Now youll have your own child, and its time for her to go back to the childrens home.
When will my son ever get an heir? Margaret leaned across the oak table, looking at her daughter-in-law with impatient eyes, as rain pattered softly against the old leaded windows.
You know as well as I do that weve been trying for three years now, Emma sighed wearily. Every visit began with this same pointed question, winding round her mind like ivy. What else could she say? The doctors had told both her and Thomas there were no problems, so why did it feel like she was always the one to blame?
Exactly. Married all this time, and nothing to show for it, Margaret sniffed, a thin smile playing about her lips. Perhaps you were a bit too wild in your younger days.
Margaret, what are you suggesting? Emma snapped, slamming her laptop shuta gentle fog of frustration lifting. Any chance of working was gone now. Have I ever given you cause to speak to me like that? Honestly, this is out of order.
Oh? And what will you do? Margaret gave a dramatic gasp. Complain to Thomas? Arent you worried hell side with his own mother? I did raise him, after all.
The only reply was the sharp bang of the front door. Of course Emma would never run crying to her husband. Not because she feared his loyalty, but because she simply didnt want to burden him further.
Emmas relationship with her mother-in-law had been prickly from their first awkward handshake. Margaret found fault with everythingher plain looks, her choice of clothes, her cooking. On and on it went, as endless as a November drizzle. Margaret had fiercely opposed their marriage at first, tugging on Thomass sleeve with subtle hints and sharp words. Thankfully, Thomas knew how to stand his ground.
Theyd had a simple church wedding, and for a while, Margaret seemed to settle. The newlyweds moved into a flat across town, a safe distance from the relentless critique.
But less than half a year later, Margaret had found a new stick to poke with: the absence of children.
At first, Emma laughed it off, saying they were still young and eager to enjoy themselves or pursue their careers. Margaret shot back that babies should come sooner rather than laterall the better if there were more than one. Under this pressure, Emma surrendered.
Still, nothing happened. For three long years, Emma endured endless appointments, blood tests, pills and potionsthe whole parade, but all for nothing.
A doctor once suggested the issue might be psychological. Margaret had only laughed and told her to find a better physician.
After yet another draining encounter with Margaret, Emma absentmindedly scrolled through her social feed. Pictures of beaming babies squeezed at her heart; she truly longed for a childnot to quiet her mother-in-laws thunder, but for herself.
A particular post caught her eye, written by a lady who worked in a local childrens home. So many little souls, adrift in the world
Could she love a child not born of her body? Emma closed her eyes: she pictured a giggling, chubby baby reaching out with tiny hands, wanting to be held. She drew her keyboard closer, beginning a feverish search for information.
Yes, shed need to gather mountains of paperwork, visit doctors yet again, face interrogations and assessmentsbut her yearning for a child was fiercer than her dread of bureaucracy.
Now all that remained was speaking to Thomas. Would he agree? To her delight, he was open to iton one condition: they should adopt a very young child, still in nappies if possible. And so they set off on their journey.
In what felt like no time, their little family grew by one. The couple fell instantly in love with baby Lucy, brought to them at just five months old. Margaret was the sole dissenting voice, but nobody was listeningThomas even threatened a move to Scotland if his mother didnt learn to hold her tongue. Margaret was forced to pretend to adore her new granddaughter.
Seven years passed and Lucy, ever the sunbeam, had just finished her first year at primary school, surrounded by friends, always kind, always eager. Emmas joy knew no limits.
That summer, the family escaped to the seaside: warm sun, lapping waves, white sandperfection, especially as Margaret was far away, unable to spoil the mood.
Near the end of their holiday, Emma began feeling unwell, but kept it to herself, not wanting to alarm anyone. Once home, however, she went straight to the GP.
Thomas, of course, noticed her illness, and insisted on cutting their trip short, promising another visit during the winter holidays. Emma reluctantly agreed.
What followed turned everything upside down: after another round of tests, the doctors announced she was pregnant. The news shimmered before them, strange and wonderful. Little Lucy was the happiest of all, already practicing her role as big sister.
Margaret, predictably, only discovered the truth months later, when Emmas bump was impossible to hide. Waiting until Emma was alone, Margaret made a sudden, uninvited call.
I wont ask why you kept it secret, she announced, scanning Emmas stomach. I have a different question.
What is it? A cold feeling slid down Emmas back.
When are you sending Lucy back to the childrens home? Margarets voice was calm, almost polite. Now youll have your own baby, that foundling can go back.
Emma shook with rage. How dare she? Speak so carelessly about the child who belonged in their family as truly as any blood relative?
Are you serious?
Of course. So, when?
Get out. Emma hissed, barely able to hold back her fury. And never come back.
She threw Margaret out, slamming the door. Call Thomas? He had a crucial meetingbest not to pull him away. Still, this would have to be faced.
Meanwhile, a furious Margaret stormed off to Thomass office. Ignoring the secretarys protests, she barged in.
Your wife just expelled me from the house as if I were some stranger!
Hello to you too, Thomas groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. What did you say to get such a reaction out of her?
I only asked when youd return that girl to the childrens home, Margaret said, settling stiffly into a chair. Now youll have your own baby, and babies cost a fortune. All your attention will be needed for your real child.
How could you possibly think such a monstrous thing? Thomas snapped, gripping his pen until it snapped in two. We arent sending Lucy anywhere. Shes my daughter, like it or not.
Why should she be? Shes not even yoursold enough, anyway, shed understand if you explained.
If you so much as breathe a word to her Thomas hurled the broken pen aside, fist crashing down upon his desk. Have I made myself clear?
And what will you do, exactly? mocked Margaret as she headed for the door. That girl doesnt belong in our family. I will do all I can to make sure she knows it.
Thomas stared at the closed door for a long while. The secretary peeked in, apologising about the security breach, but he waved her away, deep in thought.
At last, he reached for the telephone
Emma ambled through the park, watching Lucy spin about her baby brothers pram. For seven years old, she took the role of elder sibling with an almost peculiar responsibility.
On a nearby bench, two older ladies chattered about their own daughters-in-law. Emmas mind wandered back to Margarether steel gaze, her sharp words.
After that dreadful final visit, Margaret was gone for good. Thomas acted quickly, moving the family clear to Devon, entire counties away from their old life, knowing it was the only way to protect Lucy. He suspected his mother wouldnt hesitate to blab to anyone whod listen that Lucy was adopted.
Now, they lived quietly. They had their darling daughter, a baby son, and another little one on the way.
Thomas rang his father sometimes, learning that Margaret remained as meddlesome as ever, now turning her attention to her newly married daughter. Thomas pitied his sister, but she seemed unfazed.
Well, they had their world, and he had his. Thomas looked at his family, every moment bathed in a dreamlike happinessso perfect it made no sense at all. And in this joy, he wished happiness for the rest, too.
