Emily stood by the window of her flat in Manchester, watching as Paul fastened their son’s car seat into the motor. Four-year-old Oliver chattered excitedly, thrilled at the thought of going to his grandparents. Every weekend, they took him to Emily’s parents so they could enjoy time with their grandson. Yet each time they returned home, Emily felt a simmering frustration. Her mother, Margaret, truly believed that by looking after Oliver, she was doing her daughter and son-in-law a great favour. The thought made Emily’s blood boil, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from snapping.
It had begun two years earlier when Oliver was old enough to stay with his grandparents for weekends. Emily and Paul had thought it the perfect way for him to bond with them. Margaret and her husband, William, adored Oliver. They spoiled him with scones, took him to the park, and read him bedtime stories. Emily loved seeing her son glow under their attention. She remembered how she’d cherished visits to her own grandmother as a child and wanted Oliver to have the same warm memories. But she never imagined her good intentions would be so misunderstood.
Every time they collected Oliver, Margaret greeted them with the air of a martyr who had sacrificed her peace for their sake. “Well, there you are—I’ve done my bit so you two can relax,” she’d say, fanning herself as if worn out. Or, “He’s a handful, but I managed, just so you could sort your affairs.” Emily would clench her fists, feeling heat rise to her temples. She longed to shout, “We didn’t ask you to babysit! We brought Oliver so you could enjoy him!” But instead, she forced a smile and muttered, “Thanks, Mum.” Even Paul, usually unflappable, grew impatient. On the drive home, he’d whisper, “Does she honestly think we drop him off just to go gallivanting? This is for them, not us!”
It wasn’t that Emily and Paul didn’t value time with their son. Quite the opposite—they adored building train tracks with him or strolling along the River Irwell. But they saw how Margaret missed Oliver when he wasn’t around, how her face lit up when he dashed to her shouting, “Granny!” They wanted to give her that joy, while letting Oliver know the love of family. Yet with each visit, her comments grated more. “I’m exhausted, but no matter—I did it for you,” she’d say, as though they’d offloaded him to sneak off on holiday. Emily felt inexplicably guilty, though she couldn’t say why.
The breaking point came last weekend. They’d arrived as usual on Saturday morning. Margaret met them with a sigh. “Oh, another full day of chasing him about. But I suppose you’ve got your own things to do.” Emily couldn’t hold back. Her voice shook as she replied, “Mum, we don’t bring Oliver because we can’t be bothered with him! We want you and Dad to have time with him—so he knows you, loves you! This isn’t a favour to us—it’s for you!” The room fell silent. Margaret blinked in surprise, while William, seated in his armchair, cleared his throat and buried his nose in the newspaper. Paul squeezed Emily’s hand, as if to say, “Well done. It was time.”
That evening, when they collected Oliver, Margaret was quieter than usual. No complaints, no theatrics—just a soft hug for her grandson and a murmured, “Come again soon.” Emily felt relief, tinged with a pinch of guilt. Had she been too harsh? But as Paul turned the key in the ignition, he smiled. “She’ll get used to it—we’re not dumping him on her. We’re sharing something precious.” In the backseat, Oliver hummed a nursery rhyme, and Emily thought that for his happiness, she’d explain it all again if she had to.
Now they still take Oliver to his grandparents, though cautiously. Emily hopes her mother has finally understood: they’re not after a babysitter, but a family bound by love. Yet whenever Margaret hints at doing them a favour, Emily feels that old defiance rise. Their family isn’t a transaction. It’s a bond. And if Margaret forgets that, Emily won’t hesitate to remind her—for Oliver’s sake, and for the truth of it.
