“Do you have no shame, asking my son for money?” shouted the mother-in-law when the topic of food came up.
“Emma, did you buy this cream?” asked Katherine, examining the little jar on the bathroom shelf. “Its so expensive.”
“No, Oliver brought it,” replied her daughter-in-law, drying her hands on a towel. “Says it helps with wrinkles.”
Katherine set the jar back and pursed her lips. Her son wasted money on nonsense while essentials went wanting. Just this morning, hed called apologising that groceries would have to wait till tomorrow.
“What are we making for lunch?” she asked Emma. “The fridge only has potatoes and carrots.”
Emma shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe soup?”
“With what? Theres no meat, no chicken. Just vegetables.”
“Then well make vegetable soup,” Emma said, heading to the kitchen and opening the fridge. “Theres onion and cabbage too. Itll be fine.”
Katherine shook her head. In her day, women ran households properlyalways stocked up, planned ahead.
“What about Lily?” she asked, referring to her four-year-old granddaughter. “She wont just eat soup.”
“Ill make porridge,” Emma said, pulling out a box of oats. “Or pasta with butter. Kids love that.”
“Do we even have butter?”
Emma checked the fridge. “A tiny bit left. Maybe fifty grams.”
Katherine sighed. Barely scraping by, yet her son splurged on creams. Young people had their priorities all wrong.
“Listen, Emma,” she said, sitting on a stool, “could you pop to the shops? At least grab bread and milk for Lily.”
“With what money?” Emma turned to her. “Ive got none.”
“Hows that possible? You work.”
“I do. But paydays not till Friday. My purse is empty.”
Katherine stood and paced the kitchen. The situation was grim. Oliver was late with money, Emma had none, and the family needed to eat.
“My pension went on medicine,” she muttered. “Blood pressures been awfulhad to buy expensive pills.”
“Then well wait till tomorrow,” Emma said. “Well manage one day.”
“And Lily? Starve her, will you?” Katherine snapped.
Emma froze, ladle in hand. “Whats your brilliant idea, then? Fry air?”
“I dont know! Think of something! Youre her mother!”
Footsteps pattered in, and Lily appeared in her teddy bear pyjamas, rubbing her eyes.
“Granny, whens dinner?”
“Soon, sweetheart,” Katherine said, scooping her up. “Mummys cooking now.”
Emma silently began peeling potatoessmall, sprouted ones, far from appetising.
“Mum, can I have biscuits?” Lily peered into the cupboard. “Theres a box.”
“Just crumbs left,” Emma said. “After soup, okay?”
“What kind of soup?”
“Potato.”
Lily pulled a face. “I dont want potato. I want meat, like at Aunt Sophies.”
Katherine exhaled heavily. The child was rightkids needed proper meals, not just vegetables.
Emma set the pot on the stove, hands trembling faintly from exhaustion and stress.
“Emma,” Katherine said quietly, “could you call someone? Friends? Your parents?”
“Why?”
“To borrow a bit. Just for food.”
Emma whirled around. “No. Theyve got their own problems.”
“But if you explain”
“I dont beg.”
“Your parents, then?”
“Mums in hospital. Dads with her. Medical bills are sky-high.”
Katherine eyed the pot of bubbling potato waterno aroma, no appeal.
“Fine,” she said firmly. “Ill call Oliver. Ask him to bring something.”
“He said he cant today.”
“Well try.”
Katherine dialled her son.
“Ollie? Its me… All fine… Listen, any chance you could swing by? Were desperate for food… What dyou mean, no cash? Wheres it gone?… Right… Tomorrow morning?… Okay, well manage.”
She hung up. “Says hell bring stuff tomorrow. Genuinely skint right now.”
“Then we make do,” Emma said, stirring the pot.
Meanwhile, Lily climbed a chair and fetched the empty biscuit box, shaking out the crumbs.
“Mum, can I eat these?”
“Go on, love.”
The girl licked them from her palm. Katherines heart ached watching her.
“Emma, please,” she tried again. “Just ask someone. For Lilys sake.”
“How many times? No!”
“Too proud?”
“Its not pride. Its decency. I dont take handouts.”
“Not handouts! Friends help friends!”
“Theyve got kids too!”
Katherine paced, the situation unbearable.
“Ask the neighbours, then. Mrs. Thompsons always kind.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Its awkward. Were not close.”
“Shed understand.”
Emma ignored her, stirring the meagre soup.
“Mum, whens Daddy coming?” Lily asked. “He promised ice cream.”
“Tomorrow.”
“None today?”
“No.”
Lily pouted. “Doesnt Daddy love us?”
“Course he does. Works hard, thats all.”
Katherine snapped.
“Lily, go watch cartoons. Granny needs to talk.”
Once the girl left, she faced Emma.
“Listen. A child needs proper meals. Not just soup.”
“And whats your solution? A magic wand?”
“Youve got a phone. Swallow your pride!”
“Or what? Starve her?”
“Youd rather that than ask for help?”
Lilys cries echoed from the bedroom. Emma stormed off to comfort her.
Alone, Katherine clenched her fists. Such stubbornness! She grabbed her phone.
“Mrs. Thompson? Its Katherine next door… Could I pop round?”
Five minutes later, she stood in the neighbours kitchen.
“Were in a spot. No food. Could you…?”
“Oh, you poor dears!” Mrs. Thompson clucked. “Of course!” She packed milk, yoghurts, biscuits”Enough for two days.”
“Thank you,” Katherine whispered. “Well repay”
“Nonsense! Thats what neighbours do.”
Back home, Emma eyed the bag.
“Whats that?”
“Mrs. Thompsons kindness. For Lily.”
“I told you”
“And I told youchildren come first.”
“Granny! Whats this?” Lily gasped, spotting the treats.
“From Mrs. Thompson. All for you.”
As the girl devoured a yoghurt, Emmas resistance crumbled.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Thank her, not me.”
Later, watching Lily happily eat, Emma realised: pride feeds no one. Love sometimes means asking. And accepting.
