“What Do You Mean You Won’t Take Care of My Son’s Child?”—The Mother-in-Law Couldn’t Hold Back “Firstly, I’m not turning my nose up at little Billy. I’d like to remind you that in this household, it’s me—after work, as a proper wife and mother—who does the second shift of cooking, laundry, and cleaning. I’m happy to help out and offer advice, but I have no intention of taking on full parental duties.” “So what do you mean, you’re not going to help? Is this the real you—a hypocrite?” “Oh come off it, Rita. Who wants work if it doesn’t pay?” As expected, at the school reunion, Becky couldn’t help but gossip and pass judgement, just like always. But those days when Rita didn’t know how to answer were long gone. Now she always had a quick comeback, and she wasn’t about to let Becky get away with her sharp tongue this time. “If you’re worried about finding money, that doesn’t mean everyone else has the same problem,” Rita shrugged nonchalantly. “I inherited two flats in London from my dad. One was his, which we lived in until my parents divorced, and the other came from my grandparents, first to him, then to me. And rental prices there, as you know, aren’t exactly local rates—I have enough to live on and to enjoy a few treats, so I don’t have to scramble for any old job just because it pays. Isn’t that why you left medicine to work in retail?” That was supposed to be a secret. Rita had promised not to tell anyone. But if Becky really wanted to keep it under wraps, she should have watched her words—especially not calling Rita an ‘idiot’ in public. What, did she seriously think she’d get away with that? If anyone’s being an idiot, it’s hardly Rita. “You’re working in retail? Seriously?” “You promised you wouldn’t tell!” Becky squeaked, wounded, and grabbing her bag, rushed out of the restaurant, clearly fighting back tears. “Serves her right,” Andrew commented after a moment’s silence. “Honestly, I’ve had enough of her. Who even invited her?” Tanya chimed in. “I had to invite everyone,” said Anna, the former head girl and now chief organiser, apologetically. “I remember Becky was never exactly pleasant in school, but I thought people could change—well, some do. Some.” “But not always,” Rita shrugged. They all burst out laughing, and after that, people actually started asking Rita about her job—this time genuinely curious, with none of the snide remarks about her choices or intelligence. Hardly anyone comes across this line of work (nor would you wish it on your worst enemy), so there are a lot of myths and misunderstandings. Rita spent some time dispelling them for her old friends. “Why even bother treating these kids if there’s no point?” someone asked. “Who says there’s no point? Look, I’ve got a lad, five years old. Birth went a bit sideways, he had a lack of oxygen, so now he’s got some developmental delays. The outlook is actually really positive for cases like his—he just started talking a bit later, at three, and now his parents are taking him to speech therapists and neurologists. There’s every chance he’ll start school in a mainstream class, not special ed, and have a regular life. But if no one worked with him, things would look very different.” “I see. So you didn’t need to chase pennies, and chose a socially meaningful career instead,” Val summed up. Soon enough, the chat moved on to the rest of the classmates and their families. Suddenly, Rita felt like someone was watching her. At first, she brushed it off, but it came again—a prickling sense of being observed. She casually glanced around: no, no one was staring, no one there who’d pay her any mind. So she relaxed, carried on chatting, and soon forgot the odd feeling altogether. A week after the reunion, early morning, Rita was about to leave for work, only to find her car blocked in. She rang the number left on the other car and was greeted by profuse apologies and a promise to run down and move it at once. “Sorry for the hassle!” said a cheerful young man as he rushed over. “Had to pop by on an errand, but parking’s impossible round here. I’m Max, by the way.” “I’m Rita,” she introduced herself. There was something about Max—his way, his clothes, his aftershave—that got under her skin in a good way. She agreed to go out with him, then on another date. Three months in, she couldn’t imagine life without him. Even better, Max’s mum and his young son from a previous marriage took to Rita instantly. The boy had additional needs, but thanks to Rita’s profession, she quickly found common ground. She even offered Max some fresh ideas to help with his son’s social skills. By their first year together, Rita moved in with Max and his son, renting out her own place through the same agency that managed her London flats. All seemed well, but then came the warning signs. Little things at first—“help Billy get ready” or “can you watch him for half an hour while I dash out?”—which Rita didn’t mind, especially since she and Billy got along, and she had the time. But the requests piled up, became heavier. Rita had an honest chat with Max. She was happy to help, but Billy was still his responsibility first, especially since her whole professional life was already dedicated to children with extra needs. Max seemed to understand—until, right before the wedding, he and his mum discussed Billy’s rehabilitation plan, clearly expecting Rita to take over in all her free time. “Whoa, hang on,” Rita interrupted. “Max, we agreed—your son, your responsibility. I don’t ask you to go help with my mum’s house, sort out her repairs, or handle her problems, do I? I manage all that myself.” “That’s different,” his mother snorted. “Your mum’s a grown woman, lives on her own. Billy’s a child.” “So are you saying, after the wedding, I’m supposed to put up with all of this and you’ll just expect it to be normal?” “Look, I’m not turning my nose up at Billy. But after work I already do the cooking, cleaning, laundry. Add all of Billy’s extra care to that? That’s for his dad to manage. I’ll help and advise, but I won’t be the full-time parent.” “And you call yourself a decent person?” Max’s mum snapped. “Happy to brag about your job to your mates, but can’t be bothered to actually care for a child?” “What are you on about?” Rita was baffled. Then it clicked: Max’s mum worked at the same restaurant as a dishwasher—they must have overheard everything at the reunion. “So this was all a set-up, just to dump your child on me?” “You really think I’d be with you if it wasn’t for Billy and your job?” Max couldn’t hold back. “If not for those things, I wouldn’t have looked twice at you…” “Oh, really? Well then, don’t!” Rita slipped off her engagement ring and threw it at her ex-fiancé. “You’ll regret this,” Max and his mother threatened. “No real man wants a mouse like you, dead-end job, no money.” “I’ve got two flats in London, so I’m sorted,” Rita shot back, savouring the way their faces changed, then went off to pack. Of course, the next moment came the desperate apologies and promises—he’d care for his son himself, he’d never talk like that again, he was just tired and overworked. But Rita wasn’t buying it. She even visited her old classmates and had a laugh about the whole thing. And she’s still hoping to meet someone who’ll love her for who she is, not her bank balance or job skills. For now, her work and her friends are enough. And maybe she’ll finally get that cat—at least you can train one of those, which is more than can be said for some men.

How can you say you wont take care of my sons child? my future mother-in-law snapped, unable to hide her disapproval.

First of all, I never turn my nose up at young George, I calmly replied. Let me remind you that in this house, its me who, after a full working day, dutifully takes on the chorescooking, washing, cleaningjust as a decent wife and mother should. Im always willing to help, lend advice, but Im hardly about to take on full parental responsibility for a child who isnt my own.

And what exactly does that mean, youre not going to? she demanded, voice rising. Is this the real you, a hypocrite underneath?

Well really, Rita, who wants to work for nothing? Linda, true to form, couldnt help herself at the school reunion, as was her lifelong habit, critiquing all and sundry.

Those days when I’d be lost for words were long past. Now, I never missed my chance to put Linda in her place.

If youre forever worrying about money, Linda, it doesnt mean everyone else has the same worries, I said, shrugging. After all, I inherited two flats in London from my father. The one we lived in before Mother and he divorced, and then another from my grandparents, which passed to him and then to me.

And everyone knows the rental prices in London arent exactly pocket change. It covers my expenses and then some. So I have the luxury of picking a job I like, not just any job for the sake of a wage.

Thats why you switched from doctoring to working in a shop, isnt it?

That was a secret, actually. Rita, meaning me, had promised not to tell a soul.

But really, if Linda wanted to keep that hidden, she shouldnt have called me a fool so loudly, of all places, in public.

Did she truly expect to get away with it? If so, she was the foolish one, not I.

A shop worker? Seriously?

You promised you wouldnt tell! Linda wailed, snatching her bag and marching from the pub, clearly blinking back tears.

She had it coming, Andrew commented after a stunned silence.

Too right, Tanya agreed. Who invited her, anyway?

I did, of course, apologised Anna, our old head girl, and now the event organiser. I do recall Linda wasnt the warmest person at school, but youd hope people might change. Some do. Some dont.

Certainly not always, I quipped.

Laughter.

After that, the attention turned to my career.

People were genuinely curiousnot unkind, just intrigued, and I understood why. Hardly anyone runs into my line of work (and most wouldnt choose to), so its surrounded by myths and misunderstandings.

I did my best to set those straight while we reminisced.

Whats the point of helping them if theres no hope? asked someone from across the table.

Who says there isnt? I answered. Let me tell you about George, a little lad of five. There were complications at his birthhe was starved of oxygen, you seeand now hes behind in his development, but the outlook for kids like him is surprisingly good. He began speaking at three instead of earlier, and his parents have done wonders, running about for therapists and specialists. He just might end up in a regular school instead of a special one, and live a full life. But if no one had bothered helping him, the story could have turned out very different.

I see. So rather than chase every last pound, you ended up doing something meaningful, summarised Valerie.

From there, conversation shifted on to everyones families and lives.

Yet I had a nagging feeling I was being watched. I dismissed it as imagination, a touch of paranoia, but the feeling returned, the sense of eyes on me. A discreet glance round the pub revealed nothing. No one was paying me any mind, so I shrugged it off and soon forgot the whole strange sensation.

A week slipped by.

One chilly morning, as I headed to the car park for work, I found my car well and truly boxed in. Dialling the number on the windscreen of the car in front, I was met by a flood of apologies and assurances that the owner would be right down.

Im so sorryhonestly just nipped in and parkings impossible around here, said a young man, breathlessly arriving to move his car. Im Max, by the way.

Rita, I replied. Max had that comforting air about himhis way of speaking, his smart coat, even the cologne he woreall positively disarming. When he suggested we meet for a coffee, I said yes without much hesitation.

One coffee turned into dinner, and within three months, I couldnt imagine life without him. Luckily, Maxs mother and his little boy from his previous marriage took to me warmly.

George, as it happened, was a boy who needed special attention, but thanks to my experience, I quickly found common ground with him, and even suggested some new approaches to Max, at his request, to help him bond with his son and bring him out of his shell.

By the end of our first year together, Id moved in with Max and George. My own one-bedroom flat I rented out through the same agency that managed my London properties, while I brought my bags and hopes into Maxs home.

Thats when the first warnings appeared.

At first, it was small thingshelp George get dressed? or could you watch him for half an hour while I pop to the shops? All fair, since George and I already got on, and I had nowhere pressing to be.

But gradually, the requests began to mount.

I realised it was time to speak with Max, to remind him that, above all, George was his responsibility. Id always be happy to lend a hand, but I wasnt about to take on more than my share, given my workload with special needs children already.

Max seemed to understand. Yet, right before our wedding, he and his mother discussed Georges therapy. Or, rather, implied to mequite unmistakablythat Id be running his sessions in my free time.

Now hang on a minute, I quickly interrupted. Max, you and I agreed: George is your son, and you take care of his needs. I never asked you to fix my mums boiler or handle her affairs, did I? I sort my familys business by myself, as everyone should.

Maxs mother sniffed. Well, thats not the same. Your mothers a grown woman who lives on her own. A child is a child.

So you expect that after our wedding Ill keep caring for George like this, and youll think nothing of it?

First off, Im not ignoring George, I retorted. Lets not forget whos kept this house in order, on top of a full days work. But full-on therapy? Thats your job, MaxIll help where I can, but I will not become Georges mother for you.

So thats it, youre not going to? I see how it is. You love talking up your job to your friends, but when it really matters, youre nowhere to be found! Maxs mother spat.

You what? I blinked. Then a realisation dawnedMaxs mother was a part-time dishwasher at the very pub where our reunion had been held. I connected the dots.

So all this was just part of some plan to stick me with your grandson?

Oh, so you think Id ever fancy someone like you for yourself? Max snapped. If it werent for George and your job, Id never have looked at you

Then dont look, I said, pulling off my ring and tossing it at him.

Youll regret this, both Max and his mother warned. No proper man wants a plain little thing with a dead-end job and no money.

I own two flats in London, so Ill be fine, I shot back, enjoying the way their faces changed.

Next thing I knew, they were begging me to staypromising that things would change, that Max would step up with George, swearing it was all just stress, that he loved me and would never act that way again.

But Im no simpleton. I didnt believe a word of it. I just laughed as I packed, telling Max hed missed his chance, and that it hardly seemed Id be the one with regrets.

My old classmates and I had a good laugh about it later. And as for me, I still hope to one day meet someone wholl love me for who I am, not for my bank account or my skills, but for something deeper and real.

Till that day, I have my calling, my friendsand perhaps Ill get a cat. Cats, after all, are much easier to train than some men.