“Oh, youre doing this on purpose! Why are you being so hard on her, Helen?”
“Its not my fault she disrupts my lessons. I grade fairly. Your Molly, bless her, acts like a little princess.”
Helen stood by the teachers desk in a crisp blazer, hair neatly tied back, a friendly smile on her face. But that smile hid something sharper.
The classroom walls were covered in the best student artwork. Oddly, none of Mollys pieces were up thereeven though shed won prizes in town competitions.
“Dont give me that! I know Molly. Art means everything to her. She wouldnt misbehave. And even if she did, youre supposed to grade her work, not her attitude! Youre failing her because”
“Because she chats instead of drawing,” Helen cut in smoothly. “Look, Emma, just because Granny sticks her doodles on the fridge doesnt mean she deserves top marks automatically. I dont play favourites.”
Emma narrowed her eyes, shooting Helen a glare. Outside the door, a flash of Mollys red coat shiftedshed been waiting for her mum and had heard every word.
It all sounded wildly unfair, but now Emma was starting to see where this was coming from.
Both Emma and Helen were daughters-in-law to Margaret. Their mother-in-law was kind, but a bit too soft. She loved them both, but she favoured Emma. Maybe because Emma didnt hide poison behind a sweet smile.
At Christmas, Helen got a shampoo set from Margaret. Emma got a book and a lovely metal bookmark. Both gifts were modest, but one clearly had more thought behind it.
“Sorry, love wasnt sure what to get you,” Margaret had mumbled to Helen.
The favouritism wasnt just in gifts. Margaret praised both daughters-in-law, but Emmaand Mollya little more.
“Oh, what a masterpiece! A proper little artist. Golden hands, no doubt,” Margaret would gush whenever Molly brought her a new drawing, pinning it to the fridge.
Helen started bringing her sons artwork toocards, portraits of Granny. But it was obvious hed done them under duress. He never handed them over himself, barely reacted to praise.
“Oh, another little artist!” Margaret would say. “Though whys my hair green?”
“Didnt have a yellow pencil,” her grandson would shrug.
Margaret doted on both grandkids, but Mollys work got more admirationand for good reason. Still lifes, landscapes, animal sketches Not exactly gallery-worthy, but better than most adults could manage.
Then the one-sided war escalated. Helen enrolled her son in art schoolthe same one Molly attended. He was less than thrilled.
“Its boring! I dont want to go!” he whined when Helen announced it at a family dinner.
“Youre there to learn, not mess about,” she replied, sweet but firm.
Helen started shoving his sketcheseven the bad onesunder Margarets nose, insisting “you can see the progress.” But Grannys eyes still didnt light up the way Helen wanted. Maybe thats why she took it further.
“Mum, guess what? Aunt Helens our new art teacher!” Molly blurted one day.
Emma tensed but kept smiling. “Thats nice, love.”
For two weeks, things were calm. Then came the low marks, the notes in the diary. There were breaks, surebut every time Granny praised Molly at a family dinner, another “poor effort” appeared in her book.
Now Emma had had enough. But the conversation wasnt going well.
“Seriously? This is about Granny? Helen, shes doing her best. You *know* how much this means to her. And youre taking it out on a child?”
Helen just smirked.
“She should try harder if she wants top marks.”
When Emma left, Molly was still by the door, wringing her hands. She didnt say a wordjust followed her mum silently.
“Dont worry, sweetheart. Mumll sort it,” Emma whispered.
Shed never been one to stir trouble, but staying quiet felt like betraying her own daughter.
She started with her husband. True to form, he stayed neutral. Andrew believed “family matters should stay private.”
“Ill talk to my brother, but are you sure youre not overthinking this?”
Emma wasnt. Shed watched Molly withdraw, stop showing off her drawings, hide them under books if caught sketching, dread art days at school.
So Emma took matters into her own hands. The next day, she chatted with another mum at the school gates, casually asking about art class.
“Oh, its brilliant! Mrs. Hughes is lovely. My Max *loves* her lessons. And his marks have improved toomight even get an A this term! Well, except in P.E.,” the mum laughed.
Emma clenched her jaw but changed the subject.
Every parent said the same: Helen was wonderful, gave top marks to everyone, polite, patient. Molly was the only exception.
That evening, Emma pulled out Mollys portfolio from art school. The top piece was a still life of an apple.
“Your daughter has a wonderful eye for colour! She experiments with composition, but thats finesometimes she lands on something special,” her art teacher had raved.
Emma compared it to Mollys school work. Same technique, same skilljust gloomier, less detailed lately, likely from the constant criticism.
The next day, Emma marched to the headteachers office. She laid it all out: Helen, the family feud, the unfair marks.
“Shes crushing her talent. My daughters *afraid* to draw now!” Emma shoved the portfolio forward. “Look. Art school work versus classwork. Same standardbut here its Cs and Ds, and there shes top of her group.”
The head nodded, flipping through the pages. Then he called Helen in.
“Afternoon! Whats the matter?” Helen chirpeduntil she saw Emma.
“Mrs. Hughes,” the head held up a drawing, “do you genuinely believe this deserves a D?”
Helen shrugged, eyes down.
“I just wanted to push Molly. She can do better. Some children need a nudge,” she mumbled.
Emma watched her closely. No remorsejust fear.
“In future, grade the work in front of you, not potential,” the head said sternly.
“Sorry to bother you,” Emma added. “I just didnt want this spilling beyond school.”
The head caught her meaning. “If theres any repeat, come straight to me. Understood, Helen?”
Helen sighed, nodded stiffly.
Two weeks later, Molly burst in waving her report cardan A in art. She beamed.
“See? Youre brilliant. And rememberMums always got your back,” Emma hugged her.
After that, Helen changed. Quieter at family dinners, no more bragging about her son, no digs at Molly.
Emma didnt move Molly schools. Running wasnt the answer. People like Helen existed everywherethe trick was standing your ground.
