**Doubts That Tear Apart**
Emily sat at the kitchen table, elbows resting on the worn wood, staring into the blackness of the night outside the window as if searching for answers in the glass. Her eyes were tired, her face drawn. The door creaked softly, and her mother-in-law, Margaret, stepped in.
“What are you doing up so late?” Margaret asked, reaching for the water jug.
“Just thinking,” Emily murmured.
Margaret took a sip and turned to leave, but Emily suddenly lifted her head.
“Please stay. We need to talk. Just… close the door.”
Margaret hesitated, frowning. “What’s happened?”
“Sit down. I… I have to tell you something about Robert.”
Her mother-in-law sat, glass in hand, and Emily began to speak. The more she said, the paler Margaret grew, as though the words had stolen her voice.
“I won’t turn anyone out at night,” Margaret said finally. “But you and the boy will leave in the morning. I have work—just wake me when you go.”
“Couldn’t we postpone the renovations? Dennis and I could go to the cottage in summer. It’s too cold now… and Robert will be back soon…”
“No. Prices will go up, and I won’t live with dust all summer.”
“But there’ll be dust either way,” Emily said carefully.
“And your things need to be out. I’ve told you. Don’t play the victim. My son took you in—you could at least be grateful.”
“He’s your grandson!” Emily blurted.
“Is he? Robert has a daughter from his ex, the one he sent money to. *She’s* my granddaughter. This one… that’s yet to be proven.”
Emily froze. The words hit like a punch to the gut.
“He’s nearly four. You’re only saying this now? Where do you expect us to go?”
“I don’t care,” Margaret shrugged.
Emily had met Robert five years ago. He wasn’t handsome, but he seemed steady. Past romance—both were older, wiser. She worked as a school cook; he was a labourer who often left for contracts. When she fell pregnant, he married her quickly—no fuss, just a registry office.
They lived with his mother. Margaret resented a stranger in her home, especially one with a child. She valued silence, solitude, routine. Now there was singing in the shower, footsteps, a crying baby. And her son helped less at the cottage.
Most of all, she doubted Emily’s motives. Surely she’d wed Robert for security. And was Dennis truly his?
Now Margaret insisted on renovations. Emily was to leave, though her aunt had offered help. Margaret wouldn’t relent. Everything grated on her—toys underfoot, the scent of baby food.
When Robert stopped answering calls, Emily panicked. He never did that. By morning, his phone was off.
“He never turns it off,” she told Margaret. “Something’s wrong.”
“Probably asleep,” Margaret muttered. “Why the fuss?”
“We text every day. This isn’t like him.”
“Call his job, then.”
Emily dialled. Moments later, she went white.
“He’s in hospital. They took him… he collapsed.”
“What?!” Margaret sank into a chair. “Who told you?”
“His… ex-wife. She knew. They didn’t think to inform us.”
“I’ll go!” Margaret stood.
“No, you’ve the renovation. I’ll take Dennis to my aunt and go myself.”
Three weeks later, Emily returned with Robert. He was weak—stroke damage. His left side dragged, but he joked, fought.
Emily never left him. Found specialists, arranged rehab, slept three hours a night, raced to appointments. She lived to see him whole again.
One evening, as Margaret washed dishes, Emily spoke softly.
“I’ll tell you everything. Just don’t tell him.”
The truth: Robert had visited his ex to see his daughter. A stranger opened the door—a blonde boy with a dimple, the girl’s mirror image. His ex confessed—the man was the real father. She’d been afraid; Robert was convenient.
Robert sat on a bench. His heart gave out.
“So… my granddaughter isn’t mine at all?” Margaret whispered.
“Exactly.”
After that, Margaret watched Emily differently. Saw her devotion: massaging Robert’s arm, researching diets, consulting doctors. Where was the “gold-digger” now?
One night, as Emily typed at her laptop, Margaret turned.
“Tell me honestly. Is Dennis Robert’s?”
Emily paused, then met her gaze.
“The truth is right here. You watched us fall in love. Maybe I didn’t swoon, but I chose him. And I’ve stayed. Do you really need tests to see that?”
Margaret broke—tears spilled. She hugged Emily.
“Forgive me. A foolish old woman. I didn’t see who stood before me.”
Emily wept too. “And forgive me. I’m no saint. But we’re family, aren’t we?”
Just then, Robert shuffled in. “What’s all this?”
“Tears of happiness, son,” Margaret smiled. “Because all is well.”
“Women,” Robert chuckled. “Upset—you cry. Happy—you cry.”
“But life’s never dull with us!” Emily hugged him as Margaret winked:
“And above all… it’s solid.”
*Sometimes, the heart sees what the eyes refuse to.*
