Just Mum says youve turned odd, James muttered, his voice trailing off as he sank into his chair.
Ah, Mum says, Emma snorted, a bitter laugh slipping out. The memory of the freshoffthestove argument with her motherinlaw flashed across her mind. How could Margaret, her motherinlaw, ever recount the way Emma had snapped at her after Margaret began rambling about her own tragic past? Probably for the hundredth time now.
Mrs. Harrington, could we change the subject? Emma asked, her tone polite but edged with steel.
Margaret, still midmonologue about the miscarriages that had haunted her youth, choked on her own words and stared at Emma, bewildered.
Emma, Im only trying to help, she said, voice shaking.
Thanks, but I dont need support from someone whose empathy is as thin as a wafer, Emma replied, the sarcasm sharp enough to cut.
What did you just call me, a fool? Margarets eyes welled; tears gathered like a sudden storm.
On any other day, Emma would have tried to smooth things over, perhaps slipping out with an excuse about an urgent work call or a forgotten meeting, inventing a pretext to flee Margarets relentless reminiscing. She would have crafted a tale about a television interview and fled. But grief works in strange ways, reshaping the whole body, especially during pregnancy.
By the fifth month, Emma had shed her soft, patient façade and become a woman who, sleeves rolled up, demanded answers as if she were hunting a phantom horse and cottage in a folktale, then marching off to fix the problems she alone could solve.
What should I call you, when youve already told me three hundred times I dont want to discuss your failed motherhood? she snapped. Know this: I have a friend whos a highfunctioning autistic. He might break into dance at the grocery store or miss a joke, but even he knows that bringing up such things with a pregnant woman is sheer idiocy.
So you think Im not only a nag but also a complete imbecile? Thats how you treat me, for my kindness? Ive never heard a kind word from you
Yes, there would be a reason to say those words, Emma muttered, slamming the front door shut. She exhaled, inhaled, and allowed a small, satisfied smile to spread across her face. For once, she hoped Margaret would give her space for weeks, perhaps forever.
Hope, however, was a fragile guest. The dinner that night found James quiet, his thoughts drifting far beyond the kitchen. Emma tried, as she always did, to draw him into conversation, but his replies were monosyllabic, his gaze elsewhere.
She asked what was wrong; he reassured her that everything was fine and turned back to his plate. Emma could not link his silence to the mornings clash with his mother. She simply assumed work was consuming him or perhaps some secret he didnt want to burden her with.
A few days later, James finally broached a new subject. Emma, have you ever heard of postnatal depression? It can affect even expectant mothers, right?
Maybe its not exactly postnatal, but I dont think Im depressed, am I? Emma shot back. If you need peace of mind, I can see a psychiatriston one condition: you come with me and explain why my behaviour made you suspect this depression.
Just Mum says youve turned odd, James repeated, as if echoing a broken record.
Emmas mind raced back to the argument with Margaret. How could her motherinlaw keep insisting Emma had been rude after Margaret began dredging up her sorrowful past, yet again?
James, Ill be blunt: if anyone needs a specialist, its your mother. Do you know what she told me?
I know you two are always at odds. She thinks youre purposely giving her grieflike the advice about the hair mask or that misaddressed parcel
What are you on about? Emma asked, bewildered by Jamess sudden shift. He reminded her of a recent incident: his mother had bought the exact same hair mask Emma kept on the shelf, claiming Emma had recommended it.
Mom tried the mask and then accused me of steering her toward a bad product while hiding the good one that makes my hair grow so thick, James explained, frustration rising.
What? James, youre completely out of the loop on these womens gadgets. If you understood, youd see the trap.
Emma, in a frantic three minutes, recounted why she could never have suggested a treatment for someone whose hair was constantly bleached, chemically damaged, and undergoing a bioperm that left it a wreck. She unlocked her phone, opened a saved conversation, and showed James the exact address she had given Margaret for a parcel from a mutual friend.
Ah, I see. Sorry, I shouldnt have trusted Mums word. She used to be reasonablewhat did you two argue about?
She started recounting her tragedies again, Emma sighed. Four miscarriages in a row, before you even existed. I get it, you cant keep hearing that, especially when Im trying to carry our child.
You mean she will kill me, James blurted, his voice cracking. He called his mother, confronted her, and returned home with a final verdict: no more contact with Margaret.
Emma breathed a quiet sigh of relief. The motherinlaws intrusive, erratic behavior had finally been cut off, and Jamess family, though still bitter, could no longer weaponise Margaret against his wife.
Relatives scoffed, At least let the grandma see the baby! She only wants a grandchild to dote on in her old age. James retorted, Put that granny on your grandchildren and watch how long your strong marriages survive.
He seemed to relish the bickering, as if it were a twisted sport. He even regretted that, after offering relatives to take on his mothers care, they had nothing left to say but to push the topic aside.
James realised his mothers dislike was a known fact, and he had no power to mend it. He made a few pointed remarks, hinting that they should stay out of his business, and then severed ties completely. With the connection gone, any assistance evaporated, leaving his family to breathe in peace.
Now, their little boy grows up in quiet calm. James and Emma work hard to preserve that peace through his early years, hoping to teach him proper manners before school. Emma, still sporting the same strong, healthy hair she never lost after pregnancy, and James, modest but not shy, navigate life together.
Modesty these days feels like a relicuseful only for polite conversation, lacking real practicality. Emma feels fortunate to have realised this early, before the parasites of resentment could settle in.
