Secrets That Shattered a Family
Hannah had prepared sandwiches and brewed tea in her flat on the outskirts of Manchester, waiting for her mother-in-law. The doorbell rang.
“Thanks for coming!” she exclaimed, forcing a smile as she opened the door to Valerie.
“What’s all the urgency about? What did you need to say?” Valerie asked, eyeing her suspiciously.
“Come to the kitchen—I’ve got a surprise for you!” Hannah said, masking her nerves with a bright tone.
Valerie followed, perching on a stool. “Well? What’s this surprise?”
“Here, have a look.” Hannah slid a sheet of paper across the table.
Valerie skimmed the lines and gasped, her face draining of colour.
Hannah sat in the bedroom, hands pressed to her ears, but Valerie’s shrill voice still clawed through the walls. It was like listening to nails on a chalkboard—each word scraping away at her until only emptiness and ache remained.
She’d long accepted that she and Valerie would never see eye to eye. But why hadn’t her husband, Oliver, defended her? Couldn’t he see how his mother belittled her? She knew he loved her, but his silence was breaking her heart. What had happened to their marriage?
Valerie had a gift for needling. Her favourite pastime was berating Hannah for not producing grandchildren. Three years since the wedding, and still no baby—clearly Hannah’s fault, obviously. Not her precious son!
From day one, Valerie had despised her daughter-in-law. Even before meeting her, she’d decided Oliver deserved better. When he first brought Hannah home—his father long gone—it was written all over her face: pursed lips, frosty tone, not a hint of warmth.
But Hannah had been too smitten to care. Everyone knows you don’t marry the mother-in-law. Besides, she and Oliver had their own cosy flat in the city centre. The wedding had been modest but joyful—both in their thirties, certain of their choice. Handsome, successful, shared interests. Life was perfect.
They didn’t delay trying for children—Hannah wasn’t getting younger. But months passed, then years, with no pregnancy. To them, it wasn’t a crisis—they were happy, just the two of them. Valerie, however, had no patience.
“Are you tracking your cycle?” she’d snap with every visit. “You need to be more careful!”
Hannah cringed at the intrusiveness. Raised in a polite home, she balked at the rudeness. She wanted to put Valerie in her place, but Oliver adored his mother. Upsetting her meant hurting him, so Hannah bit her tongue.
“Don’t pull that face! I’m thinking of your future!” Valerie huffed. “Oh, I nearly forgot—I booked you with a specialist. And here,” she thrust a bag of herbs at Hannah, “brew this sage tea. It’ll help!”
So Hannah drank the tea, saw doctors, endured tests. The verdict? “Perfectly healthy.” Just one of those things. But Valerie, staunchly pragmatic, scoffed at fate. She wanted grandchildren—all her friends had them, and envy gnawed at her.
“We’re seeing a clairvoyant on Saturday. I’ve already paid the deposit,” she announced one day.
“Mum, really?” Oliver laughed. “You think she’ll magic us a baby?”
“Don’t mock! We must try everything!”
They went. The clairvoyant handed them a vial: “Three drops at dawn.” No miracle followed. Valerie finally snapped.
“A woman’s duty is to bear children! And you can’t!” she spat.
Hannah sighed to her own gran later. “She’s unbearable.”
“What’s she on about now?” the old woman asked.
“Says I can’t give her grandchildren.”
“Can you?”
“Of course!”
“And what about Oliver?”
Hannah froze. Suddenly it hit her—Oliver had never been tested. How had she missed it? Valerie’s tirades had blinded her.
“Our family has no history of infertility!” Valerie always insisted.
That evening, Hannah nudged Oliver in bed. “Love, maybe you should get checked too.”
“Why? I’m fine!”
“So am I! But your mum blames me. If you do the tests and it’s all clear, she’ll back off. Just don’t tell her—let’s surprise her.”
Grudgingly, he agreed. Couldn’t hurt to prove his mother wrong.
The results stunned everyone. Sperm count? Abysmal. Motility? Barely there. A childhood illness had left complications—ones Oliver never knew about.
Hannah walked into the kitchen where Oliver was pouring tea and silently placed the test before Valerie.
“Here’s your surprise. Enjoy,” she said coldly. “Don’t pretend you didn’t know.”
Valerie’s flustered expression said it all—she’d known. And for years, she’d let Hannah take the blame. Why? Spite? Boredom? Oliver just stood there, gripping the paper, lost.
“So… we can’t have kids?” he mumbled.
“You can’t. I could, whenever I choose,” Hannah said sharply. “Your mother’s right—you deserve someone else. I’m leaving. Both of you.”
Victory brought no joy, only bitterness and regret for wasted years. Love? It had withered like an unwatered plant. Hannah wasn’t barren—her marriage was.
As she packed, Valerie and Oliver stood shell-shocked in the kitchen. Their “harmless” secret had detonated everything. Hannah walked out, leaving a broken home behind.
Trudging through Manchester’s slushy streets, she made a vow: if she ever had a son, she’d never be a mother-in-law like Valerie.
