“Oh, he’s no son-in-law of mine—and never will be!”—how Gran’s wrecking my family
She took a dislike to him the second she saw him. Won’t even say his name—just calls him “that one” or “your bloke.” I’ve begged her a hundred times to stay out of our relationship, but Gran’s got her own opinions about everything. “If he were serious, he’d have married you by now. You’ve got a kid together, and still no ring!”—that’s all she ever says. No respect for him at all, sighs 26-year-old Emily from Manchester.
She and James have been together over two years. At first, it was just dating, but when Emily got pregnant, they decided to move in together. James didn’t run off or panic—he actually proposed. But just their luck, nothing went to plan: first, she ended up on bed rest, then he hit a rough patch at work. A wedding was the last thing on their minds.
They lived with Emily’s gran—a three-bed flat in a pebbledash block on the south side of town. The flat was hers, but Emily and her mum had lived there since she was little. Lately, James had been added to the lease. Then the baby came, and space got even tighter, but love kept them going.
They never made it to the registry office. First, health got in the way, then daily stresses. But James always said, “I want it to be special for you. Proper rings, a dress, the whole thing—just like you dreamed.” He wanted to save up for a real wedding, not just sign some papers.
That’s when Gran—Margaret—dug her heels in. Her stance was brutal: no ring, no husband. Even though James never walked away from Emily or their little girl, Gran decided he was a “waste of space.” Kept saying, “If he wanted to, he would’ve done it by now.” To her, the paperwork meant everything.
When James lost his job, Gran never let up. Called him lazy, a freeloader, a “useless lad with no backbone.” It got so bad, he’d take any work just to stay out of the house. Hard labour, pennies for pay, but he kept looking for something better.
Emily’s mum’s more laid-back—stays out of their business—but even she admits Margaret’s gone too far. Always interfering, bossing them around, nitpicking. As if the young couple didn’t have enough on their plates.
Emily’s best mate’s been telling her to move out for ages. Even offered her spare room. But James’s wages are shaky, and rent’d swallow half his pay. They could scrape by on bills, but what’s left to live on?
“We’re managing,” Emily murmurs. “Kept hoping things would settle. Then this happened. He went out with his mates one night. Said he’d be back by eleven. Midnight—nothing. One AM—still gone. I rang him, panicking. Gran saw it all. He rolled in at dawn, half-cut. Apologising, making excuses. And Gran… she lost it. Shouted him out of the house. Said, ‘My roof, my rules! Show your face again, and I’ll call the cops!’”
Since then, James has been crashing at a mate’s. Calls Emily every day, misses their daughter like mad. Says he’s figuring things out. Promises he’ll find a place, bring them home. But it’s all talk for now. No cash, no way forward.
And Emily’s stuck—torn between the man she loves and the roof over her head. Gran won’t budge. Her house, her way—no arguments.
But does she get to wreck a family just ’cos it doesn’t fit her mould? Since when’s a piece of paper the only proof of love? Is ticking some legal box worth leaving a kid without her dad?
Emily’s out of options. No money, no easy fix. All she’s got is hope—and James’s promises. But words don’t pay the bills.
So now she sits up nights, staring at the empty spot where his rucksack used to be, wondering: “What if Gran’s right? What if he’s not the one?”
Or maybe someone just cared more about being right than about what love had built.
