“A Kingdom for a Grandchild”
“Any chance of a baby yet?”
“Not yet, Margaret,” Emily sighed, rolling her eyes as she fought to keep the irritation out of her voice.
“For goodness’ sake!” her mother-in-law huffed. “You two arent getting any younger, you know. This is important! Ill send you a videovery enlightening.”
“Right. Thanks,” Emily muttered, already dreading another lecture on the “best positions for conception.”
Margaret hung up. The knife clattered loudly against the chopping board. Emily attacked the cucumbers with twice her usual vigour, venting her frustration.
Lately, Margaret didnt even bother with pleasantriesjust dove straight into *the* question. It drove Emily mad. Things hadnt always been this way.
Once, theyd got on reasonably well. Margaret kept her distance, calling once or twice a week, visiting even less. Shed ask for a lift to the supermarket or a trip to her late mothers cottage, and in return, shed spoil them with homemade jam, freshly picked apples, or cherries.
Then everything changedbecause of Margarets own mother, Edith.
Even her own daughter joked that Edith was a drill sergeant in a cardigan. A retired schoolteacher, impossibly strict, she ruled the family with an iron fist. Emily had been luckyby the time shed met James, Edith rarely left her flat. Age and poor health kept her homebound.
But one day, Edith paid them a visit. And once was enough for Emily.
“What on earth is this slop? It looks fit for the chickens!” Edith scowled, peering into the pot of simmering soup. “Move asideIll show you how to make a proper base.”
In Emilys family, soup was made without frying onions firsthealthier, fewer calories. James carried a bit of extra weight, nothing drastic, but Emily didnt want to make it worse.
“Edith, really, its fine as it is,” Emily protested.
“Oh, young people these days,” Edith grumbled. “Cant cook properly with all these takeaways.” She sat down, but the reprieve didnt last.
Emilys phone rangher own mother. She stepped into the next room for privacy. When she returned, the sizzle of frying onions filled the kitchen. Emily clenched her jaw, shooting Edith a sharp look.
“We prefer it without. Its how we always make it.”
“Youve just never had it done right. Try ityoull never go back,” Edith declared, utterly convinced.
Emily bit back a retort. She couldve dumped the lot down the sink, but thatd be too dramatic. Edith wasnt a regular guestshe could tolerate it for James sake.
Yet Edith found a way to meddle from afar.
At a family dinner, she announced:
“Ive decided. My estate goes to whoever gives me a great-grandchild first. I want to see the family line continue before I go.”
James laughed when he relayed it to Emily. She just smiled. As if theyd upend their plans for a whim.
And they *had* plans. Work first, then a home, *then* children. Margaret had once agreedno need to rush.
Now they were on step two, racing to pay off the mortgage. A year left, by Emilys calculations. Plenty of time for things to change. To Margaret, suddenly, it was “only a year.”
“Sweetheart,” Margaret cooed one day, “why not hurry things along? You were going to have children anywaynow theres an inheritance too!”
Emily nearly choked. Since when did anyone dictate her life? Not even her own mother dared.
“Margaret, weve still got the mortgage.”
“Its just a year! By the time youre expecting, itll be sorted.”
“People said that in 2019, then everything went mad. Nowere sticking to the plan.”
“Even if the mortgage falls through, youll have Grannys flat! The cottage too! And her jewellerysolid gold, a fortune!”
“Were not rushing. If it happens, fine. If not well, it wasnt meant to be.”
“Suit yourself. James has two cousins, you know. Theyll beat you to it.”
After that, the pestering became routine. Emily tried patience, then firmnessnothing worked.
“Just humour her,” James said once. “Shell be satisfied if you nod along.”
Easier said than done. Margaret took silence as consent and ramped up the pressureforwarding dodgy “expert” videos, flaunting friends grandchildren, gifting “romantic” scented candles.
For Emilys birthday, Margaret brought a pram. “Youll need it soon!” Top-of-the-range, pristine. Emily hated ither body, her future, reduced to a bargaining chip.
Every visit brought a fresh update:
“Vickys marriage is on the rocks, and Katies still trying. Youve still got a shot!”
Like commentary on a perverse race. Emily felt less like a person and more like a horse, whipped toward a finish line she hadnt chosen.
She bit her tonguefor family peace. She nearly snapped, almost suggested *Margaret* have the baby if she wanted one so badly. Then came the reprieve.
“Katies pregnant,” Margaret announced, deflated.
Emily barely swallowed a “thank God.”
“Theres still time for you two,” Margaret pressed. “Just in case.”
No “just in case” came. Katie had the baby. Emily relaxedfinally, the end. Or so she thought.
“My familys grown,” Edith declared at the next gathering, surveying the room. “Plenty to choose from now. Whoever cares for me best gets the lot.”
Silence. Katies husband choked on his pie. Margaret, however, perked up.
“But you said itd go to us,” Katie whispered.
“Did I? Think popping out a baby means youve won? Nobodys thought about *me*just the money. I cant even walk to the shops anymore!”
Emily smirked. So much for a kingdom for a grandchild.
After that, the pilgrimage began. Aunts, uncles, Margareteven Katie, baby in towall suddenly tripping over themselves to please Edith.
Emily and James stayed out of it. They lived their lives, in their home, on their terms. And *that* felt like victory. You could spend your life chasing the carrotor you could plant your own garden and never look back.
