**OLIVIA: THE STORY OF AN UNWELCOME DAUGHTER-IN-LAW**
When Michael brought his girlfriend Olivia home for the first time, the air in the flat turned thick with tension. His father, Patrick, sat silently in the corner, not a word of approval or disapproval—as if his opinion mattered little in that house. His mother, Margaret, on the other hand, seized every opportunity to fire off another dozen questions. She eyed Olivia with narrowed eyes, as though searching for hidden faults, insincerity, or just some undefined *wrongness*.
Olivia didn’t impress her at all. Petite, unassuming, dressed laughably plain—she looked more like a schoolgirl than a grown woman. The braided pigtails didn’t help. Where was the manicure, the makeup, the stylish outfit? No, this wasn’t the daughter-in-law she’d imagined for her only son. Take the neighbours’ daughter, Emily—now *there* was a catch. Striking, confident, her father a director at a dairy conglomerate, her mother a chief accountant. And Emily had always fancied Michael. *She* would’ve been the right match—not this… little grey mouse.
But Michael wouldn’t be swayed. He was madly in love with Olivia. When his mother pulled him aside and suggested he reconsider Emily instead, he shut her down sharply:
“I love Liv. We’ve already filed the paperwork. Enough, Mum. Drop it.”
The wedding was small and simple—just as Olivia had wanted. She insisted they’d rather save the money for their future. Michael’s mother was furious, calling it an embarrassment. But once again, he stood by his wife.
The newlyweds moved in with his parents. Margaret never missed a chance to nitpick: the cooking was subpar, she didn’t take proper care of Michael, the cleaning was slapdash. He endured it for a long time, but one day he’d had enough.
“We’re moving out.”
They rented a flat. Money was tight, but he worked tirelessly. Eventually, he started building their own house. Meanwhile, Olivia enrolled in teacher training—hardly the most lucrative support. Everything rested on Michael’s stubborn determination.
Olivia studied hard, graduating with honours. Thrilled, she rushed to show her mother-in-law, hoping she’d finally see her effort. Margaret only grumbled:
“You’re making my son suffer. Emily would’ve been the better choice.”
Olivia left in tears. She didn’t complain to Michael—there’d been enough pain in her life already. Her father had walked out when her mother turned to the bottle. And though her mother loved her, drunk, she became someone else—terrifying, unrecognisable. Olivia had gone hungry, hiding from the drunken strangers her mother brought home. Only Michael’s love had saved her.
They finished the house, started a family. She became a teacher, then head of year. Two sons followed—Benjamin and Thomas. His mother doted on her grandsons, but Olivia remained an outsider, met with the same cold indifference. Their exchanges never went beyond “hello” and “goodbye”.
The boys grew up, left for flight school—first one, then the other. The house fell quiet. Patrick passed—softly, unnoticed, just as he’d lived. Margaret was alone now, yet still refused to visit Olivia. The ice between them never thawed.
Olivia turned forty-five. For her birthday, everyone gathered—sons with girlfriends, friends, neighbours. Even Margaret came, though she kept to the corner. In the midst of the celebration, Olivia suddenly felt faint. She sat down, pale. Everyone panicked.
The next day, she went to the doctor. Returned with news that stunned even her: she was pregnant. She told Michael that evening. He was silent a long time, then said gently:
“We’re too old, Liv. We should… end it. People will laugh.”
She nodded. But inside, something shattered. Alone, curled up in pain, she went to Margaret the next morning. Her own mother was long gone—there was no one else to talk to. Maybe a harsh word from her would make the decision easier…
Margaret didn’t speak. Then, suddenly, she burst into tears. She told Olivia how Michael had been born frail, how she’d stayed up nights saving him, how terrified she was of losing him. Olivia listened, then—for the first time—hugged her. And she wept too, confessing about her childhood, her mother’s drinking, the fear and hunger.
They cried together for what felt like an hour. Strangers, yet in that moment, utterly connected.
That evening, Margaret turned up unannounced at their door.
“I’m not here for you, Michael. I’m here for Olivia,” she said.
Olivia burst into tears—no one had ever called her *Olivia* like that, not her mother, not Margaret.
They sat at the table. Margaret took Olivia’s hand:
“Don’t you dare end it. We’ll manage. You’re not too old. This is a blessing. Not everyone gets one. And I’ll talk to Michael myself.”
So it was settled. In time, Olivia gave birth to a girl—Charlotte. A little beauty, with curly hair and lashes for miles. When they placed her in Olivia’s arms, she wept—from pure joy.
Michael and Margaret met them at the hospital. Margaret sold her old flat and moved closer to help with the baby. Every day, she arrived like clockwork. She and Olivia didn’t just get along—they became friends. Hours spent chatting in the kitchen, sharing secrets, laughing.
And for the first time in her life, Olivia had a mother. Not by blood—but real. Warm, accepting. One who’d held her in the hardest moment and said, “You’re not alone.” And that was the most precious thing she could ever hear.
