Eleanor flinched as the phone rang sharply for the third time that morning. “Margaret Hampton” flashed on the screen. Drawing a deep breath, she pressed answer.
“Yes, Margaret?”
“Emily dear, why don’t you ever pick up?” Her mother-in-law’s voice dripped with disapproval. “I’ve been calling all morning!”
“I was making porridge for Lily—hands full,” Emily lied, though she’d simply dreaded another lecture on parenting.
“Porridge again? Children need protein! My William grew up on proper roast dinners—look how strong he is! Your Lily’s so pale, a strong wind might blow her away.”
Emily counted to five. Their three-year-old was perfectly healthy—just slight, like her father’s side.
“She has meat too. We’re having meatballs for lunch.”
“Good! That’s why I called. I’ll pop round today with proper chicken broth—bones and all, just like William loves. And proper beef cutlets, not those… *things* you make.” The sneer in “things” made it sound poisonous.
“Really, there’s no need—”
“Nonsense! A grandmother can’t visit her own grandchild?” Margaret’s tone made refusal unthinkable.
“Of course you’re welcome,” Emily surrendered.
After hanging up, she leaned her forehead against the cold windowpane. Outside, November sleet clung to bare branches.
“Mummy, who was that?” Lily peeked in, clutching a threadbare stuffed rabbit.
“Granny Margaret’s coming today.” Emily forced cheerfulness.
“Will she say I don’t eat enough again?”
Emily’s heart clenched. Even Lily noticed the constant criticism.
“She just loves you very much,” she said weakly.
Lily frowned but wandered off. Emily cleaned furiously—though she and William preferred creative chaos, Margaret expected spotless perfection. “One mustn’t live in squalor,” she’d sniff.
By two o’clock, the flat gleamed, and an apple pie—the only dish Margaret praised—cooled on the counter. William, usually working remotely as a software engineer, was at an in-person client meeting.
The doorbell rang precisely at two. Margaret, a petite woman with auburn-dyed hair, swept in laden with bags. “Darling! Where’s my princess?”
Lily shuffled out.
“Come give Granny a proper hello!” Margaret bent to hug her. “None of that timid nonsense. Little ladies greet properly.”
Emily rolled her eyes unseen. Conflicting instructions were Margaret’s specialty.
“Let me help with those,” Emily offered.
“Yes, take them to the kitchen. I’ve made proper food—William needs nourishing meals, not scraps.”
Margaret immediately commandeered the kitchen. “Emily, fetch the large pot—not that flimsy one. And why is bread in the fridge? It dries out!”
Emily obliged patiently. Six years of marriage had taught her: Margaret knew best.
“Lily looks peaky,” Margaret noted, unpacking containers. “Do you take her outside? Give her vitamins?”
“We walk daily, weather permitting. And she takes the pediatrician’s recommended vitamins.”
“Pediatricians!” Margaret scoffed. “What do they know? In my day, children played outside all hours, rain or shine! William never caught colds.”
Emily bit her tongue. Her husband had suffered chronic tonsillitis as a child.
“I made pie. Tea?”
“Lunch first. Where’s William?”
As if summoned, the door opened. William blinked at the shoes lining the hall.
“Mum? You didn’t say you were coming.”
“I told Emily this morning!”
William shot Emily a look; she’d forgotten to text him.
Over lunch, Margaret reminisced. “William read at four! Recited poetry beautifully. Lily, do you know any poems?”
Lily prodded her plate sullenly.
“She knows several,” Emily said. “Sweetheart, recite the one about the bear.”
“Don’t want to.”
Margaret tsked. “See? She’s unsociable. Nursery would help—other children, structure.”
“We agreed to wait until she’s four,” William said.
“*I* sent you at two! She’ll grow up wild!”
Lily pushed her plate away. “May I play?”
“Not until you finish,” Margaret decreed.
“One more bite, love,” Emily urged through gritted teeth.
Lily forced down a morsel.
“Discipline matters,” Margaret said smugly. “William thrived on routine.”
After lunch, Margaret insisted Lily nap.
“Children need midday sleep!”
Emily nearly objected—Lily would stay up past midnight—but William shook his head: easier to comply.
Half an hour later, Margaret returned, flustered. “She refused! In my day, children obeyed!”
*In your day, they were smacked for disobedience*, Emily nearly retorted.
Tea and pie eased tensions briefly—until Emily found Lily cutting up a brand-new, expensive book Margaret had encouraged her to “repurpose.”
“Granny said I could!” Lily whimpered.
Emily stormed back. “Margaret, you gave her *scissors*?”
“And? Creativity is vital! Books are just paper.”
“It was *£25*! We hadn’t even read it!”
Margaret turned to William. “Tell your wife not to fuss. I won’t ask *permission* to bond with my granddaughter!”
A blistering row ensued, ending with Margaret’s dramatic exit. “I see I’m unwanted!”
William followed to “fix her tap”—code for smoothing things over.
Exhausted, Emily cuddled Lily. “Just ask Mummy or Daddy next time, okay?”
William returned hours later. “Tap’s fixed. Mum says she’ll ‘respect boundaries.’”
Emily snorted.
“We’ll get a week’s peace,” he joked.
They laughed. Maybe someday, Margaret would change. Or not. But they had their little family, their rules. And they’d protect that.
Sure enough, a week later, Margaret called cheerfully: “I’ll teach Lily to bake! Girls must learn homemaking!”
Emily exchanged a look with William. It would never end. But they’d manage. After all, Margaret meant well—her “best” just wasn’t theirs.
