**Diary Entry 12th November**
When I reached the table, my mother-in-law slapped me across the face. This was for my son, she snapped. You and the children can eat wherever you like!
I buttoned up my youngest daughters coat and checked my older sons shoelaces. Outside the car, bare trees blurred past, the sky thick with grey clouds as the road stretched further from London. Oliver hummed under his breath, fingers tapping the steering wheel to the radio.
Mum, does Granny have a swing? asked Thomas, our seven-year-old, fidgeting in the backseat.
I dont know, love, I replied. Probably. She has a big garden.
Can we play outside? piped up four-year-old Emily, already weary from the journey.
Of course, I reassured her. But first, well say hello and have lunch.
Oliver caught my eye in the rear-view mirror. Dont worry, Alice, he said. Mums changed. Shes missed the kids. Shell be happy to see you.
I nodded but said nothing. His words sounded sure, but my stomach twisted with dread. Margaret had never been warm. Cold remarks, sharp glancesevery visit to his mothers house felt like an ordeal.
The last time wed all gone was two years ago. Shed criticised everythinghow I dressed the children, how I cooked, how I spoke. Oliver stayed silent, and I bit my tongue. Since then, wed only met in neutral placescafés, parks. But this time, Oliver had insisted.
Shes lonely, hed said. The kids are older now, we should visit more. Her house is nice, plenty of space. A proper countryside break.
I hadnt argued. Maybe Margaret *had* softened with age. People change.
The car turned onto a dirt lane, passing fields before stopping at a tall iron gate. Beyond it stood a two-storey house with large windows and a slate roof. Leafless apple trees dotted the garden, an old arbour standing sentinel.
Oliver killed the engine, opened the gate, and helped the children out. I held Emilys hand as Thomas bolted ahead, dragging his backpack of toys.
The front door swung open. Margaret stood theretall, thin, steel-grey hair cropped short. Her smile didnt reach her eyes.
Youre here, she said instead of hello. Dont stay long. I like things tidy.
I froze. Oliver hugged her. Just the weekend, Mum. The kids missed you.
She looked them up and down. Did they? she muttered. Fine. Shoes off at the door, and wash your hands.
Inside, the house smelled of roast beef and onionsrich, comforting. Wed only had biscuits in the car, and my stomach growled. Margaret disappeared into the kitchen without a word. Oliver carried our bags upstairs. The children clung to me, uneasy.
Mum, Im thirsty, Emily whispered.
In a minute, sweetheart.
The kitchen was spotlessgleaming pans, immaculate counters. Margaret stirred a pot on the hob.
May the children have some water? I asked.
Glasses in the cupboard, she said without turning. Dont break anything.
I poured two glasses, handed them to the kids, then returned. Can I help?
She looked me up and down. Chop the vegetables. Properly. I dont like big chunks.
I diced tomatoes and cucumbers carefully, under her watchful eye.
Do you always cut like that? she scoffed. Uneven.
Sorry, I mumbled.
Oliver reappeared. Smells amazing, Mum! Whats cooking?
Your favourite. Beef stew. Like when you were little.
No one makes it like you! he grinned.
She preened. Go ahead, sit down. Its nearly ready.
I set the table, adjusting plates to her silent scrutiny. When the food was served, I reached for a dishuntil Margaret shot up, livid.
What do you think youre doing? she hissed.
II was just getting some food
This was for *my son*! She struck me across the cheek. The slap rang out. The plate shattered on the floor.
Thomas gasped. Emily burst into tears.
Oliver stared at his plate.
Oliver I whispered.
He finally looked up. Mum, that was too much.
Too much? she seethed. I spent hours cooking for *you*! And *she* she jabbed a finger at me, thinks she can just take it?
I pressed a hand to my burning cheek. Weve been travelling since morning
*Quiet!* Margaret snapped.
Oliver sighed. Lets just eat, Alice. Shes tired.
She *hit* me.
Not in front of the kids, he muttered.
I turned to Thomas and Emilywide-eyed, trembling. Its alright, I lied, hugging them.
Margaret sat back down as if nothing had happened. Eat, Oliver. Its getting cold.
He obeyed.
I took the children upstairs to the spare roomsmall, musty, with two narrow beds. Thomas whispered, Why did Granny hit you?
Shes just angry, I said, stroking his hair. Well go home tomorrow.
Oliver came up later, hovering in the doorway. Alice?
I pretended to sleep.
The next morning, I packed in silence. Margaret ignored us. Oliver drove us to the station, pleading, She didnt mean it. You know how she is.
I didnt argue. Just boarded the train with the children.
At home, Emily asked, Are we going back?
No, I said. Never again.
Oliver returned that night, contrite. But the trust was broken. He kept visiting her. I stopped waiting for him to choose us.
Months passed. He triedfewer visits, more time at home. But some cracks dont mend.
The children grew. The house stayed peaceful. No insults, no raised hands. And I learned: respect isnt negotiable.
**Lesson:** A man who wont defend his family doesnt deserve one.
