My Daughter-in-Law Means NOTHING to Me!” Declared the Mother-in-Law at Her Grandson’s Birthday Party—But She Never Expected Her Own Son’s Response.

**”My Daughter-in-Law Is NOBODY to Me!”**

I woke up at five in the morning, just as the first hints of dawn were creeping through the window.

Beside me, James was snoring, one arm flung over his headhis usual pose of a man perpetually short on sleep. Tiptoeing quietly, I slipped into the kitchen, flicked on the light, and pulled out everything I needed for the cake: sponge layers, cream, fresh berries. Today was Mikeys fifth birthday, and I wanted it to feel truly magical.

Bit early for this, isnt it? came a voice from the doorway. James stood there, squinting against the light, his hair a mess.

Go back to sleep, I smiled, rubbing butter into the mix. If I dont start now, Ill never finish before the guests arrive.

He nodded but didnt leave. Instead, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, pressing his cheek against my neck.

Sometimes I think I dont deserve you, he murmured.

I chuckled and set the bowl aside.

Oh, is this about your promotion? Now youre the big boss, and Im still just the primary school teacher?

Emma, come on, he turned me to face him. Today, we tell everyone. Itll be the best surprise.

I nodded, swallowing my nerves. Six years of marriage, and his touch still made my breath hitch. Though once upon a time, no one believed wed make it.

By eleven, the cake was assembled, the bunting hung, and the presents neatly tucked away. The doorbell rang. I took a deep breath, smoothed a stray lock of hair, and opened the door.

Margaret! Youre early!

There stood my mother-in-law, clutching an enormous wrapped box. Her immaculate blowout (salon every Tuesdaynon-negotiable) and flawless makeup were a stark contrast to my dressing gown and messy bun.

Darling, she air-kissed near my cheek, I came early to help. You know how important it is to do things properly.

Silently, I took her coat and led her to the kitchen. Help, in her world, meant micromanaging my every move and pointing out every flawespecially if it could be improved with her superior taste and status.

Oh, whats this? She eyed the cake Id just pulled from the fridge. You made it yourself? Why not order from Harrods?

I wanted to make it myself, I said evenly, setting out plates. Mikey loves it when I bake.

Hes five, darling. What does he know? She wrinkled her nose. And the guests? What will they think? No offence, but a professional patisserie is just another level.

I bit my tongue, focusing on laying out the cutlery. Six years of these comments. Six years of hints that I wasnt quite the daughter-in-law shed envisioned.

Wheres James? She glanced around. Still asleep? His father was the same.

He took Mikey to the park. Theyll be back soon.

She opened a cupboard, pulled out a mug, and immediately grimaced.

Still using these cheap mugs? I gave you that Wedgwood set at Christmas. Dont you like it?

The set that cost nearly my monthly salary was safely stored awaytoday wasnt the day for fine china with kids running around.

Every gathering was the same. Every visit, a test.

I remembered our weddingsmall, quiet. That day, Margaret had leaned into James and whispered, You couldve done better. She thought I hadnt heard.

Six years later, had I grown used to it? No. But Id learned to swallow the hurt, like bitter medicine, chasing it down with a smile. For James. For Mikey. For peace.

The door burst open, and laughter spilled in.

Mum, look! Mikey charged into the kitchen, waving a kite. James followed, arms full of shopping bags.

Granny! Mikey launched himself at Margaret, who instantly lit up, scooping him into her arms.

My darling! Look how big you are! Heres your present from Granny, she nodded at the box.

Wow! Can I open it now? Mikey turned to me.

After the candles, love. Thats the rule.

But Mu-um! he whined.

Emma, must you be so strict? Margaret cut in. James always opened gifts straight away.

James cleared his throat.

Mum, lets stick to tradition. Mikey, be patientguests will be here soon.

The doorbell rang, cutting off the debate. Soon, the house filled with friends and family: my parents with a homemade pie, Jamess colleagues, kids darting everywhere. Mum quietly helped in the kitchen; Dad buried himself in the paper. Unassuming, gentlethe polar opposite of Margaret, who seemed to suck up all the oxygen in the room.

Susan, hows your blood pressure? Margaret boomed at my mum. At your age, you must be careful.

Mum smiled politely. She was fifty-fivethree years younger than Margaret, who never let anyone forget it.

Fine, thank you, Mum murmured, chopping vegetables.

Still at the factory, then? Must be hard.

My parents had worked there their whole livesordinary engineers. Not like Margaret, the retired department head with connections.

The party rolled on. Kids screeched, adults chatted. I flitted between rooms, playing hostess. James helped but mostly talked shophis promotion was a big deal, though wed save the announcement for later.

Emma, change the boys clothes, Margaret grabbed my arm. I saw the perfect outfit at John Lewis. If youd taken me shopping, hed look like a proper birthday boy.

I glanced at Mikey. Jeans, a T-shirtcomfortable, his choice.

Hes fine, Margaret.

Fine isnt good enough, she snapped. In my day

Mum, enough, James cut in. He looks great.

Margaret pursed her lips and stalked off. I shot James a grateful look, but he was already deep in conversation.

Mum, whys Granny always cross? Mikey whispered, tugging my sleeve.

I froze, salad tongs in hand. Behind me, Margarets laughter rang out as she complained about finding decent help these days.

Shes not cross, love. She just likes things a certain way.

What way?

Good question. I wished I knew.

Cake time! I called, checking the clock. Mikey, make a wish!

Everyone gathered around. James hit record on his phone. I carried out the caketwo tiers, chocolate ganache, raspberry filling, Mikeys favourite.

Wow! His eyes lit up.

Well, its homemade, Margaret muttered, loud enough for the neighbours. A proper bakery wouldve done fondant, sparkles

I swallowed the sting. Today wasnt about her. Today was Mikeys day.

Make a wish, sweetheart, I said, setting the cake before him, five candles flickering.

They sang Happy Birthday. Mikey screwed up his eyes, inhaled, and blewall the candles out in one go. Cheers erupted.

Presents! James announced.

Mikey tore into them: Lego from Gran and Grandpa, books from friends, a toy garage from us. Then, the grand finaleMargarets giant box.

An iPad! Mikey shrieked, pulling out the shiny Apple box. Thanks, Granny!

Margaret beamed like shed won the lottery.

Only the best for my grandson, she said, glancing pointedly at my parents. Some cant afford it, but children need modern technology.

Mum looked down, as if her humble gift wasnt enough. My hands trembled slightly as I sliced the cake.

Whod like to say a few words? James raised his glass.

Allow me. Margaret stood, smoothing her dress. Today, we celebrate five years of Mikey. Im so proud of the boy hes becoming.

She paused, relishing the spotlight.

I raised James alone. No husband. Did it all myself. And look at him nowsuccessful, respected. All because of how I raised him.

Her voice waverednot with tears, but performance.

Now, I watch my grandson grow. And while much delights me much worries me.

The room tensed.

The parenting choices, for one, she stared straight at me. Junk food, cutting corners. Ive always told James: its not just who you are, but who you marrywho raises your child.

Mum, stop, James said, but she ploughed on.

No, darling. Ive stayed silent six years. Six years watching someone take advantage of your kindness, your position.

My parents exchanged glances. Guests suddenly found their cake fascinating.