Youll send the child to a boarding school, since he isnt my son! Evelyn Hart said, smiling at her daughterinlaw.
You really expect my son, Nicholas, to look after someone elses child? Harriet placed a porcelain cup on its saucer with delicate care. The boy is already fourteen; a little independence would do him good.
The air in the room seemed to freeze for Harriet. Evelyns flawless silver hair, her immaculate manicure, the glint of expensive jewelleryall took on an uncanny hue.
Behind the smile stretched thin across her thin lips lay something predatory, something terrifying.
Mark rose early, as always. Harriet was already at the stove, turning scrambled eggs with a wooden spatula.
The scent of freshly brewed herbal tea filled their new kitchen. Two weeks after the wedding she still felt the house was foreign, as if she and her son were visitors in Nicholass spacious cottage in the Cotswolds.
Mum, have you seen my blue jumper? Mark appeared in the doorway, clutching a stack of textbooks to his chest.
On the top shelf of your wardrobe, Harriet replied, watching her son. At fourteen he was nearly as tall as she was, his cheekbones sharper, a mirror of his fathers. Comb your hair; you look like a dandelion.
Mark huffed, then smoothed the dark tufts of hair. Harriet set a plate before him.
No more moves? he asked quietly, staring at the food.
No more, Harriet brushed his shoulder lightly. We finally have a home.
Nicholas descended as Mark finished his breakfast. Tall, with warm brown eyes, he looked a little rumpled from sleep. He kissed Harriet on the cheek and tousled Marks hair.
How are the exams, lad?
Fine, Mark shrugged, but Harriet caught a fleeting smile. Over six months of acquaintance the boy had slowly thawed beside his stepfather.
A knock at the door shattered the quiet. Evelyn entered uninvited, her signature smile both polite and icy.
Good morning, you two! She pecked Nicholas on the forehead, nodded at Harriet, ignoring Mark. Nicholas, you left my car documents at my place. Ive brought them.
While Nicholas leafed through the papers, Evelyn surveyed the kitchen, noting every detail.
Harriet felt her shoulders tighten. From the first meeting she had sensed that judging gaze that made her want to shrink away.
Harriet, are you free this afternoon? the motherinlaw asked suddenly. Come over for tea. We can have a proper chat, get to know each other better.
Of course, Harriet agreed, her voice steady.
Mark looked at his mother with suspicion; the falseness he always felt was obvious to him. Evelyns smile widened, but her eyes remained cold.
Perfect. Ill expect you at three.
When the door closed behind Evelyn, Harriet exhaled. An inexplicable dread settled beneath her ribs. Nicholas, noticing, placed a hand on her shoulders.
Shes only trying, in her own way.
Of course, Harriet answered, though she didnt believe her own words.
At half past two she stood in the hallway, adjusting the collar of her blouse in the mirror. Mark, about to leave for his maths club, watched her nervous motions.
She doesnt love you, he blurted out suddenly. And she doesnt love me either.
Dont say foolish things, Harriet brushed his cheek. She just needs time.
I never understood why adults pretend, Mark said, shrugging. She looks at us like were dirt under her feet.
Harriet had no retort. Evelyn lived just two doors down in the neighbouring cottage. The front door opened as if she had been waiting for Harriets arrival.
Come in, dear. The kettle is already whistling.
The sitting room glittered with immaculate cleanliness. Antique furniture, paintings in gilt frames, a towering china cabinetall shouted of the owners wealth and status.
Harriet perched on the edge of the sofa, hands folded on her knees. Evelyn poured tea into fine porcelain cups and set out a silver platter of scones.
You want Nicholas to be happy, dont you? she asked, stirring sugar into her cup.
The question set a knot of foreboding tight in Harriets chest.
Of course, I do, Harriet answered cautiously, feeling her heart race. We all want our loved ones to be content.
Evelyn lifted a scone with a silver fork, took a bite, and chewed slowly. A dab of cream lingered at the corner of her mouth; she dabbed it with a napkin and fixed Harriet with a piercing stare.
My son deserves a proper family, she said, unflinching. Youre charming, capable. But theres a problem.
She set her cup down; the porcelain chimed, echoing the tremor inside Harriet.
Youll send the child to a boarding school, since he isnt my son! Evelyn said as if she were suggesting a stroll to the bakers. Ive already looked into it. Theres a prestigious academy, topnotch teachers, an excellent programme.
Harriet froze, unable to process the words. How could a woman with perfect posture and manners speak so coldly about a living boyher sons stepson?
Evelyn, are you serious? Harriet whispered.
Not at all, dear. Evelyn slid a glossy brochure across the table. Hes already a teenager, fourteen. Four years will fly by. Nicholas will need his own family, his own children. And your boy isnt his blood. She grimaced, as if uttering something indecent. Ill cover all the costs. Consider it my gift.
Harriet stared at Evelyns smile, saw only emptiness behind itan absolute lack of humanity. She rose, knees trembling.
My son will not go anywhere, she said softly but firmly. He is part of my life, part of me.
Dont dramatise, Evelyn sneered. Think of Nicholass future, his career, your marriage. The boy will only be a burden.
His name is Mark, Harriet clenched her fists. He is my family. If your son cant see that
My son doesnt understand much yet, Evelyn interjected. But sooner or later hell realise a stepchild is a load. Especially a teenage boy. There can be no real bond between him and Nicholas.
Nausea rose in Harriets throat. She snapped up, spilling tea onto the tablecloth.
Im sorry, I must leave.
She fled the house, the sound of Evelyns angry call fading behind her. Tears burned her eyes, a storm of hurt and fury roiling inside. How could a woman propose such a thing? How could she speak of a living child as an obstacle? A terrible pain pierced her heart, and for a moment she realised Nicholas might share his mothers cold view.
At home she collapsed onto the bed, letting the sobs flow. When Nicholas returned, she choked out the story.
That cant be right, he shook his head. Mum would never
Call her, Harriets voice trembled. Ask herself. Right now.
Nicholas hesitantly dialled.
Mum, Harriet told me about your suggestion. Is this a misunderstanding?
Evelyn sighed into the receiver.
Darling, this is a grownup conversation. I merely proposed a sensible solution. The boy would thrive in a specialist school, and you could build a proper family
God, Nicholas whispered, paling. Did you really say that?
Of course I did! And Im right! Evelyns tone hardened. That boy is not yours! Why waste your life on him?
Nicholas paused, gathering his thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice was low but steady:
Mark stopped being a stranger the moment I chose you, Harriet. That matters, you understand? Loving a woman means also loving her child.
Romantic nonsense! Evelyn shouted, irritated. Youre blinded by love now, but in a year or two youll see reason
Enough, Nicholas cut her off, and for the first time Harriet saw a resolve in him she hadnt known existed. The problem isnt my understanding; its yours.
Mark is part of my family. If thats an obstacle for you, then perhaps we should pause our relationship.
How dare you speak to me like that! Evelyn shrieked. Im your mother! Ive given everything
Youre my mother, not the master of my life, Nicholas replied calmly, though his shoulders were tense. If you suggest getting rid of Mark again, I will cut all ties. Thats my final word.
Silence hung in the line, then a few short beeps.
Im sorry, Nicholas collapsed onto the edge of the bed, covering his face. I didnt know I never thought she could be so
Harriet sat beside him, speechless.
Do you think shell calm down? she asked at last.
No. Its just the beginning.
Three days passed in oppressive quiet. Evelyn never called, never appeared. Nicholas was like a taut stringdistracted at work, mute at home. Harriet caught his guilty glances, tried to reassure him, but anxiety grew inside her.
On Thursday her phone lit up with Evelyns number.
We need to talk, Evelyn said dryly. All three of us. Tonight, at seven.
I dont think thats wise, Harriet began, but the motherinlaw cut her off:
Its about my sons future. Either you come to my house, or Ill come to yours. Choose.
Nicholas returned from work early, his face shadowed, eyes dark.
Your mother called, Harriet said quietly. She wants a meeting.
I know, he nodded. She also called me. She says shes changed her mind, that she accepts us.
Do you believe her? Harriet asked, eyes searching his.
No, he shook his head. But I have to try to fix this.
Im terrified for Mark, Harriet whispered. He shouldnt hear this.
Nicholas pulled her close.
Itll be fine. He wont know.
At seven oclock they stood before Evelyns front door. She opened instantlyelegant, in an expensive suit. Nothing hinted at the recent storm.
Come in, her voice was unusually soft. Ive ordered dinner.
The table was set as if for a banquet. Crystal, silver, a bottle of fine wine. Evelyn served the food, sat opposite them.
I overreacted, she said, looking at her son. A mothers worry sometimes makes us say terrible things. She turned to Harriet: Im sorry, dear. I was wrong.
Harriet nodded silently, not believing a word. Evelyns eyes stayed cold, calculating.
Thats why I want to right my mistake, she continued. Remember the inheritance I mentioned? The cottage in the village, the holiday home, my savings?
Nicholas frowned.
Mum, not now, please.
No, now, she raised a hand. I intend to rewrite my will. It will name you and your future childrenreal children.
Nicholas set his fork down slowly. The room seemed to chill.
So you havent changed your mind, he said quietly.
Im merely offering a compromise, Evelyn shrugged. The boy can live with you if you wish, but you wont have to spend your resources on him. Hell be just a guest.
Harriet felt a blaze of anger flare inside, her fingers clenched until they hurt. Before she could control herself, Nicholas stood.
You know what, he said, a sudden clarity in his tone Ive spent my whole life trying to fit your expectations: prestigious school, a career, money
He turned toward the window.
But I see now I was a project, not a son. Accepting your terms would make me no father at all.
What are you talking about? Evelyn demanded. Im looking out for your future!
No, Nicholas shook his head. Youre looking after your fantasies. My family is Harriet and Mark. Thats my choice.
Evelyns face went pale.
Youll regret this! No inheritance! Nothing I prepared for you
Keep it, Nicholas took Harriets hand. Well manage.
They left without looking back, while Evelyns cries and curses filled the hallway. Outside, Harriet weptnot from grief, but from relief.
Are you sure? she asked, eyes on her husband. Its a lot of money, your future
My future is you two, he squeezed her palm. Everything else Ill earn myself.
A week later Nicholas drove to collect Mark after his maths club, alone, without Harriet. The boy stepped out of the school, eyes wary.
Mums busy? he asked, climbing onto the passenger seat.
No, Nicholas started the engine. I just wanted to talk, just us.
They drove to the park. Waffle cones chilled their hands as they settled on a bench by the waters edge. White sails skimmed the lake, leaving ripples in their wake.
Mark licked a vanilla icecream ball, then, without looking up, said,
I know about Grandmas ultimatum.
He paused. The walls at home feel like paperthin. Even headphones cant block it.
Nicholas nodded.
What do you think?
I think you chose us over money, Mark shrugged. It sounds odd.
Why?
Adults usually pick the cash, Mark said, watching the water, avoiding Nicholass gaze.
She might change her mind, Mark finally added, give you the inheritance back if you turn us away.
I know, Nicholas replied. But a father isnt the one who gave you life; hes the one who chooses you, stays beside you no matter what.
Silence settled between them, a thin line of unspoken wounds. The man with the first silver strands at his temples and the teenager with lanky, clumsy hands each carried their own loss, each bore scars that never fully healed.
Mark glanced at his sneakers, bit his lip, then exhaled as if diving into cold water:
Thanks, Dad.
The word hung in the air, barely a stumble, as if he were tasting it for the first time.
Nicholas swallowed, placed his hand on Marks shoulder.
Lets go home, son. Mum will be worried.
That evening they cooked together, three of them. They chopped vegetables, laughed at Nicholass clumsy sauce, Mark bragged about a math competition, Harriet shared news of a new job, Nicholas talked about a upcoming holiday.As the moon rose over the cottage roofs, the scent of fresh basil lingered in the air, and the family, bound by choice rather than blood, slipped silently into a shared dream where laughter echoed like distant bells.
