**The Second Doesn’t Mean Less**
“Mummy, I don’t want to go to Grandma’s!” shrieked seven-year-old Emily, wriggling out of her mother’s grasp. “She doesn’t love me! She only loves Auntie Charlotte!”
“Don’t be silly, Emily,” sighed Helen, buttoning her daughter’s coat. “Grandma loves all her grandchildren the same.”
“That’s not true!” The little girl stamped her foot. “Yesterday she bought Charlie an ice cream and didn’t get me one!”
“Perhaps your throat was sore?” Helen offered weakly.
“No! She just doesn’t love me because I’m not from her son!”
Helen froze, a hairbrush still in her hand. How could a child so young know such things? Who had put such ideas in her head?
“Emily, who told you that?”
“No one,” Emily muttered, turning to the window. “I figured it out. Charlie says his dad and my dad are brothers. But I know my dad isn’t my real dad. My real dad lives far away.”
Helen’s heart clenched. She sat beside her daughter on the sofa.
“Listen carefully, sweetheart. Dad William *is* your real dad. He’s loved you since you were two, and he chose to be your father. And Grandma Margaret loves you too.”
“Then why does she always praise Charlie and scold me?” Tears welled in the girl’s eyes.
Helen hesitated. Because Emily was right. Her mother-in-law *did* treat her differently from her elder son’s child.
“Love, we’re running late,” William called from the hallway. “Emily, hurry up—Grandma’s waiting.”
“I don’t *want* to see Grandma!” Emily wailed. “She hates me!”
William frowned at his wife. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll explain later,” Helen murmured. “Emily, put your coat on. We’ll all go together.”
The walk through the park was quiet. Emily dragged her feet behind them, sniffling, while William carried a bag of groceries for his mother. Helen fretted over how the visit would unfold.
Margaret had never been an easy woman. When William first brought Helen home with two-year-old Emily in tow, his mother had been cold.
“Why take on another man’s child?” she’d said. “Find a proper girl, have your own.”
But William was stubborn. He loved Helen—and Emily as his own. He married, adopted her, gave her his name. Margaret had relented but never warmed to the girl, especially after her elder son, Oliver, gave her a *real* grandson—Charlie.
“Mum home?” William asked, knocking on the door.
“Come in, come in,” came the reply.
Margaret embraced her son the moment he stepped inside. “William, I’ve missed you!” She kissed his cheek, then nodded at Helen. “Hello, dear.”
“Hello, Margaret.”
“And where’s my granddaughter?” Margaret finally noticed Emily hiding behind her father.
“Here,” the girl mumbled.
“Well, don’t dawdle,” Margaret ushered them into the parlour. “How are you all? William, you’ve lost weight!”
“No, Mum, I’m fine,” he laughed. “Helen feeds me well.”
“Good. And how’s school, Emily?”
“Alright,” Emily grumbled.
“Emily, answer properly,” Helen chided.
“Oh, never mind,” Margaret waved a hand. “Children will be children. Charlie failed his maths test yesterday—Oliver spent *hours* helping him.”
“Emily gets top marks in maths,” William said proudly.
“Very good,” Margaret said flatly. “Oliver’s bringing Charlie round later. He misses his uncle.”
Helen saw Emily’s face fall. The girl knew full well her grandmother preferred one grandchild over the other.
“Mum, remember when Emily recited that poem for you last month?” William prompted.
“Yes, it was lovely.”
“Would you like to hear another?” Emily ventured timidly.
“Go on, then.”
The girl stood in the middle of the room and recited a poem about spring, her voice clear and bright. Helen watched, aching at how hard her daughter was trying to earn affection.
“Well done,” Margaret said when she finished. “Now wash up—lunch is ready.”
Emily trudged off, while Helen stayed to help set the table.
“Margaret, may I speak with you?” Helen murmured.
“What about?”
“Emily. She knows you treat her differently.”
Margaret set a plate down sharply. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You do. Children notice. She cried today because she didn’t want to come.”
“What have I *done*?” Margaret turned on her. “I feed her, I invite her—”
“But it’s not the same. When Charlie visits, you fuss over him, give him gifts. With Emily, it’s like she’s a stranger.”
“Because she *is*!” Margaret snapped. “*I* didn’t raise her! She’s got her own grandmother—let *her* dote on her!”
Helen’s throat tightened. “Margaret, Emily isn’t to blame for how she came into this world. She’s been your granddaughter for five years. William adopted her—”
“Paperwork means nothing,” Margaret scoffed. “Blood’s blood. Charlie’s my flesh and blood. That girl’s just a… a charity case.”
Helen swallowed hard. “So you’ll never love her?”
“Why should I? Have your own children, *then* we’ll talk.”
Just then, Emily burst into the kitchen.
“Mummy, why does Grandma call me a charity case?” Her voice trembled. “I’m her *granddaughter*!”
Helen realised she’d heard everything. Margaret flushed.
“Emily, go to your father,” Helen said quickly.
“No! I want to know why Grandma doesn’t love me!”
“Emily, I *do* love you,” Margaret faltered.
“Liar! You called me a charity case! But I’m *Daddy’s* daughter!”
Sobbing, Emily ran out. Helen shot Margaret a furious look and followed.
In the parlour, Emily clung to William, who patted her back helplessly.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Your mother called her a charity case,” Helen said coldly.
William paled. “Mum, is this true?”
Margaret appeared in the doorway, shamefaced. “William, I didn’t mean— It just slipped out.”
“Grandma said I don’t belong,” Emily hiccuped. “That I have my *own* family.”
William stood slowly, jaw tight. “How *could* you?”
“Son, I only—”
“Only *what*? Hurt a seven-year-old?”
“William, you don’t understand. Charlie’s my *real* grandson—”
“And Emily?” William’s voice rose. “She’s *my* daughter! *My* flesh and blood! I’ve raised her for five years!”
“But she’s not your *blood*—”
“What does that *matter*?” he exploded. “She’s *family*! She carries our *name*!”
Emily wept into Helen’s shoulder.
“We’re leaving,” Helen said.
“Good,” William agreed. “Mum, when you realise you have *two* grandchildren—not one—you’re welcome back.”
“William, don’t be—”
“I *won’t* let anyone hurt my children. Not even you.”
They left without another word. Margaret stood frozen in the doorway.
Outside, Emily clutched her father’s hand.
“Daddy… do you really love me?”
“Of course, poppet. You’re my special girl.”
“Then why doesn’t Grandma?”
William sat with her on a bench.
“Sometimes, love, grown-ups are foolish. They think love’s only for blood relations. But real love doesn’t care who gave birth to whom.”
“But I’m not *really* yours?”
“You *are*,” he said firmly. “I *chose* you. I could’ve married someone else, had children—but I picked your mum, and that meant you. Because I *loved* you.”
Emily pondered this.
“If we have a baby… will you love them more?”
William chuckled. “No. I’ll love you all the same.”
Helen listened, her heart full. Not every man would defend another’s child so fiercely.
At home, Emily retreated to her room. Helen and William lingered in the kitchen.
“I’m sorry about Mum,” he muttered. “I never thought she’d be so cruel.”
“It’s alright,” Helen sighed. “To her, Emily *is* a stranger.”
“Not to *me*,” William said fiercely. “Not to *us*. We’re family—end of.”
Later, their neighbour Mrs. Higgins popped in.
“Why’s Emily so glum? Saw her coming home all tearful.”
Helen explained.That night, as Emily slept curled around her favourite teddy, the phone rang—it was Grandma Margaret, voice trembling, asking if she could come by tomorrow to read a story, just the two of them.
