**A Scandal in Greenfield: The Shadow of Family Feuds**
“Lucy, Mum just called—she and Dad are coming over to visit Emily,” said James as he walked into the room where his wife was putting their one-year-old daughter to bed.
Lucy’s face fell instantly. The news hit her like a ton of bricks. Things with Margaret had soured after Emily’s birth, despite their once-warm relationship. What drove Lucy up the wall was her mother-in-law’s habit of sneaking their baby whatever she pleased, completely ignoring Lucy’s requests.
Every visit ended in a row. Last time—three months ago—Margaret had fed Emily chocolate cake. Lucy had left her alone with the baby for *five minutes*, and that was all it took.
“What on earth are you doing?” Lucy had snapped, wrenching Emily from Margaret’s arms. “She’s only nine months old! Cake? Seriously?”
Furious at Margaret’s audacity, she whisked Emily off to wash the smeared icing from her face and hands. From the bathroom, she heard James storm into the kitchen, laying into his mother:
“Why can’t you just listen?”
“It’s nothing! You ate sweets as a baby, and you turned out fine,” Margaret defended.
“That’s not the point! Why do you never listen?” James barked. “Some mother you were!”
“I don’t see the problem,” Margaret muttered, arms crossed in a huff.
By the time Lucy returned with Emily, she’d had enough. “Just leave if you can’t behave properly!”
Margaret blinked at her, then at James, expecting backup. His silence spoke volumes.
“Honestly! Back in my village, we fed babies whatever, and we didn’t have your fancy internet nonsense. Making a mountain out of a molehill!” she scoffed, flouncing out.
Once she left, Lucy gave James a desperate look. The resentment burned.
“No more visits,” he answered before she even asked.
Since then, Margaret had stayed away—calling for photos, but never daring to visit. Until now—Emily’s first birthday.
“She’ll pull something again, won’t she?” Lucy grumbled.
“No, I warned her this time!” James insisted. “She won’t try anything.”
Lucy eyed him doubtfully. Stubborn Margaret? Listening? Not likely.
The in-laws arrived precisely ten minutes after James’s call—proof they *knew* they’d be let in. Margaret burst through the door, wailing:
“Where’s my darling? Where’s my sweet pea? We’ve got presents!” She shoved a bag at Lucy while James’s father, Robert, lugged in a cake and a bottle of champagne.
“We didn’t expect you to host—we brought our own!” Margaret announced pointedly, implying the cake and bubbly were for *them* too.
Lucy wasn’t fooled. Handing Emily to James, she started prepping the table while the in-laws camped out in the kitchen.
“Open the champagne—it cost forty quid,” Margaret whispered to Robert.
He popped the cork and poured her a glass.
“Give it here! I’ve got the baby,” she ordered.
Robert obeyed, and Margaret sipped, smacking her lips approvingly. “Lovely!” She glanced at Emily in her arms. “How about a little taste, sweetheart? While no one’s looking…”
“Wait till your daughter-in-law catches you—she’ll hit the roof!” Robert chuckled.
Hooter words, Lucy peeked in and froze. Margaret was tipping the glass toward Emily’s mouth.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Lucy shrieked, snatching the glass. “I *told* you—no feeding her anything! How *dare* you?!” She grabbed Emily, shaking with rage.
“Oh, come off it! We gave James sips as a baby—she’ll be fine!” Margaret laughed, sensing the storm. “Doesn’t hurt now and then—”
“OUT!” James roared, storming in. “That’s *it*! No more—first cake, now *champagne*?!”
“Don’t shout at your mother!” Robert barked. “It was just a drop—”
“Not a *drop*! Never again!” James bellowed. “You’re *forever banned* from this house! What’s next—whiskey?!”
“You two love blowing things out of proportion!” Margaret sneered. “Perfect match, you and Lucy! Come on, Robert.”
The front door slammed—they were gone. Lucy clutched Emily, still trembling.
“That’s it. Your parents aren’t setting foot here again,” she seethed. “What *possesses* her?”
“Fine by me,” James shrugged.
And just like that, contact with his parents stopped. Margaret and Robert nursed their wounded pride, while the family feud simmered—all because someone couldn’t resist slipping a baby a *drop* of champagne.
