Molly, love, Ill drop round today and help out with the little ones.
Molly wedged her phone between her ear and shoulder, bouncing a howling baby Harry on her hip at the same time.
Mrs Davenport, thank you, but honestly, we can manage
The dial tone cut her off. Her mother-in-law had already rung off.
A crash echoed from the living room that would be Ben tipping out his box of blocks, and Emma immediately squealed with delight, launching pieces across the rug. Harry wailed louder in her arms, as though he hadnt just finished his bottle barely twenty minutes ago.
Molly glanced over at Tom. He was perched on the sofa, intensely focused on his phone far too focused.
You called your mum.
It wasnt a question. Just a statement.
Tom shrugged, still not meeting her eyes.
Well yeah. Its hard for you, I can tell. Mumll help
Molly wanted to insist she was coping. That she didnt need saving. That, in the three months since Harrys birth, shed managed to keep the house standing, feed three children, and even squeeze in the odd nap. But Harrys cries started up again, so she just retreated to the bedroom, rocking her son and bracing herself for Mrs Davenports arrival.
Mrs Davenport swept in around lunchtime, two enormous suitcases in tow and the look of a woman determined to rescue everyone from disaster.
Goodness me, Molly, you look exhausted! Mrs Davenport glanced around the flat, keen eyes taking in every detail. And what a mess. Not to worry, now Im here, well have you all sorted in no time.
By evening on the very first day, Molly was already regretting not having double-locked the door.
Whats this? her mother-in-law eyed the chopping board suspiciously, where Molly was dicing courgettes.
Vegetable stew. The kids really like it.
Stew? Mrs Davenport made it sound as if Molly was about to feed poison to her grandchildren. No, no, no. Tom loves a proper shepherds pie. Real food, my recipe. Step aside, Ill do it myself.
Molly moved away from the hob, gripping the veggie knife a little too tightly.
The next morning Mrs Davenport woke Molly at seven, even though Harry had finally nodded off at five.
Molly! What are these clothes? Dressed the children for a circus, have you?
Ben and Emma stood in their favourite dungarees Ben in canary yellow, Emma bright red. Molly bought them so she could spot the twins easily at the playground.
Theyre fine, I promise.
Fine? You call that fine? Mrs Davenport started digging in her suitcase, pulling out plain grey trousers and beige jumpers. They look like parrots! Anyway, its chilly out, theyll catch a cold. I brought proper warm jumpers.
Theyre comfy as they are
Molly. Her mother-in-law straightened up, arms crossed, tears sparkling in her eyes. Im only trying to help and you wont listen. Im older, I raised Tom, I know best. And you well, you just dont appreciate me. You have no respect.
She gave a great sniff, pressed a trembling hand to her heart, and dropped onto a chair, the picture of aggrieved sacrifice.
Tom popped his head out of the bedroom, eyeing his mum, then Molly.
Oh, come on, what now? he muttered. Mum only wants whats best, you know. Wish everyone had help like we do.
Molly kept quiet. She dressed the twins in beige and grey, managed a smile for Mrs Davenport, and inside, felt herself fracture just a little further.
By weeks end, the flat wasnt the familys anymore; it was Mrs Davenports turf. Shed rearranged the nursery furniture, the proper way. The daily routine now followed her ironclad schedule. Molly fed Harry under constant scrutiny, listening to a running commentary on how she was holding the bottle wrong. Tom started spending half his life on the balcony, staring out at the green, pretending nothing was happening.
Molly never slept. At night she lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Every creak in the corridor made her jump what if Mrs Davenport came to check whether the children were lying straight?
Each morning she rose shattered, hands trembling, her only comfort a mug of coffee that never seemed to help.
On Thursday evening, Molly opened the cupboard to grab Harrys formula and froze.
The shelves were bare.
Mrs Davenport? she called into the kitchen, where her mother-in-law was shredding cabbage for another shepherds pie. Wheres Harrys formula?
Threw that muck away. Mrs Davenport didnt even turn. Full of chemicals. Ive bought something proper.
She nodded at the table.
Waiting there was a big tin cheap stuff, from the same brand that had left Harry with a rash all over his tummy a month earlier.
Hes allergic to that one.
Nonsense. Mrs Davenport waved her off. That happens when you feed him wrong, Molly. Youll see, hell be right as rain with me.
Staring at that tin, at her mother-in-law calmly slicing cabbage, Molly pictured Tom hiding on the balcony again and felt something inside her snap, gentle but final.
…Forty minutes later, Molly was in a cab, clutching Harry, with Ben and Emma beside her, squished into their bright dungarees shed dug out from beneath Mrs Davenports beige mound. Her mums place was their destination; their meagre bag of essentials stashed in the boot.
Molly burst into tears the second her mum opened the door.
Mum, I cant do it anymore. I just I cant.
Her mum hugged her tight, steered her to the kitchen, made her sit. Tea appeared in front of her. She stroked Mollys hair while she sobbed, tears landing in her brew.
Its alright, love, itll all be fine. You just stay here for as long as you need.
The phone never stopped vibrating from 11pm until 3am.
Molly, what the hell are you playing at? Tom shouted down the line. Mums beside herself! She was only helping us! You drive her out after everything shes done!
I just want a peaceful life! Molly hissed down the phone, keeping her voice low so as not to wake the kids. She threw away Harrys formula. Hes allergic to what she bought!
Allergic? You exaggerate everything! Mum knows best! Shes older!
Fine, then she can live with you!
Youre an ungrateful drama queen, Tom spat. Youd be useless without my mum. Get home at once.
Not while shes there.
Silence hung on the line. Then Tom muttered:
Suit yourself, and hung up.
The next morning, Molly went to the registry office and filed for divorce.
Three days later she came back for her things, alone, leaving the kids with her mother.
Mrs Davenport met her in the hallway.
Molly, how could you do this to us? Splitting up the children from their father! Keeping their grandmother away! Its cruel! Heartless! I gave everything to you all you should be grateful for help like mine!
Molly paused, really looking at her mother-in-law. This woman, whod upended her life in the guise of helping, whod thrown away her sons food and replaced it with something that made him ill, rearranged their rooms, dressed the twins like clones, booted Molly from her own kitchen, and pushed her to breaking point.
Youll survive, trust me, Molly heard her own voice, cold and unfamiliar.
Mrs Davenport gasped, clutching her chest. Tom charged out of the sitting room, grabbing Mollys wrist.
What do you think youre doing? How dare you speak to my mother like that!
Molly yanked her arm free, taking in this grown man who still ran crying to his mum for everything.
Dont touch me.
She swept past him, packed the last of her bits from the bedroom, zipped her suitcase, and didnt look back.
…The divorce went through two months later. Tom kept calling and texting for a couple of weeks, then gave up. Mrs Davenport sent a long message about how Molly had broken the family and ruined Toms life. Molly deleted it halfway through.
Her mothers house was cramped, but peaceful. Molly would get up for Harry in the early hours, rocking him in the kitchen while staring out at the navy blue sky. By day, she played in the communal garden with the twins, fed them veggie stew, and dressed them in their favourite, colourful dungarees.
Six months later, Ben and Emma started nursery. Molly landed a remote job, editing documents at night while the kids were asleep. There was enough money not for anything fancy, but enough.
Every evening, shed curl up on the sofa, Harry snuffling away in his cot, the twins wedged under either arm begging for a story. Molly would read them about the Three Little Pigs, putting on silly voices. Emma giggled, Ben nodded gravely at every twist and turn.
And in those moments, Molly would lean back, look at her children, and know shed done the right thing. The years ahead would be tough, raising three kids by herself, sometimes lonely, sometimes scary. But it was the right kind of hard.
