**Doubts That Destroy**
Emily sat at the kitchen table, resting her elbows on the worn wood, staring into the blackened window as though she might see something in the glass. Her eyes were tired, her face drawn. The door creaked softly, and in walked her mother-in-law, Margaret.
“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 spoke again. “Stay, please. We need to talk. Just close the door first.”
Margaret paused, frowning. “What’s happened?”
“Sit down. I… I need to tell you about Daniel.”
Margaret sat, cradling her glass, while Emily began. The more she spoke, the paler Margaret grew, as if the words had stolen her voice.
“No, Emily, I won’t throw you out in the middle of the night. You and Jack can leave in the morning. I’ll be up for work—you can wake me.”
“Maybe we could delay the renovations? Daniel and I could go to the country house in summer, but now it’s cold… and Daniel’s due back soon—”
“No. Prices will soar if we wait, and I won’t live with dust all summer.”
“There’ll be dust either way,” Emily pointed out carefully.
“And by the way, your things need clearing out. I’ve told you before. Don’t play the victim. My son took you in—you could at least be grateful.”
“But he’s your grandson!” Emily burst out.
“Is he? Daniel’s got a daughter by his first wife—she’s my granddaughter. This one… that still needs proving.”
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?”
“Not my problem,” Margaret shrugged. “I don’t care.”
Emily had met Daniel five years ago. He wasn’t handsome, but he’d seemed dependable. Love wasn’t the point—they were both grown, practical. She worked as a school cook; he was a labourer, often away on jobs. When she fell pregnant, he proposed straight away—no wedding, just the registry office.
They lived with his mother. Margaret resented the intrusion—a stranger in her home, and pregnant, no less. She treasured quiet, routine, solitude. Now there was singing in the shower, footsteps, and soon a screaming baby. And her son no longer helped as much at the summer house.
Worst of all, she didn’t trust Emily. She assumed she’d married for security. And that doubt lingered—was Jack really her grandson?
Now, with renovations looming, she’d demanded they move out. Emily resisted—no place to go. Though her aunt had offered, Margaret wouldn’t budge. Everything irritated her: toy clutter, the smell of baby food.
When Daniel suddenly stopped answering calls, Emily panicked. He never did that. She waited till morning—his phone was off.
“He never turns it off,” she told Margaret in the kitchen. “Something’s wrong.”
“Probably sleeping,” Margaret grunted. “Why the fuss?”
“We text every day. This isn’t like him.”
“Call his work then.”
Emily dialled—then turned white.
“He’s in hospital. Collapsed… It’s serious.”
“What?!” Margaret sank into a chair. “Who found out?”
“His ex-wife. She was informed. Not us.”
“I’ll go!” Margaret stood.
“No—you’ve got the builders. I’ll take Jack to my aunt’s and go myself.”
Three weeks later, Emily returned with Daniel. He was frail—stroke damage. His left side barely moved, but he joked, pushing through.
Emily never left his side. She found specialists, arranged rehab, survived on three hours’ sleep, rushing to appointments, physio, injections. She lived to see him well again.
One night, as Margaret washed dishes, Emily spoke softly.
“I’ll tell you everything. Just don’t tell him.”
The truth: Daniel had gone to see his ex and their daughter. A stranger opened the door—a man whose son was the girl’s double, right down to the dimpled cheek. His ex admitted it—that man was the real father. She’d clung to Daniel out of fear.
Daniel sat on a bench—and his heart gave out.
“So… my granddaughter isn’t mine?” Margaret whispered.
“Exactly.”
After that, Margaret watched Emily differently. Saw how she lived for Daniel—massaging his hand, researching diets, sacrificing sleep. Where was that “gold-digger” now?
One evening, as Emily typed frantically, Margaret turned.
“Tell me honestly. Is Jack Daniel’s?”
Emily hesitated. Then met her gaze.
“The truth’s right in front of you. We got together under your roof. Maybe I didn’t love him madly, but I chose him. I stayed. Do you really need tests to see that?”
Margaret broke—tears streaming. She hugged Emily.
“Forgive me. Stupid old woman. I didn’t see what was right there.”
Emily cried too. “And forgive me. I’m no saint. But we’re family. Aren’t we?”
Just then, Daniel shuffled in.
“What’s all this?”
“Happy tears, son,” Margaret smiled. “Because everything’s all right.”
“Women,” Daniel chuckled. “Cry when it’s bad, cry when it’s good—”
“But we’re never dull!” Emily hugged him as Margaret winked. “And most importantly—you can count on us.”
**Lesson learned: Doubt divides, but truth—and time—can heal even the deepest wounds.**
