* it? She *hit* me!
Not in front of the children.
Margaret smirked, slicing her meat. Go on, then. Leave. I dont need you here.
I bundled the children upstairs, packed our things, and called a taxi. Edward followed, pleading.
She didnt mean it. Youre overreacting.
If you ever go back, I said, you go alone.
The taxi arrived. We didnt speak on the ride home.
That night, Thomas whispered, Mummy, why did Grandma hit you?
Lily clung to me. Im scared of her.
I kissed their heads. We wont see her again.
Edward returned the next evening, sheepish. Weeks passed. He visited Margaret alone. The distance between us grew.
One evening, he sighed. Were drifting apart.
Yes.
What do we do?
I set my book down. You chose her. I chose the children. Were on different paths now.
He reached for me. I stepped back.
Love isnt just words, Edward. Its actions. That night, you didnt act like a man who loves his wife.
He visits her still. I stay home. The house is quiet now. Safe.
And Ive learned this: respect is non-negotiable. Those who cant give it dont belong here.
