Not the Mum We Hoped For – “Anna, have you left the wet towel on the bathroom hook again?” Her mother-in-law’s voice called out from the hallway just as Anna stepped in from work. Val, arms crossed, fixed her with a pointed stare. – “It’s hanging there to dry,” Anna replied, kicking off her shoes. “That’s what the hook is for.” – “In proper homes, towels go on the heated rack. But what would you know about that?” Anna swept past her without comment. Twenty-eight years old, two university degrees, a managerial position—and here she was, getting daily lectures about towels. Val watched Anna go, disapproval etched into her face. This silent treatment, the way Anne ignored her, walked around as if she owned the house. Fifty-five years on this earth taught Val to size people up—and she’d never liked this one. Cold. Dismissive. Max had needed a warm, homely woman—not this living statue. For the next few days, Val watched closely. Noted. Remembered… – “Arty, tidy up your toys before dinner.” – “Don’t want to.” – “I didn’t ask what you wanted. Tidy up.” Six-year-old Arty pouted but scuffled away to gather up scattered soldiers. Anna didn’t even look his way, chopping vegetables, stony-faced. Val watched from the lounge. There it was: that chill she’d noticed. No smiles, no kind words. Just orders. Poor boy. – “Gran?” Arty climbed onto the sofa while Anna sorted laundry. “Why’s mum always so cross?” Val stroked his hair. The moment was perfect. – “You know, pet… some people just aren’t good at showing they care. It is sad—but not your fault.” – “Are you good at it?” – “Of course, angel. Granny will always love you. Granny isn’t cross.” Every time they were alone, Val added new strokes to the picture. Softly. Gradually. – “Mum wouldn’t let me watch cartoons today,” Arty complained the next week. – “Poor thing. Mum is strict, isn’t she? Sometimes even I think she’s too strict. But don’t you worry. Come to me—Granny always understands.” The boy nodded, soaking up every word. Granny—kind. Granny—understands. But mum… – “You know,” Val would drop her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “some mums just can’t be gentle. It’s not your fault, Arty. You’re a wonderful boy. It’s just that your mum… well, she’s not a very good one.” Arty hugged his grandmother. Something cold and strange crept into his chest when he thought of his mum. A month later, Anna noticed her son had changed. – “Arty, sweetheart, come here, let me hug you.” He pulled away. – “Don’t want to.” – “Why?” – “Just don’t.” He ran to Gran. Anna was left standing in the nursery with empty arms. Something had broken, and she couldn’t work out when or why. Val watched from the hall, lips curling in satisfaction. – “Arty,” Anna tried again that evening,, “are you cross with me?” – “No.” – “Then why won’t you play with me?” The look he gave her was distant, unfamiliar. – “I want to be with Gran.” Anna let him go, a dull ache spreading in her chest. – “Max, I don’t recognise Arty anymore,” she told her husband late that night. “He avoids me. It never used to be like this.” – “Come on, love. Kids change all the time. Today it’s one thing, tomorrow another.” – “No, it’s not that. The way he looks at me—it’s like I’ve done something awful.” – “You’re exaggerating. Mum looks after him while we’re at work. He’s just attached.” Anna wanted to argue, but stopped. Max was already lost in his phone. Meanwhile Val, tucking her grandson up when his parents worked late, kept up the narrative: – “Your mum loves you—in her own, cold, strict way. Not all mums can be kind. But Granny will never hurt you. Not like mum.” Arty fell asleep thinking about her words. Each morning, he eyed his mother a little more warily. Now he openly showed his preference. – “Arty, shall we go for a walk?” Anna reached out her hand. – “I want to go with Gran.” – “Arty…” – “With Gran!” Val took his hand with gusto. – “Don’t pester him. See? He doesn’t want you. Come, Arty, let’s get you an ice cream.” They left. Anna watched them go, something heavy pressing against her heart. Her own son turning away from her. Running to Gran. And she didn’t know how or why. That evening, Max found Anna in the kitchen clutching a cold mug of tea, staring at the wall. – “I’ll talk to him, I promise.” She nodded, too tired for words. Max sat beside his son in the nursery. – “Arty, tell dad—why don’t you want to be with mum?” The boy looked down. – “Just because.” – “That’s not an answer. Did mum upset you?” – “No…” – “Then what is it?” Silence. Six-year-olds can’t explain what they barely understand. Gran said mum was mean, cold. So it must be true. Gran doesn’t lie. Max left, no closer to an answer. Val, meanwhile, planned her next move. Anna was really drooping now—any day, she’d pack up and leave. Max deserved better. A real wife, not this ice queen. – “Arty,” Val caught him in the hallway while Anna showered the next day, “you know Granny loves you best in the world, don’t you?” – “I know.” – “And mum… well, mum’s not great, is she? Never hugs, never cuddles, always cross… Poor boy.” She didn’t hear footsteps behind her. – “Mum.” Val turned. Max stood in the doorway, white-faced. – “Arty, go to your room,” he said quietly, and the boy scuttled away. – “Max, I was just—” – “I heard everything.” Silence. – “Did you deliberately turn him against Anna? All this time?” – “I’m looking out for my grandson! She’s like a warden with him!” – “Are you even listening to yourself?” Val backed away. Her son’s face was unreadable, but the disgust was plain. – “Max, please—” – “No. You listen.” He stepped closer. “You sabotaged my son’s relationship with his own mother. My wife. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” – “I was trying to help!” – “Help? Arty is terrified of his own mother! Anna’s beside herself! That’s helping?” Val lifted her chin. – “She’s just all wrong for you, Max. Cold. Earns more than you. Uncaring…” – “Enough!” His shout snapped them both to attention. Max breathed hard. – “Pack your things. Tonight.” – “You’re throwing me out?” – “I’m protecting my family. From you.” Val started to protest—but the look in Max’s eyes said it was final. No more second chances. Within an hour, she was gone. No goodbyes. Max found Anna in their bedroom. – “I know now why Arty changed.” She looked up, red-eyed. – “It was my mum. She told him you were mean. That you didn’t love him properly. She’s been turning him against you all this time.” Anna froze. Then exhaled slowly. – “I thought I was losing my mind. Thought I was just a bad mum.” Max sat beside her and pulled her in. – “You’re a wonderful mum. I don’t know what got into mine. But she’ll never come near Arty again.” The next weeks were hard. Arty asked for his gran, confused by her absence. His parents talked with him—softly, patiently. – “Sweetheart,” Anna would say, stroking his hair, “what Granny said about me wasn’t true. I love you. More than anything.” He looked at her warily. – “But you’re mean.” – “Not mean—just strict. Because I want you to become a good person. Sometimes, being firm is love too, you know?” He thought long and hard. – “Can you hug me?” Anna hugged him so tightly he burst into giggles… Day by day, the old Arty returned. The one who ran to show his mum a drawing. The one who fell asleep to her lullabies. Max watched them playing in the sitting room, thinking of his mother. She called a few times. He didn’t answer. Val was alone now. No grandson. No son. She’d only wanted to protect Max from the wrong woman—and ended up losing both. Anna laid her head on Max’s shoulder. – “Thank you for fixing it all.” – “Sorry I didn’t see it sooner.” Arty dashed over and clambered onto his dad’s knee. – “Mum! Dad! Can we go to the zoo tomorrow?” It turned out, life was getting back on track…

Mums really nothing to write home about

Emily, have you left your wet towel hanging on the hook in the bathroom again?

My mother-in-laws voice carried down the hallway before Id even set foot through the door after work. Margaret stood there, arms folded, eyeing me with a look that could curdle milk.

Its drying, I kicked off my shoes, trying not to sigh. Thats what the hooks there for.
In proper homes, towels go on the towel rail. Not that youd know, I suppose.

I didnt bother replying. Here I was: twenty-eight years old, two degrees, manager at my firm, and somehow still getting told off for how I hang up the towels. Every single day.

Margarets eyes trailed after me, her disapproval almost palpable. It was the silence she couldn’t stand. The way I ignored her, acting as though I were queen of the house. She was fifty-five and prided herself on reading people well, and shed disliked me from the start. Cold. Stand-offish. William deserved a proper homey wife, not some ice sculpture.

She watched me for the next few days. Noted things. Remembered…

Oliver, pick up your toys before dinner, please.
Dont want to.
I wasnt really asking. Tidy up, please.

Oliver, all six years of him, sulked but began collecting up his toy soldiers. I kept my eyes on the carrots I was chopping.

Margaret observed from the sitting room. There it was. That chilliness she was convinced she always saw. No smile, no soft words, nothing but orders. Poor boy.

Granny, Oliver clambered up beside her on the sofa as I went to sort laundry in the bedroom why is Mummy always so cross?

Margaret stroked his hair, relishing the moment.

Some people, poppet, just arent good at showing love. Its rather sad, really.
Are you good at it?
Of course, sweetheart. Granny loves you very much. Grannys not cross.

He snuggled in closer. Margaret smiled.

Every time they were alone, she painted the picture fuller. Bit by bit.

Mummy wouldnt let me watch cartoons today, Oliver grumbled a week later.
Poor thing. She is strict, isnt she? Sometimes even Granny thinks shes a little too harsh. But dont you worry, you can always come to me. Ill always understand.

He nodded, soaking up every word. Granny is kind. Granny gets it. And Mummy…

You know, shed lower her voice to a secretive whisper, some mums just dont know how to be cuddly. Its not your fault, Ollie. Youre a lovely boy. Its just that your mums not very nice.

When he hugged her, something small and chilly settled in his chest whenever he thought of me.

A month passed before I spotted the difference.

Oliver, darling, come here for a cuddle.

He twisted away.

Dont want to.
Why not?
Just dont.

He dashed off to Margaret. I stood in his room, my arms open, feeling something crack in what was once normal.

Margaret saw it from the hallway, a smug little smile playing on her lips.

Sweetheart, I tried again that evening, kneeling by him have I upset you somehow?
No.
So why dont you want to play with me?

He shrugged, distant and quiet.

Want Granny.

I let him go. Inside me, confusion thudded like a bruise.

William, hes changed, I told my husband late that night while the house slept. He avoids me. He never used to.
Itll pass, Em. Kids are like that. Up one day, down the next.
This is different. He looks at me like Ive done something awful.
Youre reading too much into it. Mums with him while were out at work. Maybe hes just attached to her.

I started to reply but stopped. William was already absorbed in his mobile.

Your mummy does love you, Margaret told Oliver one of the nights we were late home. Just in her own way. Bit cold, a bit strict. Not all mums know how to be soft, do they?
Why not?
Oh, it happens, love. Granny, on the other hand, would never hurt you. Shell always look after you. Not like Mummy.

He fell asleep on her words. Each morning, he looked at me with a little more suspicion.

Now he made it clear who he preferred.

Ollie, fancy a walk with me? I held out my hand.
Want to go with Granny.
Oliver
With Granny!

Margaret snatched his hand.

Oh, do stop pestering him! Cant you see he doesnt want to? Come on, Oliver, Granny will get you an ice cream.

Off they went. I watched them go, a sharp weight pressing on my chest. My own son running from me, grown close to my mother-in-law and for the life of me, I couldnt figure out what Id done wrong.

That evening, William found me at the kitchen table, staring blankly at my cold tea.

Ill talk to him. I promise.

I just nodded. I had no words left.
William sat down beside Oliver in the playroom.

Oliver, tell Daddy. Why dont you want to be with Mummy?

He looked away.

Dunno.
Dunno isnt an answer. Has Mummy upset you?
No
Then what is it?

Oliver was silent. At six, you cant explain what you barely understand. Granny says Mummys mean and cold. So, it must be true. Granny wouldnt lie.

William came out none the wiser.

Meanwhile, Margaret plotted her next move. I was clearly beaten down anyone could see that. Just a while longer, and Id pack my bags. William deserved better. A real wife, not this block of ice.

Ollie, Margaret caught him in the hallway the next day while I was in the shower you know Granny loves you best in the world, dont you?
Yes.
And Mummy well, shes not much cop, is she? No cuddles, no nice words, always cross. My poor boy.

She didnt hear footsteps behind her.

Mum.

She spun round. William stood in the doorway, his face pale.

Oliver, go to your room, his voice was low, so calm Oliver scarpered straight away.
William, I just
I heard everything.

Silence spread out, cold and brittle.

You William swallowed. Youve been turning him against Emily? All this time?
I was looking out for my grandson! She treats him like a prison guard!
Have you lost your mind?

Margaret backed away. Her son had never looked at her that way. With disgust.

William, please
No, you listen. He stepped closer. You poisoned my boy against his own mother. Against my wife. Do you even understand what youve done?
I meant well!
Meant well? Oliver flinches from his mum! Emilys beside herself! Thats better, is it?

Margaret lifted her chin, indignation sharp in her eyes.

Shes not the one for you. Cold, mean, unfeeling
Enough!

His shout froze the air. Williams breathing was rough.

Pack your things. Tonight.
Youre throwing your mother out?
Im protecting my family. From you.

Margarets mouth worked, but nothing came out. She could see it in her sons eyes it was over. No appeals. No second chances.

She left within the hour. No farewells.

William found me in our room.

I know why Oliver changed.

I met his eyes, red and raw.

My mum shes been telling him youre awful, that you dont really love him. Shes been at it all along.

I froze. Took a long, shaky breath.

I thought I was going mad. I thought I was a terrible mother.

He slid onto the bed and pulled me close.

Youre a wonderful mum. I dont know what came over her, but shes not coming near Oliver again.

The next few weeks were hard. Oliver asked after Granny, not understanding where shed gone. We talked with him. Gentle, patient.

Love, I stroked his hair, the things Granny said about me theyre not true. I love you. More than anything.

He eyed me, hesitance in his gaze.

But youre cross.
Not cross, just firm. Because I want you to grow up kind and good. Being strict is another way of loving you, can you see?

He considered that for a long while.

Will you give me a cuddle?

I hugged him so tightly he giggled.

Gradually, day by day, he came back to me. The real Oliver the one who raced over to show me his drawings. The one who drifted off to sleep as I sang lullabies.
William watched us playing in the lounge and thought of his mum. Shed rung a few times. He hadnt picked up.

Margaret lived alone now, in her flat. No grandson. No son. All shed wanted was to save William from the wrong woman but shed lost them both, in the end.

I nestled my head on Williams shoulder.

Thank you for fixing everything.
Sorry I didnt see it sooner.

Oliver raced up, clambered onto his dads lap.

Mum, Dad, shall we go to the zoo tomorrow?

Turns out, life really was mending itself.