The Second Doesn’t Mean Less
“Mum, I don’t want to go to Grandma’s!” screeched seven-year-old Emily, squirming out of her mother’s grip. “She doesn’t love me! She only loves Aunt Lily!”
“Don’t be silly, Emily,” sighed Helen, fastening her daughter’s coat. “Grandma loves all her grandchildren the same.”
“That’s not true!” The little girl stomped her foot. “Yesterday she gave Tommy an ice cream, but not me!”
“Maybe your throat was sore?” Helen tried to reason.
“No! She just doesn’t love me because I’m not from her son!”
Helen froze, the hairbrush still in her hand. How did a seven-year-old know such things? Who had told her?
“Emily, who said that to you?”
“No one,” the girl muttered, turning to the window. “I figured it out myself. Tommy 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 sank onto the sofa beside her daughter.
“Listen carefully, sweetheart. Dad William is your real father. He’s loved you since you were two. And Grandma Margaret loves you too.”
“Then why does she always praise Tommy but scolds me?” Tears glistened in Emily’s eyes.
Helen didn’t know how to answer. Because Emily was right. Her mother-in-law *did* treat her differently from her firstborn’s grandson.
“Darling, we’re running late,” William called from the doorway. “Emily, hurry up—Grandma’s waiting.”
“I don’t want to see Grandma!” Emily wailed. “She doesn’t love me!”
William shot his wife a puzzled look. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ll explain later,” Helen murmured. “Emily, get dressed. We’re all going together.”
They walked through the park in silence. Emily trailed behind, sniffling. William carried groceries for his mother, while Helen dreaded the visit.
Margaret had always been difficult. When William brought Helen home—a widow with a two-year-old—his mother had been frosty. “Why take on another man’s child?” she’d scoffed. “Find a proper girl, have your own.” But William was stubborn. He loved Helen and Emily as his own, married them, and gave the girl his name.
Margaret tolerated it but never warmed to Emily—especially after her elder son, Robert, gave her a “real” grandson: Tommy.
“Mum, you home?” William knocked.
“Come in, come in!” Margaret embraced her son. “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 whispered.
“Come in, then!” Margaret ushered them to the parlour. “How are things? William, you’ve lost weight!”
“Mum, I’m fine,” he laughed. “Helen feeds me well.”
“Good. And Emily, how’s school?”
“It’s alright,” Emily mumbled.
“Emily, answer properly,” Helen chided.
“Oh, let her be,” Margaret waved a hand. “Children will be children. Tommy failed maths yesterday! Robert tutored him all evening.”
“But Emily tops her class in maths,” William said proudly.
“Well done,” Margaret said drily. “Robert’s bringing Tommy today. He misses his uncle.”
Helen saw Emily’s face fall. The girl knew Grandma favoured one grandchild over the other.
“Mum, remember last month when Emily recited that poem for you?” William prompted.
“Yes, lovely poem.”
“Would you like another one?” Emily asked shyly.
“Go on, then.”
The girl stood straight and recited a spring poem, her voice clear and eager. Helen’s throat tightened—Emily *wanted* to be loved.
“Very nice,” Margaret said when she finished. “Now wash your hands; lunch is ready.”
As Emily obeyed, Helen stayed to help set the table.
“Margaret, may I speak plainly?”
“About?”
“Emily. She knows you treat her differently.”
A plate clattered onto the table. “Nonsense.”
“Children *feel* things. She cried today, not wanting to come.”
“What have I done?” Margaret turned sharply. “I feed her, invite her over!”
“But you see the difference. When Tommy visits, you hug him, spoil him. Emily feels like an outsider.”
“Because she *is*!” Margaret snapped. “She’s not *mine*! She’s got her own grandmother!”
“Margaret, Emily *is* your granddaughter. William adopted her five years ago.”
“Paperwork!” Margaret scoffed. “Blood’s blood. Tommy’s my flesh and blood. That one’s just… a charity case.”
Helen’s vision blurred.
“So you’ll never love my child?”
“Why should I? Have your *own*, then we’ll talk.”
Emily burst in, trembling. “Mum, why does Grandma call me a charity case? I’m her *granddaughter*!”
Margaret flushed. Helen knelt to her daughter.
“Go to Dad, sweetheart.”
“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 *Dad’s* daughter!”
Sobbing, Emily fled. Helen glared at Margaret and followed.
In the parlour, Emily wept into William’s shoulder. He paled as Helen explained.
“Mum, is this true?”
Margaret wrung her hands. “William, I didn’t mean—”
“Grandma said I don’t belong!” Emily cried.
William stood slowly.
“How *could* you?”
“Son, I just—”
“What? Hurt a seven-year-old?”
“Tommy’s my *real* grandson—”
“And Emily’s *my* daughter,” William said coldly. “Mine. For five years. She’s family.”
“But not by blood—”
“Blood doesn’t matter!” William shouted. “She’s *ours*!”
Helen bundled Emily up. “We’re leaving.”
“Good.” William turned to his mother. “When you see *both* girls as your granddaughters, you’re welcome. Until then—stay away.”
Margaret stood speechless as they left.
Outside, Emily clung to her father’s hand.
“Daddy… do you really love me?”
“With all my heart, poppet.”
“Why doesn’t Grandma?”
William crouched to her level.
“Sometimes grown-ups forget love isn’t about blood. I *chose* you, Emily. That makes me your dad.”
“What if we have another baby? Will you love them more?”
“No,” he chuckled. “My heart’s big enough.”
Helen’s eyes stung with gratitude. Few men would defend another’s child so fiercely.
At home, Emily drew quietly at her desk.
“What’s that, love?”
“A card for Grandma. Maybe she’ll love me if I give it.”
The sketch showed four figures—father, mother, daughter, grandmother—holding hands, smiling.
“It’s beautiful,” Helen said softly. “Do you think it’ll help?”
Emily shrugged. “Worth trying.”
The next day, William visited Margaret on errands. Emily insisted on joining, clutching her card.
They returned solemnly.
“She said ‘thank you’,” William muttered. “Didn’t even look at it.”
Helen hugged Emily.
“Some people don’t know how to love, sweetheart. That’s *their* loss.”
That evening, Robert called.
“Helen, Mum’s beside herself. She wants to apologise.”
Helen hesitated. “After what she said—”
“She’s ashamed. Let her make amends.”
Margaret arrived the next day, gifts in hand.
“Emily, forgive me,” she whispered. “You *are* my granddaughter.”
Emily studied her. “As much as Tommy?”
Margaret swallowed. “Yes.”
The girl handed her the drawing. “Then I love you too, Grandma.”
As they embraced, Margaret wept.
“I almost lost you to my foolish pride.”
From then on, Margaret changed. She doted on Emily equally, praised her grades, even bragged—”My cleverest granddaughter!”
A month later, Emily whispered to Helen:
“Grandma loves me now. *Really* loves me.”
Helen kissed her forehead.
“And do you know what?” Emily beamed. “Being second doesn’t mean less. There’s enough love for everyone—if they’re brave enough to give it.”
