The kitchen smelled of meat pies when the front door swung open—Julia’s daughters were home. They’d been staying with their grandmother and should’ve been cheerful. But instead of joy, resentment clouded their faces.
“Mum, Grandma doesn’t love us!” chorused Lily and Holly.
Julia stepped into the hallway, drying her hands on a tea towel.
“Why do you say that?”
The girls exchanged glances before one began explaining carefully. Grandma let Jack and Emily—Aunt Margaret’s kids—run, jump, and eat whatever they wanted. But them? No noise, no sweets, no chocolates. She even walked Jack and Emily to the bus stop, while she just shut the door on Lily and Holly.
Julia froze. She knew her mother-in-law, Rosemary, wasn’t the warmest woman, but she hadn’t realized it had gone this far.
Their relationship had always been neutral—not close, but not hostile. Everything changed when Margaret had children. Then, Grandma was practically blind with love. She’d spend hours telling everyone how brilliant they were, how much they took after their mother.
When Julia and her husband, James, had twins, Rosemary just shrugged.
“Two at once? Blimey… I couldn’t handle two.”
“We’re not asking you to,” James cut in.
“Margaret could use the help more… hers are so close in age.”
“And ours aren’t children?” Julia couldn’t hold back.
“A brother’s duty is to help his sister,” Rosemary said coldly.
That’s when Julia knew there’d be no support. At least her own mum was there, traveling across town to help however she could.
Rosemary, meanwhile, kept gushing over Jack and Emily, never missing a chance to say, “Now these are the grandchildren my daughter gave me!”
As for her son’s kids? If anyone asked, she’d just wave a hand. “They’re managing…”
In time, even friends noticed. Once, in a fit of frustration, Rosemary snapped, “Who even knows if they’re really my granddaughters, even if they’re on my son’s papers.” Those words reached James. He was livid. He stormed over, demanding answers. She made excuses, but they didn’t last.
Every visit left Julia and James with a bitter aftertaste. Endless complaints—the girls were too loud, ate sweets without asking, gave Grandma headaches. And always, the comparisons to the “perfect” grandchildren.
When Jack and Emily left, Grandma personally saw them off, handing them gifts. Lily and Holly? She sent them across a vacant lot where stray dogs roamed. Six years old. Alone. No warning. That was the last straw.
James called his mother.
“Mum, are you unwell?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Then why send the girls alone? That lot’s full of strays!”
“Children need to learn independence early.”
“They’re six! You’d never let Margaret’s kids go alone!”
“You dare accuse me? This is all your wife’s doing—”
Then she hung up.
Years passed. The girls grew up, now in Year 7. Rosemary fell ill. Suddenly, she remembered her “spare” granddaughters. She called James.
“Have Lily and Holly come over to tidy up. What sort of children don’t help their grandmother?”
“Remember why they don’t visit you,” James replied calmly. “You’ve got favourites—ask them.”
Furious, Rosemary called Julia.
“You must make them! I’m their grandmother!”
“You haven’t acted like it. You’ve got a daughter and the ‘right’ grandchildren. Rely on them.”
Emily refused: “Too busy with schoolwork, Grandma.” Jack scoffed: “I’m not a cleaner.”
Rosemary was left alone in silence. Only then did she realize love shouldn’t be divided. But it was too late.
