**Diary Entry**
Today was one of those days I’ll never forget. I was on my way back from work when my phone rang—Mum’s name flashed on the screen. Her voice was so cheerful it made me suspicious.
“Oliver, where are you?” she asked, practically bubbling.
“Just leaving the office. What’s going on?”
“Come over. We’re waiting for you,” she teased.
“We? Who’s ‘we’?” I asked, but she just laughed and hung up.
Twenty minutes later, I opened the door to her flat. And there she was, sitting on the sofa… with my daughter, Emily, on her lap.
Later that evening, I finally brought it up to my wife. “Charlotte, I ran into Mum today,” I started carefully.
“And?” she said without turning around.
“She asked if she could come to Emily’s birthday…”
“No.” The word was sharp. Final.
“Listen, maybe it’s time to let it go? It’s been two years—”
“For you, it’s been two years. For me, it’s every single day, and I remember all of it. What she did—I can’t forget.”
“She misses our daughter. She’s sorry. Life’s too short. Let her come.”
“No!” Charlotte’s eyes flashed. “I don’t want to see her!”
“Well, I do! She’s my mother! And if we’re being honest, you were both wrong. Why’s she the only one punished?”
“So now it’s my fault? Fine. Let her come. Emily and I will leave. Celebrate together!”
“Don’t you dare, Charlotte. I swear—”
“Watch me,” she spat before storming out.
Once, people envied Charlotte. A handsome, successful husband. A lovely house right after the wedding. And her mother-in-law, Margaret—everyone thought she was an angel. Charlotte used to boast at work:
“Can you believe it? Margaret insisted Oliver buy me a proper winter coat. Said, ‘You’ll catch your death waiting at the bus stop!’”
“She brings us groceries every week! Just checks the fridge and orders whatever we need.”
“For my birthday—she got me the latest iPhone! Said, ‘About time you upgraded.’ She’s a dream, honestly.”
When Charlotte got pregnant, Margaret became insufferable—booking private appointments, delivering organic fruit, vitamins, little knitted jumpers.
But the moment Emily was born, everything changed.
Margaret came over every single day. Bathed her, fed her, micromanaged.
“You’re not producing enough milk because you’re not trying!”
“I *am* trying!” Charlotte nearly cried.
“Oh, please. You’re half asleep all the time!”
I asked Mum to visit less. She sulked. Then came the endless calls:
“How’s Emily? What did she eat? Did she sleep well?”
“Don’t forget to air the room—but don’t let her catch a chill!”
“How’s the purée? No lumps, I hope?”
Charlotte grew to despise her. She felt invisible—just the hired help for Margaret’s precious grandchild.
One day, after another lecture on weaning, Charlotte snapped.
“Just leave me alone!”
“And why should I?” Mum shot back. “I don’t care about you. Emily’s all that matters. And I *will* make sure you don’t ruin her!”
An hour later, Charlotte took Emily for a walk. Passing Boots, she remembered needing antiseptic. She left the pram by the door—just for a second. When she turned back… it was gone.
Panic. Tears. Police. I rushed over, barely breathing.
Then—Mum called.
“Oliver, where are you?”
“Mum? What—”
“I found Emily. Standing all alone! How could you trust that useless girl with her?!”
“I’m coming,” I growled.
“Charlotte, stop crying. It’s fine. Emily’s with Mum.”
“With *your* mother?!” She went white. “She… she did this?”
“Yes.”
The fight that followed was vicious. Mum tried to justify herself:
“I was teaching her a lesson! So she’d learn how *not* to handle a child!”
“A *lesson*?!” I was livid. “We could’ve gone to the police! Do you even realise what you’ve done?!”
“I don’t care! I only wanted what’s best!”
“And yet, as usual, you made it worse.”
Charlotte stood frozen. “I won’t forgive this. Never call us. Never come near us. Emily doesn’t have a grandmother.”
And that was that. Mum stays away. Charlotte blocked her number. If we see her in town, we turn the other way.
Emily turns three soon. To her, Margaret might as well be a stranger.
