After six months of silence, her mother-in-law finally spoke. Her first words left her daughter-in-law frozen.
“Mum, please, say something!” Emily squeezed the cold hand of her mother-in-law, lying in the hospital bed. “I know you can hear me. The doctor said your hearing is fine.”
Margaret Whitmore stayed silent, staring blankly at the ceiling. It had been half a year since her stroke, and she hadnt uttered a word. Only the occasional blink when Emily read letters aloud from her grandchildren in Australia.
“Sophie called today,” Emily continued, adjusting the pillow. “Little Lucy has started nursery. Speaks better English than she does Frenchcan you imagine?”
The door swung open abruptly. Standing there was Victoria, Margarets eldest daughterhair tousled, a large grocery bag in hand.
“Trying to take charge again, are you?” she snapped, not even bothering with a greeting. “Think I dont know what youve been telling the doctors? That weve abandoned her?”
Emily sighed wearily. These arguments had become a weekly ritual.
“Vicky, please. Mum gets tired when you shout.”
“My mother!” Victoria shoved past Emily. “Mum, its meyour real daughter. Not some stranger who moved into your flat.”
Margarets hand twitched as if she wanted to speak, but only a faint groan escaped.
“See how upset she gets when you yell?” Emily stepped between them. “Lets talk outside.”
“Or maybe you should leave?” Victoria pulled a jar from her bag. “Homemade apricot jamMums favourite. Not that hospital slop you feed her.”
“She cant have anything acidicyou know that.”
“Oh, you know best, dont you?” Victoria clattered jars onto the bedside table. “Homemade chicken broth, fresh cottage cheeseproper food. And what have you brought? Those awful yoghurts again?”
Emily noticed Margarets eyes following her daughterthe first spark of life in months.
“Mum, want some cheese?” Victoria perched on the bed. “Just like you used to make for me, remember? Straining it through muslin, adding a little sugar…”
A faint nod.
“See?” Victoria shot Emily a triumphant look. “She understands me. Not your hospital rules.”
Emily bit back the reminder that dairy was bad for her kidneys. Maybe the doctors were rightsometimes, love mattered more than medicine.
“Vicky,” Margaret whispered suddenly.
Both women froze.
“Mum! Youre speaking!” Victoria clasped her hand. “You know me!”
Margaret turned her head with effort.
“Wheres… James?”
Silence. Victoria glanced helplessly at Emily.
“Hes… working abroad,” Emily lied.
“Liar,” Margaret breathed. “I know… the truth.”
Victoria burst into tears. “Mum, dont think about that now.”
“Did he… drink?” Margarets gaze locked on Emily.
“Yes,” Emily admitted. “Worse every year.”
“Forgave… him?”
Emily nodded, throat tight.
“Then… so will I.”
Tears slid down Margarets cheeks.
“Dont cry,” Victoria begged, stroking her hand. “Youll get better, come live with me”
“No.” Margaret shook her head. “Home… with Emily.”
Victoria recoiled. “But Im your daughter!”
“And she… is too. Thirty years… by my side. You… only at Christmas.”
“We had jobs! Families!”
“So did she,” Margaret whispered. “A good boy… I helped raise.”
Emily turned to the window, watching the drizzle. She longed to step outside, let the rain wash away the pain.
“James… called,” Margaret rasped. “Before… the end. Asked forgiveness.”
“Mum, dont”
“Need to say it. Emily… stayed. When he was… at his worst.” She looked at Emily. “Thank you… for not letting him… die alone.”
Emily sank into a chair, legs weak.
“He loved you. Said no one had a mother like you.”
“Now… a burden.”
“Never.” Emilys voice broke. “Youre all the family I have left.”
“Your grandchildren… in Australia.”
“Building their lives there. Sophie married an Aussieeasier for the young ones.”
“Miss them?”
“Terribly. But thats life.”
Victoria listened, face darkening.
“How touching,” she sneered. “And what if I say I wont hand Mum over to a stranger?”
“Vicky!” Margaret chided weakly.
“I worked double shifts for thirty years, raised kids alone because my husband drank as much as your James! Now I can help, and you call me a stranger?”
“No one… said that,” Margaret sighed. “But home… is where I belong.”
“With her?” Victoria jerked her chin at Emily. “What if she leaves? Goes to her daughter?”
Emily watched the hospital lights flicker outside. So many lives, so much unseen sorrow.
“I wont leave,” she said quietly. “I promise.”
“And if you remarry? Meet someone?”
Emily laughed bitterly. “At fifty-two? Whod want me?”
“Not old,” Margaret murmured. “Still kind… still beautiful.”
“Youre tired. Lets get you ready for bed.”
As Emily tidied the sheets, Victoria hovered awkwardly.
“Fine,” she muttered. “Maybe its for the best. My Toms enlisting soon, and my husband… well, he says old folk disrupt the house.”
“Vicky!” Margaret gasped.
“Its true! Nighttime moans, medicines, doctors in and out…”
“Then its settled,” Emily said. “Once shes discharged, Mum comes home with me.”
“What about your job?”
“Ill manage. Cut hours, if I must.”
Victoria hesitated. “Ill send money. And groceries. Call if anything changes.”
“Alright.”
“But no guilt trips,” Victoria warned. “I wont be lectured on being a bad daughter.”
“I wont.”
Margaret listened, eyes closed but awake.
“Mum, what do you think?” Emily asked softly.
“Think… God gave me… another daughter. A good one.”
Victoria fled, sobbing.
“Shes hurt,” Margaret sighed.
“Shell come round. Always was sensitive, and that husband of hers made it worse.”
“Men… dont understand… a womans heart.”
“Not all. James did… when sober.”
“Yes… my good boy. Such a shame.”
The hum of the hospital filled the silencenurses chatting, distant televisions, the occasional cry from another room.
“Emily,” Margaret whispered.
“Yes?”
“Do you… regret marrying him?”
Emily thought for a long moment.
“There were times I did. Especially during his worst binges. But then Id wonderwould another man have been better? Life doesnt give us guarantees. Without James, I might never have had Sophie. And shes turned out splendidly.”
“Clever girl… like you.”
“And stubborn as you.”
Margaret smiledher first in months.
“Good… A woman needs… strength.”
A nurse peered in. “Visiting hours are over.”
Emily rose. “Ill come early tomorrow. Maybe a walk, if the weather holds.”
“Come. And be kind… to Vicky. Shes just… so tired.”
Emily kissed her forehead and left. At the front desk, an administrator stopped her.
“Are you related to Margaret Whitmore?”
“Her daughter-in-law.”
“Her daughter demanded we restrict access to non-relatives.”
Emily handed over a notarised document. “Margaret arranged this before her stroke. Gave me full authority.”
The woman scanned it. “Apologies for the trouble.”
Outside, Emily inhaled the crisp night air. The rain had stopped, stars peeking through the clouds. The bus took ages, giving her time to reflect.
First James death, then Margarets illness. Sophie gone to Australia, her husband settling there. Little Lucy growing up a world away. Life cleaved into before and after.
“Dont let her in under my name!” Victorias shrill voice echoed in her memory.
How odd, she thought, watching city lights blur past the bus window. People measure love by blood, when often its the bonds we choose that matter most.
The flat awaitedcold, quiet, the telly her only company. But tomorrow shed return to the hospital, where Margaret would light up at the sight of her.
And for now, that was enough.
