“Mum, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten!” Emily shrieked as she burst into the hallway, tossing her expensive handbag onto the sofa. “Honestly, Mum! I reminded you a month ago!”
Victoria slowly turned from the mirror where she’d been adjusting her silver hair. Her hands trembled slightly, but her gaze remained steady.
“What’s all this about, love?” she asked softly.
“What do you mean, ‘what’s all this about’?” Emily flung herself onto the couch. “It’s Liam’s fifteenth birthday tomorrow! And you’re just standing there like it’s any other day!”
“I remember,” Victoria sighed, sinking into her armchair. “I was just thinking, maybe we don’t need all the fuss…”
“Don’t need the fuss?” Emily froze, staring at her mother. “He’s my son! Your grandson! Fifteen is a big deal, and you’re saying we shouldn’t celebrate?”
Victoria exhaled. She knew this was coming—just like every weekend when Emily and Liam visited. Her daughter had always been fiery, demanding. Now, after the divorce, it was worse.
“I haven’t forgotten, Em. I’ve got the gift, and I’ve ordered the cake from the bakery,” Victoria said wearily. “But maybe he doesn’t want a big party. He’s been so quiet lately…”
“Quiet? He’s a teenager!” Emily scoffed. “They’re all quiet around adults. That doesn’t mean we skip his birthday! If anything, we should show him how much we care!”
Footsteps creaked in the hall. Liam appeared—lanky, tousle-haired, with a guarded look in his eyes.
“Hi, Gran,” he muttered, glancing at his mother. “Why the shouting?”
“We’re not shouting, sweetheart,” Emily cooed, voice instantly softening. “We’re planning your birthday! Gran’s got a cake, and I’ve brought presents—”
“Don’t need it,” Liam mumbled, flopping onto the sofa.
“How can you not need it?” Emily protested. “Fifteen is special!”
Liam shrugged, attention fixed on his phone. Victoria watched him, uneasy. Something was wrong. For months, he’d grown more withdrawn, barely speaking to her, answering his mother in monosyllables.
“Liam, what would you like as a gift?” Victoria asked gently.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Emily’s brow furrowed. “What about a new phone? Or we could upgrade your laptop?”
“Mum, drop it,” Liam snapped, standing. “I’m going to my room.”
“You’ve only just got here!” Emily stood too. “Let’s plan who to invite—”
“Don’t invite anyone!” Liam spun around, voice sharp. “I mean it. I just want to be left alone.”
“But why?” Emily’s face fell. “You used to love birthdays!”
“Used to.” Liam gave a bitter laugh. “Back when things were different. Now I don’t need everyone pretending to be happy for me.”
He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Emily gaped at the empty space.
“What’s wrong with him?” she whispered.
Victoria took a deep breath. She’d seen Liam change—watched him crumble under the weight of his parents’ divorce, torn between them, exhausted by their constant sniping.
“Emily, sit down,” Victoria urged.
“What’s there to say?” Emily paced. “It’s obvious—James is poisoning him against me!”
“It’s not James,” Victoria said carefully. “Liam’s tired. Tired of the arguments, the back-and-forth between you…”
“What arguments? We divorced amicably!”
“Amicably?” Victoria shook her head. “Emily, I hear the way you speak to his father on the phone. The way you both fight over time with him.”
“I’m fighting for my son!”
“And so is his father. And Liam knows it. He’s caught in the middle.” Victoria stood, touching Emily’s arm. “Emily, love, perhaps it’s time to think of him instead of yourself.”
“I *am* thinking of him! That’s why I want to celebrate!”
“Or perhaps,” Victoria said softly, “he’d rather have peace? A home where he doesn’t have to pretend?”
Emily huffed, turning to the window. Outside, rain pattered against the glass, turning the garden grey and dull.
“You’re against me too, aren’t you?” she murmured.
“I’m *for* Liam. And for you.” Victoria sighed. “Sometimes the things we think are right… aren’t what’s needed at all.”
Emily frowned. “What do you mean?”
Victoria settled back into her chair. “When you were young, I thought I knew what was best. Made you take piano when you wanted art. Sent you to ballet when you’d have preferred football. I thought I was helping. Preparing you for life.”
“And?”
“And you grew up and did the opposite. Spite sometimes, even against yourself. Because I never *listened* to what you wanted.”
“What’s that got to do with Liam?” Emily turned sharply.
“Everything. He doesn’t want a party. He’s told you. And you’re not hearing him.”
“He’s a child! He doesn’t always know what’s best!”
“Do we?” Victoria smiled sadly. “Emily, I’m seventy-two now. And I’ve learned children often know exactly what they need. We just don’t want to hear it.”
Emily sank onto the arm of Victoria’s chair.
“Mum, I’m terrified of losing him,” she whispered. “Since the divorce, he’s so distant. Like there’s a wall between us. I thought a party would show him he’s loved.”
“He knows he’s loved,” Victoria squeezed her hand. “But right now, he needs quiet. Stability. A place where he doesn’t have to force a smile.”
“So what do I do? Nothing?”
“Ask him,” Victoria said simply. “Ask him what he wants, how he’d like to spend the day. Then do *that*.”
Emily hesitated. The rain drummed harder.
“Alright,” she said finally. “But what if he says he wants nothing?”
“Then we’re just there for him. Sometimes that’s enough.”
The floorboard creaked again. Liam stood in the doorway, shifting awkwardly.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course, love,” Victoria smiled.
Liam sat opposite them, twisting a cushion.
“Sorry for shouting,” he muttered. “Just… everything’s too much.”
“What’s too much?” Emily asked gently.
“This.” He gestured vaguely. “You and Dad always asking if I’m okay, if anyone’s giving me grief. But you can’t even talk to each other without snipping.”
“We try—”
“You *don’t*,” Liam’s voice cracked. “Mum, I’m not stupid. I see you fuming when Dad calls. How you tense up when he picks me up. And he does the same. D’you think that’s easy for me?”
Emily faltered. She hadn’t realised he noticed so much.
“Liam, we divorced cleanly—”
“Cleanly?” Liam let out a hollow laugh. “You spend an hour muttering that he’s a jerk after he rings. And he tells me you’re unreasonable, that I shouldn’t trust you. Is that clean?”
Emily’s throat tightened.
“And now you want to throw me a birthday,” Liam went on. “Everyone smiling, giving presents, cutting cake. And I’ll just be thinking how fake it is. How you can’t stand each other, but you’re doing it out of pity.”
“We don’t pity you!” Emily’s voice broke. “We love you!”
“Then why can’t you act like it?” Liam’s hands clenched. “Why do I have to *choose* who to be loyal to? Dad asks if I miss him when I’m with you. You grill me about what he says, if he’s turning me against you. I’m *done*.”
He dropped his face into his hands.
“You know what I want?” His voice was muffled. “For you to stop fighting. To sit in the same room without jabs. For me to be with Dad without feeling guilty. And with you without worrying I’m hurting him.”
Emily knelt before him.
“Liam, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t realise—”
“Didn’t realise *what*? That I have feelings too? That it *kills* me watching you two?”
Emily swallowed. “I thought I was protecting you.”
“From *Dad*?” Liam looked up, eyes wet. “Mum, he’s my *father*. I love him. Like I love you. Why can’t I love you both?”
“You can,” Victoria said softly. “You should.”
Emily nodded, unable to speak.
“And maybe,” Liam said quietly, “we could start small. Tomorrow. If you really want to do something”Let’s just have tea together—you, me, Gran, and Dad—and promise, just for one day, we’ll be a family again.”
