Grandson Not Wanted — “Mum thinks Irka’s the weak one,” my husband finally blurted out. “She needs more help, since she doesn’t have a husband. Supposedly, we’re the stable ones…” — “Stable?” Vera turned. “Slav, I put on fifteen kilos after giving birth. My back’s killing me, my knees are shot. Doctor says if I don’t start taking care of myself, in a year I won’t even be able to lift Pavlik. I need to go to the gym. Twice a week, for an hour and a half. You’re always at work, your shifts keep changing. Who am I supposed to ask to watch our son? Your mum couldn’t care less about her grandson – she’s got her precious granddaughter!” Slava said nothing. She was right—who could they ask? Vera pressed her forehead to the cool windowpane, watching the old Nissan as her mother-in-law backed out of their drive. The red brake lights flashed a farewell and then vanished around the bend. The kitchen clock read exactly seven. Nadezhda Petrovna had stayed for precisely forty-five minutes. In the living room, Slava tried to entertain their one-year-old son. Little Pavlik spun the wheel of a plastic dump truck, occasionally glancing at the door where his grandmother had just disappeared. — “She’s gone then?” Slava looked in, rubbing his aching neck. — “Flown away,” Vera corrected, not turning round. “Apparently, ‘Pashenka’ was overtired and she didn’t want to disrupt his schedule.” — “Well, he did squeal a bit when she picked him up,” Slava grimaced a smile. — “He squealed because he doesn’t recognise her. We haven’t seen her for three weeks. Three!” Vera turned sharply from the window and began stacking dirty mugs in the sink. — “Don’t, Ver,” Slava came up behind, tried to hug her, but she dodged, reaching for the sponge. “Mum just… she’s used to Lizzie. She’s four now, it’s easier with her.” — “No, Slava. She’s just more interesting to your mum. Lizzie’s Irina’s daughter. And Irina’s her favourite. And us? We’re just… there, just in the way.” Last Friday, it was déjà vu. Nadezhda Petrovna popped in ‘for a minute’, brought Pavlik a cheap plastic rattle and already eyed the door. Slava barely had time to mention he’d be out on site Saturday and could Mum watch Pavlik for a couple of hours while Vera went to the chemist and shop. — “Oh no, Slava, not possible!” Nadezhda Petrovna waved her arms. “We’re off to the puppet theatre with Lizzie, then Irina wants her all weekend. Poor girl works so hard, needs a break to sort out her personal life.” Slava’s sister raised her daughter ‘alone’—but only on paper. While Irina was ‘finding herself’ and changing boyfriends, Lizzie lived at Gran’s. Gran collected her from nursery, took her to dance class, bought painfully expensive clothes, knew all the dolls by name. — “Have you seen her status?” Vera nodded to the phone on the table. “Look what your mum posted.” Slava reluctantly picked it up and scrolled. Clips flashed by: Lizzie eating ice-cream, Gran pushing her on the swings, modelling clay together on a Saturday evening. Caption: “My greatest happiness, my joy.” — “She spent the whole weekend with them,” Vera bit her lip not to cry. “And she managed ten minutes here! Over there—it’s perfect happiness. Slava, Pavlik’s only a year old. He’s her grandson. Your son. Why is he treated like this?” Slava stayed quiet—he had no answer. He remembered last month, when Mum called in the night—her tap had burst, everything was flooding, so he dashed across town to fix it. Paid off her payday loan, so she could buy Irina a new phone for her birthday. Spent every weekend in May digging the allotment for her, while his sister and niece sunned themselves on loungers. — “Let’s ask her again,” Slava suggested. “I’ll explain, it’s about your health, not a whim.” Vera knew nothing good would come of it. *** The new conversation happened Tuesday evening. Slava put the phone on speaker so Vera could hear. — “Mum, hi. Listen, this is about Vera’s health — the doctor’s prescribed exercise for her back…” — “Oh, Slava, what gym?” Nadezhda Petrovna’s voice was bright, Lizzie giggling in the background. “She can just work out at home. She should eat fewer buns, then her back wouldn’t hurt!” — “It’s not up for debate. The doctor’s ordered it. Could you mind Pavlik on Tuesdays and Thursdays from six to eight? I’ll pick you up and bring you home.” Silence. — “Slava, you know my routine. I get Lizzie from nursery at five, we have activities, then a walk in the park. Irina’s working late, she depends on me. I can’t abandon a child just for your Vera to faff about at the gym!” — “Mum, Pasha is your grandson, too. He deserves your attention as well. You see him once a month!” — “Don’t start. Lizzie’s a little girl, she really loves me. Pasha’s just a baby, he doesn’t understand. When he’s older, we’ll bond. I’m busy now, we’re about to do some drawing. Bye.” Slava set the phone on the table, stunned. — “Did you hear that? So my son has to *earn* her attention? Reach some threshold before Gran will notice him?” — “Slava, I always knew,” Vera snapped. “From the day we left maternity, when she was two hours late because Lizzie needed new tights! It’s not for me—I don’t care what she thinks of me. But it hurts for Pashka. He’ll grow up and ask, ‘Mum, why is Gran always with Lizzie and never with me?’ What do I say? Her favourite is your aunt, and your dad’s just a free handyman and wallet?” Slava began pacing the kitchen. After ten minutes, he stopped. — “Remember the kitchen renovation for her birthday?” Vera nodded. They’d spent half a year saving for a surprise for Nadezhda Petrovna’s big day. Slava had picked out the units, found a builder, arranged a discount. The cost matched a year’s membership at the city’s best gym with a pool and a personal trainer for Vera. — “No renovation,” Slava said firmly. “I’ll call the showroom tomorrow and cancel. — “Are you serious?” Vera’s eyes widened. — “Dead serious. If my mother only has time and energy for one granddaughter, she can solve her own problems, too. Irina can sort her plumbing, fetch her veg, and cover her debts. We’ll hire you a nanny when you need the gym.” *** The next morning, Nadezhda Petrovna called herself. — “Slava, you said you’d look at my extractor fan this week? It’s broken, the kitchen’s full of smoke. And Lizzie misses her uncle, keeps asking where you are!” Before, Slava’d have already be planning a trip to the DIY store. But not now. — “Mum, I won’t be coming,” he said calmly. — “What do you mean? But the extractor! I’ll suffocate in here!” — “Ask Irina. Or her new boyfriend. I’m busy—Vera’s health comes first, so I’ll be looking after Pasha. My free time is now all for my family.” — “Over this nonsense?” Mum scoffed. “You’re choosing your wife’s whims over your own mother?” — “I’m not abandoning anyone. Just prioritising—like you. Your priority is Lizzie and Irina, mine is Pasha and Vera. Seems fair.” — “How dare you! I did everything for you! Raised you! Made you a decent man! And this is how you treat me?” — “What’s ‘everything’, Mum?” said Slava, evenly. “Helping Irina—with my money? Giving her a break while I worked your garden? Oh, and that kitchen unit we were buying you? That’s cancelled. The funds go to our family. We need a nanny, since Pavlik’s own grandma is too busy for her grandson.” Within seconds, the phone erupted: — “How DARE you! I’m your MOTHER! I gave you everything! You’re bewitched by that Vera! Lizzie’s practically an orphan, she needs me! And your Pashka’s living in luxury, rolling in comfort! Why do you think I should love him? My heart belongs to Lizzie—she means everything to me! Ungrateful! Don’t call again! Don’t dare set foot in my house!” Slava hung up. His hands shook, but he felt strangely relieved. He knew the fallout was only beginning. Now Mum would call Irina, who’d start spewing angry texts, accusing them of greed and cruelty. There’d be tears, threats, guilt trips. And that’s what happened. That evening, when he got home, Vera met him at the door. She’d already heard—her mother-in-law had left a five-minute ranting voice message, calling her, among other things, a “venomous snake.” — “Are we doing the right thing?” she whispered as they sat down. “She’s still your mother…” — “A real mother loves all her children, all her grandchildren. Not just the favourite, using the rest as resources. I let it go for years, thinking it was just her way. But when she said she didn’t care about your health or Pasha, because it clashed with ‘her Lizzie schedule’… No. That’s enough.” ** The row dragged on. Irina and her mother, deprived of their regular handouts, clogged Slava and Vera’s phones—insulting, begging, threatening, trying every emotional lever. They held firm, ignored calls, deleted messages. Two weeks later, Irina turned up in person. She started shrieking on the doorstep, called her brother a “spineless ingrate” and demanded he pay Mum’s bills and fork out for her shopping and medicine. Slava simply closed the door in her face. He’d had enough of being the “dutiful son”.

Mum thinks that Emmas a bit weak, my wife finally got out of me. She reckons we have to help her more, because she doesn’t have a husband. As if things are all steady with us

Steady? Vera spun round, looking at me hard. John, since having Charlie Ive put on over two stone. My backs a mess, my knees crack when I walk. The doctor said if I dont start looking after myself, I wont even be able to lift Charlie in a year. I need to get to the gym. An hour and a half, twice a week. Youre always at work, your shifts are never the same. Who am I supposed to ask to watch our son? Your mum? Shes not bothered about her grandson, shes far too busy with her granddaughter!

I couldnt argue.

Really, who?

Vera pressed her forehead to the cool windowpane and watched as my mums battered old Ford reversed slowly out of the drive.

The red rear lights blinked farewell and then disappeared behind the corner.

The clock in the kitchen showed exactly seven in the evening.

My mum had been here exactly forty-five minutes.

In the lounge, I was trying to entertain our one-year-old boy.

Little Charlie was fiddling with the wheel of his plastic dumper truck, glancing every now and then at the door Granny had just left through.

Has she gone, then? I poked my head into the kitchen, rubbing my sore neck.

She’s flown Vera shot back, not turning round. Said Charlie was getting cranky with tiredness and she didnt want to upset his routine.

I mean, to be fair, he did squeak a bit when she picked him up, I tried to smile, though it came out wrong.

He squeaked because he doesnt know her. We havent seen her for three weeks. Three!

Vera turned abruptly from the window and started piling the dirty mugs into the sink.

Don’t, Vera I tried to hug her round the waist, but she shrugged me off and reached for the sponge. Mums just shes used to Rosie. Rosies older, four now, easier for her.

Not easier, John. More interesting. Rosies Emmas daughter and Emmas Mums favourite.

And what are we? Just an afterthought.

Last Friday it happened the same way. My mum popped in just for a minute, handed Charlie a cheap plastic rattle, and straight away started looking at the door.

Just as I started to say that Id be out on a job Saturday, and wouldnt it be brilliant if Mum could look after her grandson for a couple of hours while Vera popped to the chemist and the shops

Oh, John, I just cant! Mum cried. Rosie and I are off to the puppet theatre, then Emma wants me to have her all weekend. The poor girls worn out at work, you know, she does need a life.

Emma, my sister, raised her daughter alone, but alone is a stretch. While Emma was finding herself and choosing new boyfriends, Rosie spent weeks at Grannys.

Mum picked her up from nursery, took her to dance class, bought her fancy coats, and could name every doll in her room.

Have you seen her status? Vera nodded at my phone. Go on, look what your mums posted.

I grudgingly picked it up and scrolled. Photos went by: theres Rosie eating ice cream, theres Granny pushing her on the swings, there they are making things from play-dough on a Saturday night.

Caption: My greatest joy, my light.

She spent the whole weekend with them, Vera bit her lip, nearly in tears. Ten minutes here, but there its all perfect!

John, Charlies only one. Hes her grandson. Your son. Why does she treat him like this?

I didnt answer I had nothing to say.

Suddenly I remembered how, last month, my mum phoned in the middle of the night because her tap had broken and the kitchen was flooding, and without thinking I drove halfway across town to fix it.

I remembered closing her payday loan the one she took out to buy Emma a new iPhone for her birthday.

I remembered sweating at her allotment every weekend in May, digging and planting, while my sister and her daughter lounged in the sun.

Lets just ask her one more time, I said, suddenly unsure. Ill explain, its a health thing, not Vera being fussy.

Vera didnt reply. She knew it wasnt going to work.

***

The chat happened Tuesday night.

I put my phone on speaker so Vera could hear it all.

Hi Mum. Listen, quick favour

The doctors said Vera needs the gym for her back. Its all a bit worrying

Oh, John! What gym? Mum sounded chipper, with Rosies giggle echoing close by. She should do stretches at home! Maybe cut down on the cakes, then her back wouldnt hurt so much.

Mum, its not up for debate. The doctor wants her at the gym and having physio. Can you help with Charlie for two evenings a week, six to eight? Ill drop you off myself.

Silence.

John, you know my schedule. I pick Rosie up at five from nursery. Then weve got afterschool activities and we walk in the park. Emma works so late now, she relies on me. I cant abandon a child just so your Vera can go hop about in the gym!

Mum, Charlies your grandson too. He deserves your time. You see him once a month!

Dont start, please. Rosies a girl, she needs me, she loves me. Charlies too little, he doesnt get it. When he grows up, well bond. Right now, Im busy were about to paint. Bye.

I slowly set down my phone.

Did you hear that? My son has to *earn* her attention? Get to some level before shell even look at him?

John, I knew she’d say that.

I didnt.

I did! From the very day we left hospital and she was two hours late because she had to dash out to buy Rosie new tights!

John, its not about me. I dont care that she calls me lazy or fat. Its Charlie. Hell grow up and ask, Mum, why is Granny always with Rosie, never with me?

What am I supposed to say? That her favourite was always her daughter, and youre just a cash machine and emergency handyman?

I started pacing the kitchen, ten minutes, maybe more. Then I stopped, dead still.

Remember that kitchen refit we were planning for her birthday?

Vera nodded.

Wed been saving for half a year, planning the perfect surprise for Mums sixtieth. Id already picked out the units and got a team lined up, with a tidy discount.

It was a big sum enough to buy Vera a years top gym membership, swimming included, and a personal trainer.

Well, thats over, I said, final. Ill ring the shop first thing and cancel the order.

Are you serious? Vera stared at me.

Dead serious. If my mums got time and energy only for one granddaughter, she can sort her own problems or ask Emma. Let Emma fix her taps, ferry spuds from the village, clear her debts.

Well hire a nanny for your gym sessions.

***

Next morning, my mum rang.

John, darling, you said youd pop round this week to check my kitchen extractor? The smoke is dreadful, the flat’s like a bonfire and Rosie keeps asking, Wheres Uncle John?

Sitting at my desk, I closed my eyes.

Before, Id have already been checking which B&Q was open late.

But now

I wont be over, Mum I kept my voice calm.

You wont?! she instantly got offended. But the extractor! Ill choke in here!

Ask Emma. Or her new boyfriend.

Im busy Vera and I are sorting out her health, so all my free times with my son now.

All because of your wife being fussy? Youre abandoning your own mum?

Not abandoning. Setting priorities. Same as you.

Your prioritys Rosie and Emma. Mines Charlie and Vera.

Seems fair, doesnt it?

Dont you cheek me! she almost shrieked. I gave you everything! I raised you, made a man out of you! And this is what I get?

What, exactly, Mum? I stayed calm. You helped Emma with my money? Let her rest while I dug your garden?

By the way that kitchen refit for your birthday Ive cancelled it. The moneys going where its needed. Were hiring a nanny, since Charlies granny is too busy for her own grandson.

In three seconds, her voice boomed from my mobile:

How dare you! Im your mother! I gave my life for you! Youve gone soft! Rosie is practically an orphan, she needs love, while your Charlies got everything! Why should I love him too?

My heart belongs to Rosie shes my precious darling! Ungrateful! Never darken my door again!

I hung up, my hands trembling, but actually I felt oddly relieved. I knew this would just be the start.

Now Mum would ring Emma, Emma would blow up my messages, calling us greedy and heartless.

Thered be tears, curses, guilt trips.

Thats what happened.

That evening, when I got home, Vera met me at the door. She already knew everything my mum had left a five-minute voice note, viper in the house being the nicest insult.

Are we sure were doing the right thing? she whispered, as we put Charlie to bed and sat down for tea. Shes still your mum

A mum loves all her children, Vera. She doesnt have favourites and use the rest for their money or fixing her house.

Ive ignored it for years. Put it down to her ways.

But when she said she didnt care about your health or Charlie because she had plans with Rosie

No. Not anymore.

**

The fallout went on for ages.

Both Emma and Mum, now short of cash, blew up our phones: begging, raging, accusing us of being cold and tight-fisted.

Vera and I held our line, ignored the calls and texts.

Two weeks later, Emma turned up at our front door.

She started straight off called me a spineless doormat and demanded I pay Mums bills and stump up for her shopping and prescriptions.

I just shut the door in her face. Id had enough I was done being the grateful son.For the first time in years, the house felt quiet with possibility. Vera laid her head on my shoulder. Somewhere in the dim lounge, Charlie’s nightlight cast giraffe-shaped shadows over the wall.

We sat together, the phone silent for once, our little boy breathing gently through the bedroom door. Veras hand found mine, warm and certain. She was tired, but there was a lightness in her voice that hadnt been there for months.

He giggled at his reflection in the bath tonight, she said. Splashed water everywhere, sang some song he made up himself. You shouldve seen him.

Next time, I smiled, Ill be there for the whole show.

We didnt need anyone elses approval. Charlies world, bright and new, lay open in front of us. It was our jobonly oursto fill it with laughter and love, and the sort of memories that didnt depend on favours given or withheld.

A week later, we met Betty, the new nanny Vera had found. Plump, practical, hands that knew a hundred nursery rhymes and a smile for Charlie that was as real as sunlight. She listened to Veras instructions, played peekaboo at the kitchen table, and let Charlie press sticky fingers into her palm.

Vera left for the gymnervous at first, then hopeful. I watched through the window as she crossed the street in her trainers, her shoulders back just a little straighter.

The days grew longer. I still sometimes thought of Mumher voice, sharp as vinegar, trailing away in memory. But I no longer jumped at midnight emergencies, no longer waited for the phone to ring with accusations or demands.

Instead, there was space for stories at bedtime, for tickle fights under a duvet still scented with sun. There was Veras laughter after the first proper swim, and Charlies whoop of triumph when Betty taught him to clap in time to music.

Sometimes, I wondered if Mum would ever change. If shed ever look at old photos and regret. But I finally understood: her choices were her own, just as mine were.

We made our own routine. We drew fences around our little family and, inside those walls, grew something gentle, sturdy, and whole.

Charlie learned new words. Veras back hurt less with every week that passed. And every evening, while the dusk pressed in soft at the windows, we knew: thisjust thiswas everything.

Family wasnt what you inherited, it was what you built, with tired hands, gentle hearts, and a promise sturdy enough to last a lifetime.