**Grandmother’s Unequal Love**
The kitchen smelled of meat pies when the front door swung open—Julia’s daughters were back from their visit to Grandma’s. They should’ve been happy, but instead, their faces were clouded with hurt.
“Mum, Grandma doesn’t love us!” Emily and Sophie said in unison.
Julia stepped into the hallway, wiping her hands on a tea towel.
“Why do you think that?”
The girls exchanged glances before one of them spoke carefully. Grandma let David and Charlotte—their aunt’s children—run wild, eat sweets, and jump about. But for them? No noise, no treats, no fun. She even walked the others to the bus stop, yet simply shut the door behind Emily and Sophie.
Julia froze. She knew her mother-in-law, Margaret, wasn’t the warmest woman, but she hadn’t realised it had gone this far.
Their relationship had always been neutral—distant, but not hostile. Everything changed when her husband’s sister, Victoria, had children. Margaret doted on them endlessly, boasting about how clever and wonderful they were, just like their mother.
When Julia and her husband, Edward, had twins, Margaret just shrugged.
“Two at once? You’re pushing your luck. I couldn’t handle both.”
“No one asked you to,” Edward snapped.
“Victoria could’ve used the help—hers are close in age, after all.”
“Are ours not your grandchildren too?” Julia blurted out.
“A brother’s duty is to help his sister,” Margaret replied icily.
That’s when Julia understood—support wasn’t coming. At least her own mother was there, travelling across London to help however she could.
Margaret, meanwhile, never missed a chance to praise David and Charlotte, always adding, “Now *these* are my daughter’s grandchildren.”
As for Edward’s girls? If anyone asked, she’d wave a hand dismissively. “Oh, they’re managing.”
Even friends noticed the favouritism. Once, in a fit of bitterness, Margaret muttered, “Who even knows if they’re really my granddaughters, even if they carry my son’s name.” Word got back to Edward, who stormed over demanding an explanation. She backpedalled, but the damage was done.
Every visit left Julia and Edward heavy-hearted—constant complaints that the girls were too loud, ate too many sweets, or stressed Margaret out. All while comparing them to the “perfect” cousins.
When David and Charlotte left, Margaret would see them off personally, gifts in hand. But she sent Emily and Sophie—just six years old—through an empty lot where stray dogs roamed. Alone. Without warning. That was the last straw.
Edward called his mother.
“Mum, are you unwell?”
“What do you mean?”
“Then why send the girls through that wasteland alone? It’s dangerous!”
“Children need to learn independence.”
“They’re *six*. You’d never let Victoria’s kids go alone!”
“How *dare* you accuse me? This is all your wife’s doing—”
And she hung up.
Years passed. The girls grew—now in secondary school. Margaret fell ill and suddenly remembered her “spare” granddaughters. She called Edward.
“Have Emily and Sophie come over to tidy up. What sort of children don’t help their grandmother?”
“Think harder about why they don’t visit,” Edward replied calmly. “You’ve got your favourites—ask *them*.”
Furious, Margaret called Julia.
“You have to! I’m their grandmother!”
“You stopped acting like one. You’ve got your daughter and the *right* grandchildren. Depend on them.”
Charlotte refused—“Too much homework.” David scoffed—“I’m not a maid.” Margaret was left alone in silence. Only then did she realise—love shouldn’t be divided. But it was too late.
*—A lesson in fairness, learned too late. Favouritism leaves its scars.*
