A Daughter-in-Law Is Nothing to Me! my mother-in-law declared at my sons birthday partybut she wasnt prepared for my husbands response.
I woke at five in the morning, the sky just beginning to lighten outside. Beside me, James snored softly, his arm slung over his headthe familiar pose of a man who never gets enough sleep. Tiptoeing to the kitchen, I flicked on the light and pulled everything I needed from the fridge: sponge layers, fresh cream, berries. Today was Olivers fifth birthday, and I wanted it to feel truly magical.
Isnt it a bit early? came a voice from the doorway. James stood there, squinting against the light, his hair tousled.
Go back to sleep, I smiled, softening the butter. If I dont start now, I wont finish before the guests arrive.
He nodded but didnt leave. Instead, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his cheek against my neck.
Sometimes I dont think I deserve you, he murmured.
I scoffed, setting the bowl aside. Is this about the promotion? Fine, youre the big boss now, and Im still just a primary school teacher.
Hannah, stop, he turned me to face him. Well tell everyone today. Itll be the best surprise.
I nodded, swallowing my nerves. Six years of marriage, and his touch still made my breath catch. Though back then, no one had believed wed last.
By eleven, the cake was assembled, bunting hung, presents tucked neatly in the cupboard. The doorbell rang. I smoothed my hair, took a deep breath, and opened it.
Margaret! Youre early!
My mother-in-law stood on the doorstep, clutching an elaborately wrapped box. Her immaculate blow-dry (salon appointments every weekno exceptions) and flawless makeup contrasted sharply with my dressing gown and messy bun.
Hannah, darling, she air-kissed my cheek, I came to help. You know how important it is to get everything just right.
Silently, I took her coat and led her to the kitchen. Helping, in her mind, meant scrutinising every move and pointing out every flawespecially those that could be fixed by her superior taste and status.
Oh, whats this? She peered at the cake Id just taken from the fridge. Homemade? Why not order from a proper patisserie?
I wanted to make it myself, I said calmly, fetching plates. Oliver loves it when I bake.
Hes five, darling. What does he know? She wrinkled her nose. And the guests? What will they think? No offence, but a professional cake just has that polish. This is well, quaint.
I bit my tongue, focusing on setting the table. Six years of these comments. Six years of hints that I didnt measure up to her idea of a proper daughter-in-law.
Wheres James? she asked, glancing around. Still asleep? Just like his fathernever an early riser.
Hes at the park with Oliver. Theyll be back soon.
She opened a cupboard, pulled out a mug, and grimaced. Still using these cheap mugs? I gave you that Wedgwood set at Christmas. Didnt you like it?
The set, worth nearly my monthly salary, was stored safely away. Today, Id stuck with the everyday onesless risk of breakage with children around.
Every celebration was the same. Every visit, a test.
I remembered our weddingsmall, quiet. Margaret had leaned in and whispered to James, You couldve done better. She thought I hadnt heard.
Six years had passed. Had I grown used to it? No. But Id learned to swallow the hurt like bitter medicineunchewed, chased with a smile. For James. For Oliver. For peace.
The front door banged open, and laughter spilled into the flat.
Mum, look! Oliver burst into the kitchen, waving a kite. James followed, arms full of bags.
Granny! Oliver flung himself at Margaret. She beamed, scooping him up.
My darling! So big! Heres your present from me. She gestured to the box.
Wow! Can I open it now?
After the candles, love. Thats the rule.
Muuuum! he whined.
Hannah, why the fuss? Margaret cut in. When James was little, I let him open gifts straight away.
James cleared his throat. Mum, lets stick to tradition. Oliver, be patientguests will be here soon.
The doorbell interrupted the debate. Soon, the flat buzzed with chattermy parents with a homemade pie, friends, Jamess colleagues and their children. Mum drifted into the kitchen to help; Dad settled in the corner with the paper. Quiet, unassumingthe polar opposite of Margaret, whose presence filled every room.
Eleanor, hows your blood pressure? Margaret asked loudly. At your age, its so important.
Mum smiled politely. She was fifty-fivethree years younger than Margaret, who never missed a chance to highlight the gap.
Fine, thank you, Mum said softly, chopping vegetables.
Still at the factory, then? Must be exhausting.
My parents had worked as engineers their whole livesordinary, hardworking. Not like Margaret, the former department head with connections.
The party carried on. Children shrieked; adults chatted over food. I flitted between rooms, making sure everyone had what they needed. James helped, though he mostly talked shophis promotion was a real achievement, though wed planned to announce it later.
Hannah, change his clothes, Margaret grabbed my arm. I saw the perfect outfit at John Lewis. If youd shopped with me, Oliver would look like a proper birthday boy.
I glanced at my son. Jeans and a T-shirtcomfortable, chosen together.
Hes fine, Margaret.
Comfort isnt the same as presentable, she snipped. In my day
Mum, enough, James cut in. He looks great.
She pursed her lips and stalked off to my parents. I shot James a grateful look, but he was already deep in conversation.
Mum, why is Granny always cross? Oliver whispered, tugging my sleeve.
I froze, clutching a salad bowl. Behind me, Margarets laughter rang out as she complained about finding decent help these days.
Shes not cross, sweetheart, I crouched to his level. She just wants things to be perfect.
Whats perfect?
Good question. I wished I knew.
Cake time! I announced, checking the clock. Oliver, make a wish!
Everyone gathered around. James hit play on his phone. I carried out the caketwo tiers, chocolate ganache, raspberry filling, Olivers favourite.
Wow! His eyes sparkled.
Hmm. Very homemade, Margaret muttered, just loud enough. A professional wouldve added fondant figures, glitter
I swallowed the sting. Today wasnt about her. Today was Olivers.
Make a wish, love, I said, setting the cake before him, five candles flickering.
The room erupted into Happy Birthday. Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, blew hard, andwhoosh!all the flames vanished. Cheers filled the air.
Now, presents! James declared.
Oliver tore into the giftsLego from my parents, books from friends, a toy garage from us. Then, the grand finale: Margarets oversized box.
A tablet! he shrieked, pulling out the shiny branded packaging. A real one! Thanks, Granny!
Margaret glowed, like shed won a prize.
Only the best for my grandson, she said pointedly, eyeing my parents. Some cant afford it, but I believe in modern upbringing.
Mum looked down, as if her humble gift suddenly wasnt enough. My chest ached, but I started slicing the cake, hands trembling slightly.
Whod like to toast? James raised his glass.
Allow me. Margaret stood, smoothing her dress. Today, we celebrate five years of Oliver. Im so proud of the boy hes becoming.
She paused, relishing the attention.
I raised James alone. No husband. Did it all myself. And look at him nowrespected, successful. All because of my sacrifices.
Her voice waverednot with tears, but drama.
Now, I watch my grandson grow. It warms my heart. But I wont liesome things trouble me.
The room tensed.
His upbringing, for one, she stared straight at me. The food, the penny-pinching. I always told James: its not just who you are, but who you marrywho raises your child.
Mum, stop, James said, but she ploughed on.
No, James. Six
