The Sweetness of Anothers Coin
She pressed a hand to her chesther blood pressure was through the roof. The doctor said she needed expensive medication Youll help your mother, wont you?
***
The flat smelled of vanilla and freshly brewed coffeeLydia had just pulled an apple and cinnamon pie from the oven. The golden crust crackled under the knife, filling the kitchen with a warm, enveloping scent, as if autumn itself had slipped in through the window. Lydia was carefully arranging slices on fine china plates when the doorbell rangsharp, insistent, like the ticking of a metronome.
On the doorstep stood her mother-in-law, Margaret Whitmore. Elegant in a cashmere coat the colour of sea foam, her silver hair perfectly coiffed, her smile radiant. In her hands, she clutched a bag from an upscale patisseriethe kind where cakes cost as much as a days groceries.
“Lydia, darling, hello!” she trilled, arms outstretched for an embrace. “I was just passing by and thought Id pop in. It smells divine in here! Just like my childhood…”
Lydia forced a polite smile, feeling the familiar tension coil inside her like a spring ready to snap. She knew this visit was no accident.
Margaret had become a persistent presence in their lives three years agoafter her husband, Edwards father, left her. At first, it was all sweet: Sunday dinners, warm chats over tea, help with chores. But gradually, her visits grew more frequent, her requests more insistent.
“Edward, my love,” Margaret would sigh theatrically, pressing a hand to her heart, “my blood pressures been dreadful. The doctor says I need expensive medication Youll help your mother, wont you?”
Edward, kind and obliging, never refused. At first, the sums were smalltwenty, fifty pounds. Then they grew to a hundred, two hundred. Lydia tried to talk to him, but hed brush her off with a flicker of irritation.
“Lydia, enough. Shes illyou can see that. We cant abandon her. Shes my mother.”
Meanwhile, Margaret conveniently “forgot” to mention that the pills were already bought, the money spent elsewhereon “urgent vitamin treatments,” “a miracle clinic procedure,” or “an emergency loan for a friend.”
Then one day, Lydia stumbled upon a social media post. There was Margaret, smiling over a cappuccino and a raspberry tart, the caption reading: “Sweet Thursdaysthe best cure for the blues!”
Lydia frowned. Just the night before, Margaret had called Edward in tears.
“Darling, I feel so unwell My pills ran out, and the doctor says I need imported onesthey cost a fortune! I dont know where Ill get the money I might as well lie down and die…”
Lydia showed Edward the photo. He scowled, swiping the screen as if to erase it. Confusion flickered in his eyes, but the excuse came swiftly.
“Maybe its old? Or she just needed a little joy. Even ill people deserve happiness.”
“Edward,” Lydia said softly, a lump rising in her throat, “shes spending your money on cafés and cakes while we scrimp on a new washing machine. Dont you see the problem?”
That evening, Margaret called Edward, weeping so loudly Lydia heard it through the phone.
“Edward, Im so lonely Youve no idea how hard it is. And now Lydias turned against me Accusing me of wasting money When all I want is a little warmth!”
Edward turned to Lydia, lips pressed tight.
“Why must you always attack her?” he snapped, slamming his phone down like a gavel. “Shes barely holding on, and youre finishing her off!”
Lydia felt rage boil inside herwhite-hot, molten.
“Im not attacking her! I just want you to see the truth. Shes manipulating you!”
“Youre just stingy!” Edward shouted, the words hanging like poison in the air. “Begrudging my own mother a few pounds?”
Lydia walked silently to the bedroom, the door clicking shut behind her. Outside, rain drummed against the window, mirroring the storm inside her.
***
The next day, Margaret arrived to “make amends.” She brought chrysanthemumslavender-wrapped, extravagantapologising for “letting emotions get the better of her.” But behind the mask of remorse, her eyes were coldly calculating.
“Lydia, I understand you worry about finances,” she said softly, stirring her tea with hypnotic grace. “But you know how important it is to care for your elders. Im not asking for much Just a little help.”
Lydia gripped her cup until her fingers ached. The teas usual comfort now felt suffocating.
“Margaret, have you considered were tired too? That we have needsrenovations, holidays, a future?”
Margaret gasped, her bangles clinking like wind chimes.
“Oh, darling, youre so young You dont understand how quickly age creeps up. Yesterday, I nearly fainted! The doctor says I need vitamins, tests, massagesit all adds up.”
Lydia opened her mouth to reply, but Edward called.
“Mum, where are you?” His voice was tight with worry.
“Darling, Im at yours,” Margaret cooed, her tone softening like silk. “Lydia and I are having a lovely chat. Dont fret.”
Lydia stepped onto the balcony. The wind slapped her face, but it was better than the cloying scent of flowers and hollow apologies. She stared at the city belowlights, cars, strangers hurrying past. Everyone had their own truth, their own place. Hers was a labyrinth of lies.
***
A week later, Lydia took a stand. She gathered every receipt, screenshot, and photo shed saved and laid them out like battle plans.
“Edward, look,” she said, her voice steady but her hands trembling. “Heres a pharmacy receipt for fifty pounds. And heres your mother at a café that same day. Heres her text saying shes terribly illthen a selfie at the theatre an hour later. And thisneed a heater, followed by a salon visit the next day.”
Edwards face darkened as he pieced together the puzzle he hadnt wanted to solve.
“Mum, is this true?” he demanded when Margaret next visited. His voice cracked with a pain Lydia had never heard before.
Margaret paled but quickly rallied. She pressed a hand to her chest, tears wellingreal or not, it was impossible to tell.
“Darling, you know how I love the theatre Is it a crime to want a little joy? I didnt squander it allI just wanted to feel alive!”
“But you said it was for medication!” Edwards voice rose, sharp as broken glass. “You lied to me?”
“I I just wanted you to remember me,” Margaret whispered, tears glistening. “You barely call, barely visit I was so lonely. Like I meant nothing to you.”
Lydia watched, her insides twisting. Margaret played her son like a fiddle, pulling every guilt-ridden note. But this time, Edward didnt yield.
“Enough!” he roared, the sound like thunder. “No more games! You used me. You knew I wouldnt refuse, and you exploited that. Then you called Lydia greedy Its cruel.”
Margaret sobbed into her hands.
“Darling, I never meant”
“I understand perfectly,” Edward cut in, his gaze steely. “And I wont let you manipulate us anymore. Youll get helpbut honestly. No more just in case cash.”
***
After that, Edward set hard boundaries. Hed buy her medication himself, help with choresbut no more handouts.
Margaret flinched as if struck.
“Darling, how could you”
“Because I love you,” Edward said firmly. “And I want us to be honest.”
Lydia watched in silence. She felt no triumphjust exhaustion. Margarets trembling hands, her quivering lipsit was all part of the act.
***
The next weeks were a test. Margaret wavered between old tacticstearful calls, hints of lonelinessand sudden silence.
One day, she arrived unannounced. Lydia made tea and studied her. Something unfamiliar flickered across Margarets face. She sat by the window, watching the rain blur the city.
“Are you sad?” Lydia asked softly.
Margaret turned slowly. Her mask was goneonly weariness remained.
“No. Just thinking.”
They sat in silence, but it no longer felt heavy.
“Ive always been selfish,” Margaret admitted suddenly, not meeting Lydias eyes. “When Edwards father left, I felt lost. And youso strong, so sure. I was afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“Yes. That Edward would forget me leave me alone. And the moneyit was a way to keep him close. Stupid, I know. Im sorry, Lydia.”
For the first time
