From the Heart, Truly

I still remember the way it all began, as if the years had simply slipped by. Listen, Eleanor Mothers just brought home a new saucepan, John said, poking his head into the kitchen and rubbing the back of his neck. She swore it was a proper stainlesssteel one, made in Germany.

Eleanor, without even turning, kept slicing the salad. Let me guess. We owe her now? she replied, dry as a summer leaf.

John shuffled his feet. Well yes, thats about it, he muttered.

She rolled her eyes. Shell probably stick a receipt on the lid so we dont forget. Shes already starting to put pressure on us with her gifts

John tried to defend her. She says our old pot is uncomfortable.

Eleanor snapped, John, you know we have at least a dozen decent pots already.

He fell silent, lingered on the doorstep, sighed, and drifted back to the living room. It wasnt the first time Mildred, his motherinlaw, had offered help. First the towels, then the glasses, bathroom curtains, a laundry basket everything from the heart. Then the bill and the inevitable pleas about how her pension wasnt a bottomless pit.

Mildred had entered their lives not long before. Shed lived in another town, known her grandson only from photographs on messenger. When Peter was born she called once to ask his name and vanished again. Eleanor thought, Better that than a motherinlaw who hangs around the kitchen like a bad smell.

The summer before last changed everything. Mildred slipped outside their block and fractured her hip. After surgery it became clear she couldnt manage alone. With no relatives left, John offered her a room.

Shell stay with us until shes on her feet again. A few weeks, maybe a month.

What was supposed to be a month stretched to three. Mildred settled in slowly but steadily: she claimed the sofa, chattered on the phone with old friends, cranked the telly up to full volume. And, as time went on, she began doling out advice. It sounded kind, but there was always a hidden pressure.

Whats with that tiny bin for rubbish? shed ask. When did you change the bedroom curtains? That colour looks dreary. The livingroom wallpaper needs a fresh coat!

Soon a list of larger purchases emerged: a slowcooker, an iron, a frying pan all things she claimed were hard to use even for her. She never warned them; she simply brought another box. The only extra she added was, Whenever you can, pay me back. Im not a stranger; Ill wait. Its for your convenience.

Their patience ran thin. The stream of suggestions and giftreceipts kept coming even after she moved into a rented flat in a neighboring district.

John, did you pay her back for the slowcooker? Eleanor asked that evening.

I did, in instalments.

And the iron?

The same.

The ointment costs pennies, but its supposed to heal your legs in a week!

Almost. Only a thousand left.

Eleanor shook her head silently. She didnt have the energy to argue with a motherinlaw, especially one who seemed forever indebted to them. Her own worries were enough: work, the house, a son she had to get ready for school. So every conversation ran through John, and each ended the same way.

John tried to be firmer, to argue, but Mildred would suddenly recall how high her blood pressure was, how expensive her tablets were, how small her pension was. He gave up.

What was I supposed to say? he defended. Mums trying. She thinks shes doing everything for us.

She isnt trying, John. Shes pushing, but always with that sweet smile.

He stayed quiet, knowing Eleanor was right. Inside, habit wrestled with common sense. He was terrified of hurting his mother.

The worst part, however, was what Eleanor saw in their son. Watching her husbands compliance, she wondered what Peter was learning. Hes seeing this all the time. Will he think he must stay silent when adults with grand gestures intrude on his life? Will he learn to thank unsolicited help?

That realisation hit her hard. It wasnt about a pot or a few pounds; it was about a child growing up to think that care without respect was anything but kindness. It was control wrapped in a soft coat.

The perfect illustration presented itself without warning, at a steep price.

Peter returned from a walk unusually quiet. Mildred followed, beaming like a daylight lamp, two bags in one hand and a stuffedtothebrim backpack in the other.

Well, look at that, weve got Peter ready for school! she announced proudly as she crossed the threshold. Hell be just fine!

Eleanor froze. They had visited every shop the day before, picking out a pencil case, a backpack, notebooks adorned with his favourite superhero.

What did you all get? Eleanor asked, a sigh escaping her.

Two suits for him, one to grow into, a warm coat pricey, but good. White trainers, discounted leather boots, a heap of little things. A pencil case with some strange creature, either red or blue, whatever he likes.

Peter lowered his eyes, his face a picture of gloom. Soon Mildred left, chest puffed out, promising to call later about the total. Eleanor summoned Peter to the kitchen for a talk.

Did you choose all that yourself? she asked.

No the boy wriggled on his chair. She said she knew better. We got a pencil case with Superman on it. When I told her I didnt like him, she just waved it off. And the trainers are tight.

Then why did you take them?

Mum said theyd stretch.

Why didnt you say anything? Why didnt you call?

I didnt know anyone asked me he answered, then fell silent.

Guilt washed over Peter, cutting deeper than any budgetary sting. He seemed to accept that sometimes silence was safer than protest, that a polite smile was the only weapon when you felt uncomfortable. Eleanor recognised the same pattern in herself.

That night the phone rang.

Lets split the cost, shall we? Mildred chirped. Clothes, backpack, shoes, stationery about twenty grand. Maybe a bit more. Ill send a separate receipt for the coat.

Eleanor felt a surge of anger, but she held it in.

Mildred, did you ever think to ask us, or at least Peter, before you bought everything? Wed already purchased those items. The pencil case with Batman was Peters choice, and the trainers fit fine.

Yes, of course. I did a good deed and now youre spitting in my face? You think Im a scapegoat? I know what my grandson needs! Whos going to take him to school? Me! Ill raise him right! Damn, thankless lot!

Mildred slammed the receiver. Eleanor exhaled, but the tension lingered, a tight band around her head.

Ill go see her tomorrow, John said later, discussing the incident. Talk, though I wont get my hopes up.

He did go, but returned after a couple of hours with only a shrug. She wouldnt let me in. We talked at the door. She said we used her. Shes trying, and we just act like that.

What did you tell her? Eleanor asked softly.

Just that you were right. That Id endured the same as a child. That she shouldnt meddle in our lives.

Eleanors eyes warmed. Though John spoke plainly, she understood he was finally on her side, no longer dodging the issue. With both of them together, things could change, perhaps not perfectly, but without the sour taste of guilt.

A week of quiet passed. Mildred stopped calling, stopped sending surprise invoices. The invisible source of strain seemed to vanish. Eleanor noticed she no longer flinched at every knock on the door or every ping of a message.

They sold half of the schoolrelated gifts. Some items went on eBay: the backpack, a few stationery pieces, one of the suits. A few found homes with acquaintances. Eleanors sister took the coat for her niece. Only the leather boots, still sealed with a bright new arrival sticker, remained in a corner box, untouched as if the very sight of them held a weight too heavy to lift.

All might have settled if Peter hadnt stepped out of his room one afternoon, phone in hand, his face tight, lips pressed, brows furrowed.

Grandma wrote to me, he said, eyes drifting. She says she has a present a building set.

Eleanor took the phone. The picture showed a bright robot kit, exactly the kind Peter had dreamed of. They could have bought it themselves, but it was expensive, a purchase theyd postponed for a special occasion, after settling the grandma debts.

Did she write anything else? Eleanor asked, arms crossed.

She said shell bring it if I come over this weekend. She thinks you both upset her.

John, standing behind his wife, let out a weary sigh. Peters tone was flat, his excitement muted, a silent battle raging inside.

Do you want to go? John asked.

Not really but shell be hurt. And do I have to say thank you, even if I dont want to?

Eleanor crouched beside him, speaking slowly, gently. Sweetheart, you thank people for what they give out of love, not for what they expect in return. When there are strings attached, it isnt a gift. Its a deal, or a trap.

John sat down beside them.

Listen, Peter. You owe no one anything not even a grandmother. If something feels off, tell us. Were always here.

I dont want to, even if it hurts her, Peter whispered.

Eleanor looked at John, his voice calm, his eyes hinting at his own past wounds. He seemed to be saying the same thing to himself that he once told his own son: that kindness should never feel like a loan.

Later, after Peter was asleep, John stared out the kitchen window, then turned to his wife.

When I was a boy I thought this was normal you get something and you must instantly repay. Good deeds feel like debts. If you dont, youre a bad son. I carried that for far too long.

He shook his head, humbled. I dont want Peter to grow up with that guilt. He needs to know love isnt a transaction, and family isnt a ledger.

The next morning Peter approached Eleanor, phone in hand, his nose twisted as he tried not to meet her eyes.

I wrote a message. Can you check it? Did I do it right?

The text was brief: Thanks for the photo, but I wont come. I dont want gifts that come with obligations. Im fine at home.

Mildred had seen the notification but did not reply.

Eleanor felt a swell of pride. Their sevenyearold son had grasped something many adults never do that refusing can be a form of selfrespect, not selfishness.

They never completely eradicated Mildreds presence, nor solved everything in one sweep. But they had achieved the essential thing: protecting their child, showing him that love should not be weighed down by hidden duties.