Margaret couldn’t stand her son-in-law. A rough-edged man from the countryside with no notion of good manners, he drove for a courier company and spent his evenings glued to his console games. She’d done everything she could to rescue Emily from such a husband, but he’d used the most basic yet effective trick—making her pregnant. Margaret had watched enough tabloid television to know that forcing Emily to have an abortion would mean no grandchildren at all. So she hurriedly arranged the wedding. The cheeky man had even tried to vanish with Emily into a rented flat—imagine! Margaret housed them both in her own home, even giving them the spare bedroom.
“Emily, must he spend all night on those consoles again?” Margaret grumbled. “You’ve been running yourself ragged all day with the child—he’d give you a break.”
“Mum, he uses them to unwind. After a bit of gaming, he goes and puts Juliana to bed,” Emily chirped. “Stop picking on him.”
Well, Liam wasn’t entirely terrible. Margaret had been a widow for ten years and had only recently learned to wire a plug. He’d fixed all the stubborn cabinet doors, installed a new faucet, not to mention other handyman tasks. Still, a wobbly wardrobe was preferable to tolerating a man from the sticks eyeing their two-bedroom bungalow. To make matters worse, he’d derailed Emily’s dance career—Margaret had dreamed of being a ballet star but never could, but her daughter had true talent. Now, after a year away from work, Emily would likely end up teaching ballet classes at the community center. No, Liam was a bad lot, a very bad lot.
And yet, the man never noticed her resentment. He called her “Mum” as casually as if they were family, which was precisely the problem.
“Mum, your cooking is simply divine!” he’d gush over any dish. Margaret ached to remind him that Emily’s cutlet—butchers’ finest—was far better than the mystery meat in his plate.
“One of these days, you’d realize people don’t just play games for fun,” Margaret snapped once while ladling soup—thicker for Emily, lighter for Liam. “Next door, Evelyn’s son earns a fortune as a software engineer.”
“I applied to one too,” Liam replied, chewing a dry slice of bread she’d “kindly” broken off for him.
“And got rejected? Why?”
“Got in,” he said. “But I couldn’t finish. Had to drop out.”
“Skipping classes,” Margaret sneered. “Playing your games.”
“Oh, Mum!” Emily interjected. “Liam worked nights to survive. I told him to study part-time, but he refuses.”
“Of course he does. That requires *thought*, not flicking a joystick,” Margaret retorted.
Emily shushed her, and Margaret retreated to her room, pride stung.
Worse than Liam, however, were his parents. Margaret had met them once at the wedding and that was enough. So when Liam, eyes downcast, admitted they’d visit for a day, Margaret nearly fainted.
“Let them stay in a motel,” she ordered.
“I told them to,” Liam said. “But they want to stop by for dinner, to get to know you.”
As usual, Emily swooped in:
“Oh, I’ll bake a birthday cake and some meatloaf! You could make your lentil stew, Mum!”
Margaret sighed—how could she ruin her daughter’s day, especially now that Emily still nursed?
“Fine,” she muttered. “Let them come.”
As feared, the visitors were loud and blunt, brought nothing for Juliana, and kept hinting at the “eye-watering” hotel prices in their provincial town, all while praising Margaret’s spacious bungalow.
Over dinner, Liam’s mother, watching Margaret heap her stew on his plate, suddenly remarked:
“Sis, don’t overfill him! He eats like a monster. We pulled him out of an orphanage, and since then, all he’s done is eat. Never thought of sharing with his brothers!”
Margaret froze, glancing between Liam and his mother, then at Emily, who looked equally stunned.
“You never told me that,” Emily said.
“See?” his mother added. “Ungrateful. We raised him, gave him a roof and food. Then he ran off to study. We quickly taught him responsibility. Reminded him who paid for the lessons. He got a job, let us educate one daughter, now we came to sort out the second.”
When the visitors left, Margaret waited until Emily put Juliana to bed, then summoned Liam.
“So, you ditched your studies to work for *them*?” she asked, waving at the closed door.
“Don’t think ill of them,” Liam pleaded. “They took me in, gave me a home. I’d never had food like they did!” He paused, then added, “Though I must say, your cooking’s better.”
“Why didn’t you finish school?” she pressed.
“I did want to,” he said. “But first, I had to support my brother. Now I’ve got Emily and Juliana to feed.”
“I see,” Margaret murmured.
From that day, his meatloaf was as generous as Emily’s. A week later, Margaret casually mentioned:
“Liam, I spoke to a shop nearby. They want to hire you as a tech assistant. You handle computers, don’t you?”
He stammered, “I… I can manage them.”
“Perfect. They’d pay the same wages, with more hours. Just one condition…”
“I agree,” he interrupted. “Agree to anything.”
“You return to classes,” she said.
Emily hugged her mother, beaming.
“Mum, you’re the best!”
“And the dinners?” Liam added with a grin. “They taste even better now.”
Margaret shrugged, as if it was nothing. Well, maybe Liam wasn’t so bad after all.
Not all people are villains. Sometimes, their pasts are just too heavy to carry alone.
