**”She’s No One to Me!”** my mother-in-law declared at my sons birthday, but she never expected my husbands reaction.
I woke at five, when the first grey light of dawn barely touched the sky. Beside me, James snored softly, arm thrown over his headhis usual pose of a man who never got enough rest. I tiptoed to the kitchen, flicked on the light, and pulled flour, butter, and fresh berries from the fridge. Today was Olivers fifth birthday, and I wanted it to be perfect.
*”Bit early, isnt it?”* James stood in the doorway, squinting against the light, his hair tousled.
*”Go back to sleep,”* I smiled, kneading butter into the dough. *”If I dont start now, Ill never finish before the guests arrive.”*
He nodded but didnt leave. Instead, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his cheek against my neck.
*”Sometimes I think I dont deserve you,”* he murmured.
I scoffed, setting the bowl aside. *”Is this about the promotion? So now youre the big boss, and Im still just a primary school teacher.”*
*”Emma, stop,”* he turned me to face him. *”Today, we tell everyone. Itll be the best surprise.”*
I swallowed my nerves. Six years married, and his touch still made my breath hitch. People had doubted us oncethought I wasnt good enough for him.
By eleven, the cake stood tall, the fairy lights were up, and gifts were hidden in the cupboard. The doorbell rang. I smoothed a loose strand of hair, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
*”Margaret! Youre early!”*
My mother-in-law stood there, clutching an oversized gift box. Her salon-styled hair and immaculate makeup stood in sharp contrast to my messy bun and dressing gown.
*”Darling,”* she air-kissed my cheek, *”I came early to help. You know how important it is to get these things right.”*
*”Help”* meant scrutinising every choice Id made.
*”Whats this?”* She eyed the cake, fresh from the fridge. *”You baked it yourself? Why not order from Harrods?”*
*”Oliver loves when I bake for him,”* I said evenly, setting out plates.
*”Hes five, what does he know?”* She wrinkled her nose. *”And the guests? What will they think? No offence, darling, but a proper patisseriethats class. This is just homemade.”*
I bit my tongue. Six years of remarks like this. Six years of being the *”not quite good enough”* daughter-in-law.
*”Wheres James?”*
*”At the park with Oliver. Theyll be back soon.”*
She opened a cupboard, pulled out a mug, and sighed. *”Still using these cheap things? I gave you that Wedgwood set last Christmas.”*
That set cost half my monthly salary. I saved it for special occasionstoday, with children running around, wasnt one.
Every gathering was the same. Every meeting, a test.
I remembered our weddingsmall, simple. Margaret had leaned into Jamess ear and whispered, *”You couldve done better.”* She thought I hadnt heard.
Six years later, had I grown used to it? No. But Id learned to swallow the stingfor James. For Oliver. For peace.
The front door burst open. *”Mum, look!”* Oliver raced in, waving a kite, James behind him with bags.
*”Granny!”* Oliver launched himself at Margaret. She beamed, lifting him up.
*”My darling! Look how big youve grown!”* She nodded at the gift. *”Open it!”*
*”After cake, love,”* I said.
*”But Mummy”*
*”Emma, must you be so strict?”* Margaret cut in. *”James always opened gifts straight away.”*
James cleared his throat. *”Lets stick to tradition, Mum. Oliver, be patient.”*
The doorbell rang again. Soon, the flat buzzed with guests: my parents with a homemade pie, friends, Jamess colleagues. My mum slipped into the kitchen to help; Dad settled with the paper. Quiet, unassumingnothing like Margaret, who filled every room with her presence.
*”Susan, hows your blood pressure?”* Margaret asked my mother loudly. *”At your age, its a concern.”*
Mum smiled politely. She was fifty-fivethree years younger than Margaret, who never let her forget it.
*”Still at the factory, are you?”* Margaret pressed. *”Must be exhausting.”*
My parents had worked there their whole livesordinary engineers. Not like her, the former department head with *”connections.”*
The party went smoothlykids laughing, adults chatting. I flitted between rooms, making sure everyone had enough. James helped but mostly talked shophis promotion was a big deal, though wed save the announcement for later.
*”Emma, change Olivers clothes,”* Margaret grabbed my arm. *”I saw a lovely suit in John Lewis. If youd shopped with me, hed look the part.”*
I glanced at Oliverjeans, a shirt, comfortable and happy.
*”Hes fine, Margaret.”*
*”Fine isnt presentable,”* she snapped. *”In my day”*
*”Mum, enough,”* James cut in. *”He looks great.”*
She pursed her lips and stalked off. I mouthed *thank you* to James, but he was already deep in conversation.
*”Mum, why is Granny always cross?”* Oliver whispered, tugging my sleeve.
Behind me, Margaret cackled about *”finding decent help these days.”*
*”Shes not cross, love,”* I crouched to his level. *”She just wants things right.”*
*”Whats right?”*
Good question.
*”Cake time!”* I announced, checking the clock. *”Oliver, make a wish!”*
Everyone gathered. James hit play on his phone. I carried out the caketwo tiers, chocolate ganache, raspberry filling, Olivers favourite.
*”Wow!”* His eyes lit up.
*”Hmm. Homely,”* Margaret muttered, loud enough for the neighbours. *”A proper bakery wouldve added fondant figures, sparkles…”*
I ignored her. Today wasnt about her.
*”Make a wish, darling.”*
Five candles flickered. The room erupted into *”Happy Birthday.”* Oliver blew them out in one go. Cheers followed.
*”Nowpresents!”* James announced.
Oliver tore into gifts: Lego from Grandma and Grandpa, books from friends, a toy garage from us. ThenMargarets grand offering.
*”A tablet!”* Oliver gasped, pulling out the shiny box. *”A real one! Thanks, Granny!”*
Margaret preened. *”Only the best for my grandson,”* she said, eyeing my parents. *”Some cant afford such things, but modern children need technology.”*
Mum looked down. My hands shook as I sliced the cake.
*”Whod like to toast?”* James raised his glass.
*”I will,”* Margaret stood, smoothing her dress. *”Today, we celebrate five years of Oliver. Im so proud of the boy hes become.”*
She paused, savouring the attention.
*”I raised James alone. Look at him nowsuccessful, respected. All because of my sacrifices.”*
Her voice waverednot with tears, but drama.
*”But some things worry me. The parenting choices. The cutting corners. Ive always said: it matters who stands beside you. Who raises your child.”*
The room froze.
She looked straight at me. *”Six years Ive held my tongue. Six years watching someone take advantage of my sons kindness.”*
Guests glanced away, suddenly engrossed in cake.
*”Margaret, not today,”* I whispered.
*”Today!”* she snapped. *”My grandsons day! And Ill say itto me, Emma, youre NO ONE! Just some woman who stumbled into our family. And I wont let you ruin my son and grandson!”*
Silence. My vision blurred. Oliver clutched my hand, lips trembling.
*”What the hell did you just say?”* James stood, voice like steel.
I barely recognised himshoulders squared, jaw set. The man who always placated, now ready to fight.
*”What did you say about my wife? About Olivers mother?”*
Oliver pressed into me. A colleague muttered about a call and fled. My parents sat frozen.
*”James, dont”* I tried.
*”Dont what? Let her humiliate you?
