Finally, Oliver and Emily moved into their large, two-story home. With three children, each could have their own room—a luxury that thrilled them all. Little Charlotte, barely a year and eight months old, didn’t quite grasp the concept yet, but her brothers, William and Thomas, were overjoyed.
“Thank you, darling,” Emily said, beaming. “It’s wonderful to feel like the mistress of such a grand house. The boys are running wild, but that’s fine—children need space to grow.”
Over time, though, she realised keeping such a house tidy with three children was no small feat. William was seven, Thomas four, and little Charlotte still required constant attention.
One evening, as Emily washed dishes and the children played, Oliver sprawled on the sofa, engrossed in the telly when his phone rang.
“Hello, James,” he said, and Emily recognised the voice of his younger brother, who lived in another city with their mother. Despite being thirty, James had never married, showing no hurry to settle down. After the call, Oliver grinned.
“James is getting married! We’re invited.”
“Really?” Emily gasped. “I thought he’d never tie the knot. He’s got it made—handsome, women adore him, and Mum still cooks and does his laundry. Not to mention that unserious job of his, even with a degree. Still acts like a teenager.”
Oliver listened quietly, lost in thought.
“You’re the hardworking one—driven, ambitious. You and James are nothing alike. Still DJing at that club?”
“Yes,” Oliver replied.
“Who’s the bride?”
“Didn’t say much—just that her name’s Sophie, a primary school teacher.”
Emily sat beside him, sensing his hesitation.
“Where will they live? Does Sophie have a flat?”
“That’s the thing,” Oliver glanced at her. “What if Mum moves in with us? Her one-bedroom flat won’t fit them. Our house has plenty of space.”
Emily fell silent, weighing the idea of living with her mother-in-law. Oliver waited anxiously.
Finally, she tossed her curls and said, “You know what? I don’t mind. Extra help with the kids would be nice.”
“You’re brilliant—I adore you,” Oliver kissed her cheek.
Emily didn’t know Margaret well. She visited occasionally but never stayed long—just a night or two. Living together would be different. The last time she’d visited was for Charlotte’s christening a year ago.
Margaret, nearly sixty, was warm, composed, and tidy. Polite and kind to Emily, she adored her grandchildren. Yet Emily couldn’t shake the thought: *No one’s entirely perfect—she must have quirks. Well, time will tell.*
For two months, Emily fretted until Oliver attended James’s wedding alone—Charlotte was ill, so Emily stayed home. Three days later, he returned with Margaret in tow.
*No turning back now,* Emily thought. *Our family just grew by one.*
Margaret arrived bearing gifts—a doll for Charlotte, toy cars for William and Thomas. That evening, Oliver recounted the wedding.
“Sophie’s lovely. Pretty, sharp—has James wrapped around her finger, even though she’s younger.”
Margaret nodded approvingly. Emily heard no criticism and privately applauded Sophie. They gave Margaret her own room, and she seemed delighted.
For a week, Emily observed her. Margaret was the ideal grandmother—reading stories, playing games, helping with chores, even cooking occasionally.
“Mum, Gran taught me to tie my laces!” Thomas boasted.
“I can read whole books now!” William added—he’d start school soon. “Gran’s been helping me.”
Emily was pleased. *Maybe my mother-in-law really is flawless.* Everything was calm. Then one day, Margaret said, “Emily, you’re run ragged—let me take over the cooking. You’ve enough on your plate.”
“Thank you!” Emily nearly hugged her. “That would be wonderful.”
Oliver chimed in, “We do a weekly shop, but if you need anything, just say—or we can order online. Mum, do you know how to use a computer?”
“A little,” Margaret smiled. “I try keeping up with the times. I’ll manage.”
Dinner was a hit—roast chicken with mash. Even the boys, usually fussy, devoured it. Emily marvelled—Margaret’s cooking was delicious and varied, a talent she lacked.
“Oliver,” Emily said later, “since we’ve got a live-in babysitter, let’s go out. It’s been ages.”
Once, she’d never have trusted anyone with the children. Now, with Gran here?
“Go on,” Margaret urged. “You deserve it. Just tell me the routine.”
“Feed them, bathe them, bed,” Emily said.
They had a blissful evening—a stroll in the park, then a cosy café with live music. They even danced.
“This is fantastic,” Emily sighed. “I’d forgotten what fun feels like. Honestly, your mum moving in might be the best thing.”
Oliver smiled, relieved. At work, his mates often moaned about mothers-in-law or wives clashing with theirs. His mum’s saying rang true: *Every household has its own rattles.*
They returned at eleven, only to hear Margaret’s voice booming:
“Die! And you—you won’t escape!”
“Good grief, what—?” Emily gasped.
Margaret was hunched over the computer, engrossed in a shooter game.
“Mum,” Oliver gaped, “you play *those*?”
“Oh, you’re back!” She didn’t look up. “So what? Kids are asleep, all fed and bathed. Eat if you’re hungry—I can’t pause; I’m online.”
Oliver and Emily exchanged glances and checked on the children—all peacefully sleeping.
“My mum—a gamer,” Oliver muttered.
“She’s entitled to hobbies,” Emily shrugged.
“Better than booze or worse,” he conceded.
Two days later, Margaret announced, “Mind if I go out tonight?”
“Where to?” Oliver frowned.
“Just a stroll.”
“Alone?” Emily asked. “Won’t you be bored?”
“Emily, I’m perfectly capable. I’ll find something. Don’t wait up.”
By ten, she hadn’t returned. At eleven, Oliver called—no answer.
“Where *is* she?” he fretted.
“What if something’s happened? Should we call the police?” Emily suggested.
He tried again—this time, Margaret answered.
“Where *are* you?” he spluttered.
Emily waited, baffled.
“You won’t believe it,” Oliver said, hanging up. “She’s at a nightclub. Says not to worry—she’ll taxi back. Didn’t hear her phone over the music.”
They waited up, watching telly absentmindedly. At 2 a.m., Margaret waltzed in.
“How’d you even get into a club?” Oliver demanded.
“Walked right in. Why not?”
“What were you *doing* there? We don’t go to places like that.”
“Shame. I went to see your brother. Wanted to know what he does there. He’s a fine DJ.”
“How’d you even *find* a club here?”
“The internet, naturally. Met some interesting people too.” With a cryptic smile, she retired to her room.
Oliver stared after her. “I thought women her age had… quieter hobbies.”
Emily chuckled. “Every woman has a bit of mischief in her. Sometimes it just needs an outlet. She had her fun—no harm done.”
**Life lesson:** Judging others by age or expectation often misses the truth—everyone has hidden layers, and embracing them can bring unexpected joy.
