The kitchen smelled of freshly made pies when the front door swung open—Julia’s daughters were back from their grandmother’s house. They should have been happy, but instead, their faces were clouded with hurt.
“Mum, Gran doesn’t love us!” Emily and Florence chimed together.
Julia stepped into the hallway, wiping her hands on a tea towel.
“Why do you say that?”
The girls exchanged glances, and one of them hesitantly began explaining. Gran let Jack and Sophie—their aunt’s kids—run wild, eat whatever they liked, and even walked them to the bus stop. But for them? No noise, no sweets, not even a proper goodbye. Just a door shut behind them.
Julia froze. She’d always known her mother-in-law, Margaret, wasn’t the warmest woman, but she hadn’t realized it had gone this far.
Their relationship had been civil—never close, but never hostile—until Julia’s sister-in-law, Elizabeth, had children. Then, Gran had been smitten, endlessly gushing about how clever they were, how much they took after their mother.
When Julia and her husband, Edward, had twins, Margaret only shrugged.
“Two at once? Goodness… I couldn’t manage that.”
“We’re not asking you to,” Edward snapped.
“I’d rather help Elizabeth—hers are so close in age.”
“And ours aren’t your grandchildren?” Julia bit back.
“A brother should always support his sister,” Margaret replied coldly.
That was when Julia knew there’d be no help from her. Thankfully, her own mother stepped in, travelling across town to lend a hand.
Meanwhile, Margaret never missed a chance to praise Jack and Sophie, always adding, “These are the grandchildren I got from my daughter!”
As for Edward’s daughters? If anyone asked, she’d just wave them off. “Oh, they’re doing… fine.”
Even their neighbours noticed the difference. Once, in a fit of temper, Margaret muttered, “Who’s to say they’re even my granddaughters, even if they’re under my son’s name?”
Word reached Edward, and he was livid. He stormed over, demanding an explanation. Margaret backpedalled, but it didn’t last.
Every visit left Julia and Edward with a bitter taste—constant complaints that the girls were noisy, ate too many sweets, or made Gran’s blood pressure rise. And always, the comparisons to the “perfect” cousins.
When Jack and Sophie left, Gran would see them off with gifts. But Emily and Florence? She sent them alone across the wasteland where stray dogs roamed. Six years old. Without a second thought.
That was the last straw.
Edward called his mother.
“Are you unwell, Mum?”
“What? No.”
“Then why would you send them off like that? That place isn’t safe!”
“They need to learn independence.”
“They’re six! You’d never do that to Elizabeth’s kids!”
“How dare you accuse me? This is your wife’s doing—”
And she hung up.
Years passed. The girls grew—now in Year Six. Then Gran fell ill. Suddenly, she remembered her “spare” granddaughters. She called Edward.
“Send Emily and Florence over. They should help clean up. What kind of children don’t care for their grandmother?”
“Remember why they don’t visit,” Edward replied calmly. “You’ve got your favourites—ask them.”
Furious, Margaret rang Julia.
“You owe me this! I’m their grandmother!”
“You stopped acting like one long ago. You’ve got Elizabeth and the ‘right’ grandchildren. Depend on them.”
Sophie refused: “Too much homework, Gran.” Jack scoffed: “I’m not a cleaner.”
Margaret sat alone in silence. Only then did she realize love shouldn’t be divided. But it was too late.
