After six months of silence, my mother-in-law finally spoke. Her first words left her own daughter frozen in place.
“Mum, please say something,” Emily pleaded, squeezing the cold hand of the woman lying in the hospital bed. “I know you can hear me. The doctor said your hearing is fine.”
Margaret Whitmore remained silent, her empty eyes fixed on the ceiling. It had been half a year since her stroke, and she hadnt uttered a word. Only the occasional blink when Emily read aloud letters from the grandchildren in America.
“Liz called today,” Emily continued, adjusting the pillow. “Little Sophies started nursery. Speaks more English than Russian nowcan you believe it?”
The door burst open. Standing there was Victoria, Margarets eldest daughter, her hair dishevelled, a large bag of groceries in hand.
“Always playing the saint, arent you?” she snapped without a greeting. “Think I dont know what youve been telling the doctors? That we, her own children, abandoned her?”
Emily sighed. These weekly rows had become routine.
“Vicky, not so loud. Mums tiredyour shouting wears her out.”
“My mother!” Victoria shoved past Emily. “Mum, its me, your real daughter. Not some stranger who moved into your flat.”
Margarets hand twitched as if she wanted to speak, but only a groan escaped.
“See how upset she gets when you shout?” Emily stepped between them. “Lets talk in the hall.”
“No, you leave. Ive had enough of your act. You think I dont know why you come every day? Guilt, isnt it? After what happened with David?”
Emily paled. They avoided mentioning her son around Margaretthe doctors warned that any distress could trigger another stroke.
“Vicky, please”
“Im not asking, Im telling you!” Victoria pulled a jar of homemade jam from her bag. “Mum loves thisapricot. Not that hospital slop you feed her.”
“She cant have anything acidic. You know that.”
“Oh, of course you know best! Always smarter than her actual children!” Victoria set out more jars. “Homemade yoghurt, boiled chicken, beef broth. And what did you bring? Those awful shop yoghurts again?”
Emily noticed Margarets eyes following her daughters movementsthe first spark of interest in months.
“Mum, want some yoghurt?” Victoria perched on the bed. “Just like you used to make, remember? Straining it through muslin, adding a bit of sugar…”
Margaret gave the faintest nod.
“See?” Victoria shot Emily a triumphant look. “She understands me. Not you with your hospital rules.”
Emily bit back the fact that dairy was bad for her kidneys. Maybe the doctors were rightsometimes, emotional bonds mattered more than prescriptions.
“Vicky,” Margaret whispered suddenly.
Both women froze.
“Mum! Youre talking!” Victoria clutched her mothers hand. “You recognise me!”
Margaret turned her head slowly.
“Wheres… David?”
Silence. Victoria looked helplessly at Emily.
“Mum, he… he cant visit. Works abroad,” Emily lied.
“Liar,” Margaret breathed. “I know… everything.”
Victoria burst into tears. “Mum, dont think about that now. Please.”
“He… drank?” Margarets eyes fixed on Emily.
“Yes,” Emily admitted. “Badly, these last few years.”
“Did you… forgive him?”
Emily nodded, too choked to speak.
“Then… so will I.”
Margaret closed her eyes as tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Dont cry, Mum,” Victoria pleaded, stroking her hand. “Youll get better, come live with me. Ive got a big spare room”
“No,” Margaret murmured. “Home… I want to go home. To Emilys.”
Victoria recoiled as if struck.
“But Im your daughter! Your flesh and blood!”
“And she… is too. Thirty years, she stayed. You… only came for Christmas.”
“We were working! We had families!”
“She… had a child too,” Margaret said softly. “A good boy. I helped… raise him.”
Emily turned to the window. Outside, a light rain fellthe kind her soul had ached for. She wanted to stand in it, let the drops wash away the pain of these last years.
“David… called,” Margaret continued. “Before… the end. Asked… for forgiveness. I gave it.”
“Dont talk about this,” Victoria begged. “The doctors said no stress.”
“Need… to say it. Emily… was good to him. Stayed… when he was ill.”
Margaret turned to Emily.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For… not letting him die alone.”
Emily sank into a chair, legs buckling.
“He loved you so much. Said no one had a mother like you.”
“And now… Im a burden.”
“Never,” Emily said sharply. “Youre all the family I have left.”
“You have… grandchildren. In America.”
“Theyre building lives there. Liz married an Americaneasier for the young.”
“Do you miss them?”
“Sophie, terribly. But what can you do?”
Victoria listened, face darkening.
“How touching,” she finally snapped. “And what if I say Ive got rights too? That I wont hand Mum over to an outsider?”
“Vicky!” Margaret rasped.
“What? I worked double shifts for thirty years, raised kids alone because my husband drank as much as your David! Now I can help, and Im the villain?”
“No one… said that,” Margaret sighed. “But I want… my own home.”
“With her?” Victoria jabbed a finger at Emily. “What if she leaves? Goes to America? Then what?”
Emily stood by the window. Dusk had fallen, lights flickering in the hospital wing. So many lives, each with joys and sorrows.
“I wont leave,” she said quietly. “I promise.”
“What if you remarry? Find some man?”
Emily laughed bitterly. “At fifty-two? Whod take me? Old, ill, with all this baggage?”
“Not old,” Margaret said. “Still… beautiful. And kind.”
“Youre tired, Mum. Let me give you your tablets.”
Victoria watched them, arms folded.
“You know what? Fine. Maybe this is better. My Toms off to uni soon, and my husband never liked having elderly in the house. Says it disrupts the peace.”
“Vicky!” Margaret chided.
“What? Its true. Hes got a stressful jobdoesnt need nightly moaning and doctors visiting.”
“Right,” Emily said. “Once shes discharged, she comes home with me.”
“What about your job? Youre full-time.”
“Ill quit. Or go part-time. Well manage.”
After a pause, Victoria muttered, “Ill send money. Monthly. And groceries. Call if anything happens.”
“Alright.”
“But” Victoria hesitated. “No guilt trips. I cant handle daily lectures about being a bad daughter.”
“Wont happen.”
Margaret listened silently, eyes closed but awake.
“Mum, what do you think?”
“I think… God gave me… a second daughter. A good one.”
Victoria choked back a sob and fled.
“Shes hurt,” Margaret sighed.
“Shell be alright. Always was sensitivemarried a man who made it worse.”
“Men… dont understand… a womans heart.”
“Not all. David did. When he was sober.”
“Yes… good boy. Pity… how it ended.”
They sat quietly. The ward hummed with nurses footsteps, distant crying, a TV murmuring news.
“Emily,” Margaret whispered.
“Yes?”
“Do you… regret it? Marrying him?”
Emily thought.
“There were moments. Especially during the binges. But then Id thinkwould another man have been better? We never know. Mightve never had children. Liz turned out wonderful.”
“Clever girl… like you.”
“And you. Just as stubborn.”
Margaret smiledfirst time in months.
“Good… women need… strength.”
A nurse peeked in. “Visiting hours are over. Time to settle her.”
“Of course.” Emily stood. “Mum, Ill come early tomorrow. Maybe a walk if its nice.”
“Come. And be… kind to Vicky. Shes… tired.”
“I will. Sleep well.”
She kissed Margarets forehead. At the front desk, an administrator stopped her.
“Excuse me, are you Mrs Whitmores relative?”
“Her daughter-in-law.”
“Her daughter was here earlierinsisted we ban you from visiting. Claimed you werent family.”
“She was upset. Said things she didnt mean.”
“We need clarity on who makes medical decisions. If theres an emergency”
“I have her power of attorney.” Emily pulled out the papers. “She arranged it before the stroke.”
The woman examined them.
“All
