**A Saturday with Family**
“Don’t you dare start on diets again!” Emily snapped, waving her fork with a piece of cake. “I already know I’m overweight!”
“Em, no one said that,” her sister Sophie tried to soothe her. “Lucy just wanted to share a recipe—”
“Well, I didn’t ask!” Emily cut her off. “I’m sick of it! Every weekend, it’s the same—my figure, my hair, my useless husband!”
Margaret sighed and set down her tea. These Saturday family gatherings at her house had become an ordeal. All three daughters and their families were there, the grandchildren racing through the flat, while the adults argued instead of catching up.
“Girls, please,” she said wearily. “The neighbours will hear.”
“Let them!” Emily shot back. “Maybe then they’ll see what a lovely family I have!”
Olivia, the oldest sister, pressed her lips together and pushed her plate away.
“We’re just trying to help,” she said coldly. “But if you don’t want it—”
“I don’t! I live how I live, and I’m fine!”
Margaret looked at her daughters and wondered, not for the first time, how they’d turned out so differently. Olivia, forty-eight, was sharp and polished, even at home—an accountant married to an engineer, with a son at university. Picture-perfect, at least on the surface.
Sophie, thirty-nine, was the peacemaker—kind, accommodating, always trying to please. A nursery teacher married to a mechanic, with two school-age children. Simple but happy.
And Emily, the baby at thirty-five, acted like a teenager—perpetually dissatisfied, always picking fights. She’d married late at thirty-two, had a daughter, and now complained endlessly.
“Mum, where are Grandpa’s photos?” asked William, Olivia’s son, peeking into the living room. “I want to show Ben.”
“In the big album on the shelf,” Margaret said. “Be careful—don’t tear anything.”
William nodded and dashed off. Margaret watched him go and smiled. At least the grandchildren were a joy.
“Listen, why don’t we stop arguing?” Sophie suggested. “Let’s talk about something nice.”
“Oh, like how Olivia’s life is perfect?” Emily sneered. “Three-bedroom house, new car, son at uni—”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Olivia bristled. “I work day and night for what I have!”
“Oh, sure, you ‘work’,” Emily drawled. “I don’t have time for that—I’ve got a small child.”
“Maddie’s five—that’s not small!” Olivia snapped.
“Not to you! William was self-sufficient by ten!”
Margaret felt a headache coming on. Every Saturday, the same fights. They gathered for family time but ended up grating on each other’s nerves.
“Girls,” she said softly, “your father wouldn’t want to see you like this.”
At the mention of their dad, the sisters fell silent. Arthur had passed three years ago, and since then, these gatherings had grown tense—as if he’d been the glue holding them together.
“Mum, don’t,” Sophie whispered.
“I have to,” Margaret said firmly. “He wanted you to support each other. Is this what you’re doing?”
Emily stared at her plate, crumbling a biscuit. Olivia tugged at her hair, gaze fixed outside.
“Mum, we don’t mean to argue,” Sophie said. “It’s just… we’re different.”
“Different!” Emily scoffed. “Olivia’s ‘different’—always lecturing!”
“I’m not lecturing! I’m just saying what’s best!”
“Exactly! Who asked you?”
Margaret stood and walked to the kitchen. Chaos reigned—dirty dishes piled up, crumbs littering the floor. She turned on the tap, scrubbing plates to calm herself.
Footsteps echoed behind her.
“Mum, let me help,” Sophie said, grabbing a tea towel.
“No, I’ve got it.”
“Come on. Four hands are quicker.”
Olivia followed. “Mum, I’m sorry we—”
Margaret waved her off. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”
“Not used to it—just putting up with it,” Olivia said. “We see that.”
Emily slipped in silently, brushing crumbs off the table.
For a while, they worked in quiet. Margaret thought of how things had changed. When Arthur was alive, Saturdays were happy—he’d tell the grandchildren stories, play chess, and the girls would chat without bickering.
“Mum, remember when Dad took us to the park on Saturdays?” Sophie asked suddenly.
Margaret smiled. “Of course. The swings, the ice cream.”
“And how he’d take photos by the fountain,” Olivia added. “Always saying, ‘Smile, girls—it’s for the album!'”
Emily looked up.
“Remember when he carried me on his shoulders? I was too small for the swings.”
“Yes,” Margaret nodded. “You’d squeal with delight.”
Tears pricked her eyes. She missed him so much—especially now.
“Gran, why are you all in here?” Maddie, Emily’s daughter, poked her head in. “Can I have a biscuit?”
“Of course, sweetheart.” Margaret handed her the tin. “What are the boys up to?”
“William’s showing Grandpa’s photos. Says he was really strong.”
Emily stiffened. “Mads, do you remember Grandpa?”
“A bit,” Maddie mused. “He called me ‘Bear’ and gave me sweets.”
“Bear?” Emily blinked. “Why?”
“Dunno. Said I was fuzzy like a bear.”
Margaret laughed. “Because you were always scruffy. He’d say, ‘Our little bear’s awake.'”
Maddie giggled and ran off. Silence settled again.
“Girls,” Margaret said, “your dad always said family shouldn’t argue over little things. Life’s hard enough—why upset each other?”
“Mum, we know,” Olivia murmured. “We just… lose our tempers.”
“Why?” Margaret pressed. “You’re grown women.”
Olivia shrugged. Emily stayed quiet. Sophie fiddled with the towel.
“Maybe because we all think our problems matter most,” Emily finally said.
“Maybe,” Margaret agreed. “Or maybe you’ve forgotten how to listen.”
Laughter floated in from the living room—the grandchildren playing peacefully. Why couldn’t the adults do the same?
“Mum, tell us something about Dad we don’t know,” Sophie asked.
Margaret thought. “He worried when you all moved out. Afraid you’d drift apart. These Saturdays—he started them so you’d stay close.”
“Really?” Emily looked surprised.
“Yes. He’d say, ‘Margaret, the girls need to keep meeting. Or they’ll forget family.'”
Olivia sniffed. “I thought it was just… routine.”
“No, love. He wanted you united. Dreamed of grandchildren growing up together.”
“Mum, I’m sorry,” Emily said suddenly. “I know I’m awful. But I just… I get so angry.”
“At who, love?”
“Mostly myself. Olivia’s got it all—pretty, successful. Sophie’s sweet—everyone adores her. And me? I’m fat, miserable, failing at everything.”
“Em,” Sophie hugged her. “That’s not true. You’re a brilliant mum—Maddie worships you.”
“But that’s not enough,” Emily whispered. “I want to be pretty, clever… not just a mum my husband tolerates.”
Margaret looked at her youngest and understood. Emily wasn’t being difficult—she was heartbroken.
“Love, what makes you think James stays just for Maddie?”
“I see it. He barely looks at me. Comes home, eats, watches telly—silent.”
“Do you talk to him?”
“About what? His job? The house? The kid?”
“There you are,” Margaret said. “No wonder he’s quiet.”
“She’s right,” Olivia cut in. “Men don’t read minds. You have to spell it out.”
“Easy for you,” Emily muttered. “Your Peter’s posh—educated.”
“Educated, not psychic,” Olivia countered. “Twenty years with him, and I still explain what I need.”
Sophie nodded. “Same with Tom. He’s simple—needs direct words.”
Emily bit her lip. “What if I try… and he doesn’t change?”
“What if he does?” Margaret smiled. “You haven’t tried yet.”
A crash and wail erupted from the living room.
“Oh no—what now?” Sophie rushed out.
Photos lay scattered, the album torn. Ben, Sophie’s youngest, clutched a scraped knee, sobbing.
“What happened?” Margaret asked.
“Ben tripped on the chair—knocked the album over,” William explained. “Maddie’s shouting at him.”
“I’m not shouting!” Maddie huffed. “IAs the evening settled and goodbyes were exchanged, Margaret watched her family leave with a quiet hope that, despite their differences, they had finally begun to mend the bonds that truly mattered.
