“I won’t live with a stranger’s grandmother,” declared the grandson, locking eyes with his mother.
“Mum, you tell him! I’m tired of explaining!” Helen nervously fidgeted with the edge of the tablecloth, avoiding her son’s gaze.
“What’s there to explain?” Mark set his mug of tea down and sat across from his mother. “I’ve made myself clearI’m moving out next week. Found a flat, paid the deposit.”
“But love, how will we manage here…” Helen began, but Mark cut her off with a sharp gesture.
“Mum, I’m twenty-seven! Don’t you think it’s time I lived on my own?”
A muffled cough came from the next room, followed by the sound of something falling and irritated muttering.
“You see?” Helen sighed. “She’s dropped something again. I should check.”
“Don’t,” Mark placed a hand on her shoulder. “Let her sort it out herself. You’re not her carer.”
“Mark, she’s elderly…”
“Mum, enough!” His voice hardened. “Shes no one to you. No one at all! Just Dads mother, who never spoke a kind word to you in her life.”
Helen winced as if physically struck. It was trueher mother-in-law, Margaret, had never accepted her. Twenty-eight years ago, when the young couple married, Margaret had been cold and distant. Shed told neighbours her son couldve done better, that Helen came from the wrong sort of family, that she had a foul temper. And after Mark was born, shed outright declared shed raise the boy herself because his mother was clueless.
“Remember what she called you?” Mark pressed, seeing hed struck a nerve. “‘That Helen of yours.’ Not even by namejust ‘that Helen.’ And when Dad died…”
“Stop,” Helen whispered. “Dont bring that up.”
But Mark wouldnt let it go. Three years had passed since the funeral, yet the memories still stung. Margaret had announced outright that the house had belonged to her son, so now it was hers. That Helen and her boy ought to find somewhere else. That shed suffered enough from these outsiders.
“And who picked her up off the floor when she had her stroke?” Mark continued. “Who called the ambulance? Who sat by her hospital bed?”
“Thats enough,” Helen stood, gathering the dishes.
“No, its not! You see what shes doing! Banging things at night, dropping pans so you cant sleep. Blasting the telly. Those snide remarks about the food being rubbish, the wrong medicine…”
From Margarets room came a sharp call:
“Helen! Helen, come here!”
Helen automatically moved toward the door, but Mark caught her wrist.
“Where are you going? If she needs something, she can get up herself.”
“Mark, shes ill…”
“Ill? Shes fitter than both of us! Just used to bossing people. Dad waited on her hand and foot, and now youre doing it.”
“Helen!” The voice grew sharper. “Are you deaf?”
Helen pulled free and went to her mother-in-law. Margaret lay in bed, blankets drawn to her chin. A newspaper lay crumpled on the floor.
“Pick that up,” she nodded at it. “I want to read.”
“Margaret, where are your glasses?”
“Of course Ive got them. Think Im blind?” The old woman fumbled on the nightstand, sliding them on. “And fetch me tea. Properly hot this time. Yesterday you brought me lukewarm dishwater.”
Helen silently picked up the paper, set it beside her, and went to put the kettle on. Mark sat at the table, glowering.
“Running her errands again?”
“Dont start,” Helen sighed.
“Mum, listen to me,” Mark pulled his chair closer. “Im moving. And youre coming with me.”
Helen froze, kettle in hand.
“What?”
“Its simple. The flats got two bedroomsplenty for us. Youll finally live properly, without the constant rows and complaints.”
“And what about her?”
“She can manage however she likes. You reap what you sow.”
“Mark, I cant… Shell be all alone.”
“Good! Maybe shell finally understand what lifes like without you.”
Helen set the kettle on the hob, bracing herself against the counter. Her thoughts swirledguilt tangled with relief.
“Mum, remember what she said after Dads funeral?” Marks voice softened. “‘You can start packingthe house is mine now.’ Remember?”
Helen nodded. That moment was seared into her memory. Theyd returned from the cemetery, changed out of black, sat down for tea. Then Margaret, silent all through the service, announced everything would change now. That Helen and her son didnt belong here. That it was time they found their own place.
“And who told her we werent going anywhere?” Mark continued. “Who said youd care for her no matter what?”
“I did,” Helen admitted. “But it was different then. Shed just buried her son…”
“Mum, that was three years ago! Three years youve waited on her like a maid. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, doctors visits. And what thanks have you had?”
Helen thought. Not once had Margaret shown gratitude. Only complaintssoup too salty, washing not done right, wrong pills bought. Just last week, shed told neighbour Mrs. Thompson she lived with strangers who couldnt wait for her to die so theyd get the house.
“Helen! Wheres my tea?” came the shout.
“Coming!” Helen called, but Mark blocked her path.
“No. Sit down.”
“Mark…”
“Mum, sit. We need to talk.”
Reluctantly, Helen obeyed. Mark took her hands.
“Mum, I wont live with a strangers grandmother,” he said, holding her gaze. “And neither should you. Youre only fifty-two. Youve got your whole life ahead. Why waste it on someone who doesnt appreciate you?”
“Shes not a stranger, love. Shes your grandmother.”
“Grandmother?” Mark laughed bitterly. “Shes never loved me. Remember how shed say I took after you? That I had your rotten temper? When I got into uni, she said it was a waste of moneythat Id never amount to anything.”
Helen stayed quiet. She remembered every slight, every sting. But her husband had told her to ignore itsaid his mother was difficult but fair deep down.
“Helen!” The shout came again, angry now.
Mark stood abruptly, strode to Margarets room. Helen heard him say:
“Gran, Mums busy. If you want tea, make it yourself.”
“How dare you speak to me like that? Fetch your mother!”
“I wont. And just so you knowwere moving out next week.”
“Moving where?”
“To a new place. Me and Mum.”
Silence. Then Margarets disbelieving voice:
“And me?”
“Youll stay here. Alone. Like you always wanted.”
“Mark!” Helen called, but he was already back, looking satisfied.
“Settled,” he said, rubbing his hands. “Let her think on that.”
“Why did you do that? We shouldve discussed it first…”
“Mum, whats to discuss? Weve talked about it a hundred times. Youve said yourself youre worn out, cant take her nonsense anymore.”
It was true. Helen had complained oftenespecially after Margaret called her a freeloader in front of guests.
“But shes old, shes ill…”
“Mum, shes seventy-five, not a hundred! Shes no sicker than anyone her age. She just knows how to play it up.”
Sniffling came from the other room. Helen stood, but Mark shook his head.
“Dont. Its an act. Shell cry, then play the victim.”
“But what if shes really upset?”
“Really?” Mark scoffed. “Where were her tears when she kicked us out after Dad died? Where was her pity then?”
Helen remembered. Margaret had been ice-cold. Not a single tear as she told them to leave. If anything, shed sounded triumphant.
“And what happened next?” Mark pressed. “Her stroke. Who saved her then? Who called the ambulance, took her to hospital, ran for prescriptions?”
“Me,” Helen whispered.
“Exactly. And what did she do? Soon as she recovered, it was back to normal: nothings right, foods awful, youre not trying.”
The sniffling stopped. The room fell silent.
“See?” Mark nodded toward it. “No audience, no performance.”
Helen drank some water, thoughts churning. Mark was right. Margaret had never loved her, never valued her. Criticized, humiliated, even tried to throw her out.
But to abandon an old woman… It felt cruel.
“Mum, I know this is hard,” Mark said gently. “Youre kind. Youve got a conscience. But think of yourself. Dont you deserve a life too?”
Helen nodded. She did. One without tension, without daily blame, without waking up dreading the next criticism.
“Remember how things used to be?” Mark asked. “When Dad was alive? Wed talk, go to the theatre sometimes. When was the last time you went anywhere?”
Helen thought. Three yearsjust work, home, hospital, shops. Her friend Jane had invited her to the cinema, but shed refusedcouldnt leave Margaret alone too long.
“Mum, why dont we try?” Mark coaxed. “Move out, live properly for a month or two. If shes truly struggling, well figure it out.”
“But what if something happens?”
“Shes got a phone. Neighbours. We could even hire a carerif shell pay for one.”
Footsteps shuffled toward them. Margaret appeared in the doorway, leaning on the frame.
“So,” she said, “youre dumping me?”
“Gran, no ones dumping you,” Mark said calmly. “Were just moving out.”
“And how am I supposed to manage? Old and ill like I am?”
“Youre not as ill as you pretend,” Mark replied. “Besides, you were the one who told us to leave three years ago. Remember?”
Margaret blinked, caught off guard.
“Thatthat was different…”
“How?” Mark stepped closer. “Same house, same people. Whats changed?”
“Im frail now! I need help!”
“Maybe you shouldve thought of that sooner,” Marks voice turned steely. “Maybe you shouldnt have hurt the person whos looked after you these three years.”
Margaret turned to Helen.
“Helen, you wouldnt leave me? You know I need help…”
Helen stayed silent, torn between pity and resentment, duty and longing.
“Mum,” Mark said softly, “tell her the truth. Tell her youre tired of the jibes. How it hurts to hear you dont belong here.”
“I never said that!” Margaret protested.
“No? What did you tell Mrs. Thompson? That you lived with strangers waiting for you to die?”
Margaret faltered.
“II didnt mean it like that…”
“Then how?” Mark pressed. “Mums been in this family thirty years. Thirty years putting up with you. And you still treat her like an outsider.”
Helen walked to the window, heart heavy. She wanted to cry, but no tears came.
“Margaret,” she said quietly, “do you remember what you said to me three years ago?”
“Helen, I was grieving…”
“You said, ‘You can pack your thingsthe house is mine.’ Remember?”
Silence.
“You also said youd had enough of this ‘outsider family.’ Recall that?”
“Helen, I didnt”
“Intentions dont matter now,” Helen turned to face her. “What matters is what you said. And we havent forgotten.”
Margaret sank into a chair, suddenly frail.
“But Im ill… I need help…”
“You do,” Helen agreed. “But why should it come from the people you call strangers?”
Margaret twisted her dressing gown sleeves, silent.
“Margaret,” Helen continued, “youve spent my whole life making sure I knew I didnt belong here. So why should I stay now that you need me?”
“Because… because its right,” Margaret mumbled.
“Right for who?” Mark cut in. “You? What about whats right for us? A lifetime of your sniping?”
Margaret looked up at him, eyes unexpectedly wet.
“Mark, youre my grandson…”
“A grandson you never loved. One you said would never amount to anything.”
“I… I didnt think youd remember…”
“I remember. So does Mum. We remember everything.”
Something in Helen snappeda taut wire finally breaking.
“Margaret,” she said quietly but firmly, “we are moving out. Next week.”
The old woman flinched.
“Helen…”
“Its Mrs. Parker to you. And yes, were leaving. Youll live alone, like you wanted.”
“But how will I”
“How would we have?” Helen sat across from her. “When you threw us out after Dad died? Wed have managed, wouldnt we?”
Margaret bowed her head.
“I was… grieving…”
“So were we,” Helen said. “Burying a husband, a father. But we didnt cast you out.”
The silence stretched. Mark stood by the window, Helen at the table, Margaret hunched as if aged a decade in minutes.
“Perhaps… we could reconsider…” Margaret ventured at last.
“Reconsider what?” Mark asked.
“Well… maybe I was wrong… Too harsh…”
Helen shook her head.
“Too late, Margaret. Far too late. Weve made our decision.”
And she had. Right there at the kitchen table, watching her mother-in-law shrink. She deserved her own life. A home without daily scorn. A son who could bring friends over without shame. Evenings without rows, mornings without dread.
“Mum,” Mark squeezed her shoulder, “Im proud of you.”
Helen noddedand smiled properly for the first time in months.
