“Mother-in-law, the mirrors have spots.”
“Mother-in-law, Michael’s shirt isn’t ironed well.”
“Mother-in-law, why did you use so much detergent? It’s more expensive.”
Never Beatrice.
Never Mrs. Betty, as my friends called me.
Just mother-in-law, as if it were a title, not a name.
The kids loved me.
That was real.
Michael would hug me when he got home from school. Sarah would fall asleep on my lap while I read her stories.
But whenever Emily saw us together, her face would harden.
One day, Sarah said, “Grandma, I love you more than Mommy.” Right in front of Emily.
That night, I heard shouting from their bedroom.
“Your mother is spoiling my children, Daniel. She gives them everything they ask for. She indulges them, fills their heads with nonsense.”
“She’s my mom, Emily. Leave her alone.”
“Your mom—or the maid who doesn’t pay rent.”
Silence.
