Dear Diary,
I stood at the kitchen sink, my hands submerged in the cold water, while the evening dusk slowly settled over our little town in Surrey. Laughter drifted from the lounge, and Helens voice rose above the restclear, ringing, selfassured. That same laugh has haunted me for five long years.
I glanced at my reflection in the window: a pallid face, reddened eyes, trembling lips. It wasnt weakness; it was a boundary I could no longer ignore.
Enough, I thought.
The front door creaked open and Andrew stepped inside.
Mary he whispered. Its not worth it. Dont let her in.
Not worth it? I snapped. Its the same every time, Andrew. She humiliates me, and you just sit there, silent.
I dont want a scene. You know hershe never changes.
I know, I replied. But I wont stay quiet any longer.
I dried my hands, lifted my head and walked toward the lounge. My heart hammered, yet the fear that used to twist my gut was gone this time.
The room was still alive with chuckles. Helen sat in the centre, a glass of red wine in her hand.
Here comes our Mary! she cried. I was just telling how Andrew once leapt out the window to see you. He fell and scraped his leg!
I remember, I said calmly. He was crying and I bandaged his knee. Funny that Im crying againonly this time its inside me.
The laughter died on their lips and a heavy silence fell.
What do you mean? my motherinlaw asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ive endured five years of mockery, I said plainly. Five years I kept quiet while she belittled me in front of everyone.
Dont be like that, Helen tried to interject. Im just being honest!
No, I replied. Youre not honest. Youre cruel.
Everyone froze. Even Valerie dared not speak.
You call me cruel in my own home? Helens voice quivered.
Yes. Humiliating the woman your son loves is cruelty.
For the first time in years, Andrews eyes were serious as he rose.
Mother, thats enough, he said.
Helen stared at him as if he were a stranger.
And youre turning against me, Andrew?
Not against you, but for us. You think youre right, yet you cant see the damage you cause.
My motherinlaw fell silent, her fingers tightening around her glass.
I only wanted things to be proper.
And I just want respect, I said. It doesnt have to be on your terms.
A thick quiet settled. No one moved.
I slipped on my coat. Were leaving, I announced.
Andrew nodded. Right.
We stepped out into the cool, gentle night. I inhaled deeply, feeling the air for the first time in years as if it might cleanse the old wounds.
I didnt know it hurt you so much, Andrew whispered as we walked.
Now you do, I answered. And I wont let our children see their mother humiliated.
He wrapped his arms around my shoulders. Ill make sure it never happens again.
A week passed. Our house filled with a calm hush punctuated by childrens laughter. For the first time in ages I felt peace. I simmered a pot of bean soup while tiny voices chattered from the kitchen.
The phone rang. Helen flashed on the screen, and my heart leapt.
Hello? I said.
Mary a soft, hesitant voice replied. I want to apologise.
I fell silent.
Ive thought a lot this week. I realise Ive been unfair. I was scared of losing my son, and without meaning to, I lost you.
Tears gathered in my eyes.
I dont want a war, I said. I want our children to have a grandmother who truly loves them.
They will, Helen answered. If you let me be that.
Come over tomorrow, I smiled. Ill bake a cakenot for you to judge me, but so we can share it.
Alright, she said quietly. Ill bring something homemade. No Simpsons biscuits.
The next day the house smelled of vanilla. Helen arrived holding a small box tied with a ribbon.
I brought something, she said shyly. I made it myself.
Then it must be the best thing in the world, I replied, smiling back.
We began whisking cream together. There was no tension, no sharp words, just two women quietly forgiving each other.
My mother always said love is shown through deeds, Helen murmured. I think Id forgotten that.
Its never too late to remember, I said, laying my hand over hers.
Andrew stood in the doorway, watching us with a grin.
That evening we each ate a slice of cakeone my own, one Helens. No comparisons, no criticism. This time the sweetness lay not in the frosting, but in the forgiveness we finally tasted.
