When Emily and James got married, they immediately dreamed of their own place. They lived in a small town near Manchester and relied only on themselves. Emily’s parents couldn’t help, and James had grown up with his grandmother, Margaret Wilson, and didn’t want to move back into her house. He hardly spoke to his mother—she rarely visited, stopping by only to see Margaret. James didn’t need her: she had a new husband and a young daughter, and her son seemed like a stranger by then.
They took out a mortgage and worked themselves ragged. They wanted to pay off part of the loan quickly so they could comfortably plan for children. James borrowed a bit of money from his mother, but they repaid it straight away. For five years, they pinched every penny, and by then, the mortgage was nearly paid off. They sighed with relief—even if Emily went on maternity leave, they could manage the payments. Then, when they finally decided to try for a baby, they found out they were expecting. That same day, as they prepared to celebrate, there was a knock at the door. It was James’s mother, Diane. Her visit was like a bolt from the blue.
“What’s the occasion?” she sneered, eyeing them both.
They shared their happy news, but she didn’t even blink. Instead of congratulations, she snapped,
“That’s not why I’m here. James, your sister, Charlotte, is getting married. She’s got nowhere to live. Your grandmother’s moving in with you, so make room.”
“Why with us?” James gaped.
“She raised you—be grateful and do your part,” Diane cut back.
“Mum, she’s got her own flat! Why should Charlotte live there?”
The argument ended in a storm of accusations. Diane slammed the door and left. The next day, Margaret arrived. She stood on the doorstep, clutching her handkerchief, tears streaming down her face. “I’m just a burden, no one wants me,” she whispered, and Emily’s heart broke. James hugged her. “Don’t cry, Gran, it’ll be alright.” But Emily already knew their life was about to turn upside down.
With Margaret’s arrival, the nightmare began. Diane started dropping by at all hours, unannounced. She claimed she had every right to visit her mother. After her visits, things began disappearing—small things, but unsettling: a vase she’d admired, a figurine from the shelf. Emily bit her tongue, but inside, she was seething. Then Charlotte took Margaret’s telly—the very one they’d bought so she could watch her programmes. Margaret told them Charlotte had simply packed it up and left without a word. Worse, Charlotte had been taking her entire pension, leaving the old woman with nothing.
One day, Margaret finally spoke up:
“If you miss me so much, I can always move back. Charlotte hasn’t got kids, but James is about to become a father.”
After that, Diane visited less often. Probably worried her mother really would take back the flat. A year after their son was born, Emily returned to work—Margaret happily took care of her great-grandson. They started dreaming of a bigger place; the two-bedroom was getting cramped. One day, Margaret beamed and said,
“Charlotte’s expecting and wants help with the baby. But I’ve settled here now—I don’t want to leave. Let’s get a three-bedroom and wait for our little princess!”
Emily believes it’ll happen. But every time she remembers Margaret’s tears and Diane’s selfishness, fury bubbles up inside. Their family deserves peace, and she’ll do whatever it takes to protect them from those who only see them as a means to an end.
