“A Kingdom for a Grandchild”
“Any news on the pregnancy yet?”
“No, Margaret, not yet,” Emily sighed, rolling her eyes as she fought to keep the irritation from her voice.
“For goodness’ sake!” her mother-in-law huffed. “You two really mustnt dawdle. Times ticking, you know. Ill send you a videovery informative.”
“Right. Thanks,” Emily muttered, already dreading yet another lecture on conception tips.
Margaret hung up, and the sharp clatter of a knife against the chopping board filled the kitchen. Emily sliced cucumbers with twice the usual force, venting her frustration.
Lately, Margaret didnt even bother with pleasantriesjust dove straight into *the* question, as if Emilys womb were public property. It hadnt always been this way.
Once, theyd gotten along just fine. Margaret had kept her distance, calling once or twice a week, visiting even less. Shed occasionally ask for a lift to the shops or to her mothers cottage in the Cotswolds, repaying them with homemade jams, grapes from her garden, or cherries.
But everything changed because of Margarets mother, Dorothy.
Even her own daughter joked that Dorothy was a drill sergeant in pearls. A retired schoolteacher, impossibly stern, she ruled the family with an iron fist. Emily had lucked outby the time she married James, Dorothy rarely left her flat. Age and poor health kept her indoors.
But one day, Dorothy paid them a visit. Once was enough.
“What on earth is this slop? You might as well feed it to chickens!” Dorothy scowled, peering into the simmering pot of soup. “Move overIll show you how to make a proper base.”
In Emilys family, soup was made without frying onions firstfewer calories, healthier. Shed adopted the habit, partly because James had a bit of extra weight. She wasnt strict about diets, but she saw no reason to make it worse.
“Dorothy, please dont. Its fine as it is,” Emily said.
“Oh, young people these days” Dorothy grumbled. “All these meal deliveries have ruined your cooking skills.” She sat back downbriefly.
Emily stepped away to take a call from her own mother. When she returned, onions sizzled in the pan. She clenched her jaw, shooting Dorothy a sidelong glare.
“Why did you do that? We prefer it without.”
“Youve never had it done properly. Taste ityoull change your mind,” Dorothy declared, smug as a judge.
Emily bit her tongue. She couldve dumped the soup down the loo, but that seemed excessive. Dorothy was a rare guest. For Jamess sake, shed endure it.
Yet Dorothy meddled from afar too.
At a family dinner, she announced, “Ive decided. My estatethe flat, the cottage, the jewellerygoes to whoever gives me a great-grandchild first. I want to see the family line continue before I go.”
James laughed it off when he told Emily later. She just smiled. As if theyd rearrange their lives for a bribe!
Their plan was clear: careers first, then a home, *then* children. Margaret had once agreed, insisting there was no rush.
Now, they were closing in on their mortgage. A year left, by Emilys calculations. Plenty of timeunless you were Margaret, for whom it suddenly became “only a year.”
“Darling,” Margaret cooed one day, “why wait? Youll get the inheritance too!”
Emily nearly choked. Since when did anyone dictate her reproductive timeline? Not even her own mother dared.
“Margaret, were still sorting the mortgage.”
“But its just a year! By the time the baby arrives, youll have it sorted.”
“People thought that in 2019, and look what happened. Nowe want stability first.”
“Even if the mortgage falls through, youll have Grannys flat! And the cottage. And her jewellerysolid gold, a fortune!”
“Were not rushing. If it happens, great. If not well, it wasnt meant to be.”
“Suit yourself. James has two cousins, you know. Theyll beat you to it.”
From then on, the nagging never stopped. Emily tried patience, then direct requests to drop itnothing worked.
“Just humour her,” James said. “Shell ease off.”
Except she didnt. Margaret bombarded Emily with “expert” videos, showed off friends grandchildren, even brought scented candles “for ambience.”
For Emilys birthday, Margaret gifted a pram. “Youll need it soon!” It was expensive, pristineand made Emily feel like a pawn in some grotesque game where her body was the stake.
Every visit included commentary:
“Vickys marriage is on the rocks, and Katies struggling. Youve still got a shot!”
As if life were a race, and Emily a beleaguered racehorse.
She bit her tongueuntil the news came.
“Katies pregnant,” Margaret sighed.
Emily nearly cheered.
“Still, you ought to try just in case,” Margaret pressed.
But “just in case” never came. Katie had the baby, and Emily thought the ordeal was overuntil Dorothy called a family meeting.
“My, what a big family I have,” she mused, surveying the room. “Plenty to look after me now. Whoever does gets the inheritance.”
Jaws dropped. Katies husband choked on his scone. Margaret perked up instantly.
“But you promised *us*,” Katie whispered.
“Did I?” Dorothy arched a brow. “Think popping out a baby earns you a reward? What about *me*? I can barely walk to the shops these days!”
Emily hid a smile. So much for a kingdom for a grandchild.
After that, the pilgrimage began. Aunts, uncles, Margareteven Katie with her newbornall suddenly tripped over themselves to “care” for Dorothy.
Emily and James stayed out of it. They worked, they saved, they enjoyed quiet evenings. And that, to them, was the real victory. Because you could spend your life chasing carrotsor just live it on your own terms.
