“Your son is so dullnothing good will come of him!”
Emily froze in the doorway, nearly dropping the cake from her hands. Her mother stared at her with displeasure, as if Emily had done something wrong.
“Mum, what are you on about?” Emily set the cake on the table. “Whats this got to do with Oliver?”
“Everything! Hes in Year Eight and still at a regular comprehensive school!” Her mother raised her voice. “No specialisations, no advanced programmes. How will he get into a decent university? How will he ever amount to anything?”
Emily bit her lip. The conversation was following its usual path, and a familiar sting of injustice flared in her chest.
“Mum, Oliver does well in school. He gets top marks in most subjects. Hes got a maths tutorwants to go into programming, like his dad.”
“Exactly!” Her mother threw up her hands. “Programming! Sitting at a computer like your Simon. A regular job, a regular salary. And you? A teacher! A tutor! Barely making ends meet. Do you even feed that boy properly?”
Emily clenched her fists. Her mothers words struck where it hurt most. Yes, she and Simon werent wealthythey had to budget carefully. But their son, Oliver, was happy.
“Were doing just fine. And Oliver is happy.”
“Happy!” Her mother scoffed and walked to the window. “Now, Thomass boythats a real treasure. Anthony goes to a grammar school with a focus on French. Can you imagine? French since Year One! Already fluent. Thomas and Louise are doing everything rightinvesting in their child, sparing no expense.”
Emily listened in silence. Her brother had always been the favourite. Hed started a small business, bought a bigger house, and his wife, Louise, stayed home to raise their son. Every time, their mother seized the chance to compare them.
“Anthony is so gifted!” her mother went on warmly. “Now theres a boy with a future. Thomas says theyre sending him abroad for language immersion. At thirteen! Thats proper planning, thats ambition. Not this ordinary school nonsense.”
Emily stepped closer. Her mothers shoulders were stiff, her face stern.
“Mum, I know you want the best for your grandchildren. But Oliver is just as good as Anthony. Theyre just on different paths.”
“Different paths!” Her mother spun around. “One path leads upto success. The other? Drifting in mediocrity and penny-pinching. Is that what you want for your son? For him to scrape by forever?”
Something inside Emily tightened.
“Mum, were not scraping by. We live within our means. And Oliver will grow up to be a good manclever, kind, hardworking.”
“Hardworking!” Her mother snorted. “Thats not enough in this world, Emily. You need connections, money, a prestigious education. What does Oliver have? A common school and a mother whos a tutor, barely keeping the lights on.”
Emily turned away. The cake shed baked with care, decorated with berries, now seemed pointless.
“Mum, I dont want to argue. Were raising Oliver the way we think is right. And hes happy.”
“His future is what matters!” Her mother stepped closer. “Youre ruining him with your carelessness. Thomas understands. Hes making sure Anthony becomes someone. Youre just drifting.”
Emily shook her head. Arguing was useless. Her mother stood firm, and nothing would change her mind.
“Fine, Mum. Lets just have lunch. Simon and Oliver will be home soon.”
As expected, lunch was tense. Her mother prattled on about Anthonys brilliance, Thomass pride. Oliver ate quietly, glancing at his mother. Emily smiled at him, pretending all was well.
After that day, Emily knew: shed have to see less of her mother. The endless comparisons cut too deep. She still called for birthdays and holidays, but family gatherings stopped. Her mother sulked, but Emily held firm. She had to shield her son from the poison.
Years passed. Oliver grew, studied, pursued programming. Occasionally, Emily heard updates about her brother. Anthony left school with top marks, got into a prestigious universitythough not without his fathers connections.
Oliver graduated too, earning a place at a polytechnic on merit alone. By his third year, he was working at a small IT firm. Emily was proud. Simon was proud. But her mother still preferred to talk only of Anthony.
…More years slipped by. The children were nearly thirty. At her mothers birthday, the family gathered. Thomas and Louise came. Anthony arrived tootall, handsome, with careless hair. Though hed barely worked after uni, quitting to start a band. Thomas funded the equipment. Two years later, they were still unknown. Anthony lived with his parents, unemployed, earning nothing.
Emily watched her mother beam at Anthony, fussing over his music, oblivious to his indifference as he scrolled through his phone. To her, he remained the golden grandchild.
Oliver sat with his wife, Anna. Theyd married recently, and she was four months along. He worked for a major tech firm, earned well, rented a flat, saved for a home. His grandmother barely noticed him.
Emily saw Simon tense, jaw clenched. Anna glanced at Oliver worriedly, but he smiled, squeezing her hand.
The evening dragged. Her mother boasted to guests about Anthonys inevitable fame. He nodded lazily. Emily stayed silent.
At last, it ended. Simon, Oliver, and Anna left first, waiting by the car. Emily tied her scarf in the hall when her mother approached.
“Emily, wait. I need to say something.”
Emily stilled. Her mother spoke softly but firmly.
“Your Oliver is so dull, Emily. Grey. Ordinary. Like you and Simon. No spark in him. Now Anthonyhes brilliant. A star. Hell show them all. But your son? Just existing. Working, married, a child on the way. Nothing special. He doesnt stand out. Hes like millions of others.”
Emily stared. Something inside her shattered.
She exhaled slowly, meeting her mothers gaze.
“You know, Mum, I used to think you wanted me to be a better mother. To push Oliver harder, invest more. I thought your criticism came from loveto spur me on.”
Her mother frowned, but Emily raised a hand.
“But the truths simpler. You never loved my son. All these years, youve shown itcomparing, criticising, praising Anthony. You didnt want him to do better. You just wanted me to know: my boy wasnt good enough.”
Her mother paled. Emily buttoned her coat calmly.
“But heres the thing. My son is the best. Clever, kind, hardworking, decent. Hes grown into a fine man. Soon, hell be a fatherand a brilliant one. Because I never let him learn he was your unloved grandchild. I shielded him from your poison, Mum. I made sure he grew up happy.”
Her mother gaped. Emily picked up her bag.
“Keep your opinions about me, Simon, and our son to yourself. Ive wasted too many years begging for your love. No more. Live as you please. Love whom you please. Im done playing this game. Ill have a grandchild soonand Ill love them the way a grandmother should.”
Emily stepped out, shutting the door behind her. Downstairs, Simon hugged her. Oliver smiled. Emily sank into the car seat, an odd calm settling over her. A weight lifted. No more pretending. No more proving.
It had taken years, but she was freefree of craving her mothers approval. She had all that truly mattered: a real family. And what more did a person need?
