What excuse will Mum come up with to be upset this time?
In a quiet little town by the River Thames, where life moves at a gentle pace and family traditions run deep, Emily found herself lost in thought about her mother. “Wonder what she’ll twist into an offence this time,” the woman mused. “Probably claim I ruined her life.” But the reason turned out to be different—and just as heart-wrenching as ever.
“Here we go again,” Emily sighed, glancing at her husband, David. “Another row. Well, not really a row—just her shouting at me. Didn’t let me get a word in. No idea what it’s even about, but one thing’s clear: Mum’s displeased.”
“What did you expect? Her birthday’s around the corner,” David said with a smirk. “Remember what’s in a month?”
Emily froze, confused.
Then her phone rang—Mum’s voice, sharp with indignation, hurling accusations like stones.
“And this is how you thank me for everything I’ve done? Cheers, really! I thought you’d at least bother to pop round past midnight on New Year’s Eve!” she snapped.
“Mum, we always come the next day,” Emily tried to explain.
“You could’ve made an exception this year!” Mum cut her off and hung up, making it painfully clear that resentment had taken root two days before the holidays.
Emily listened to the dial tone, that familiar ache tightening her chest. This wasn’t new. Margaret had a habit of picking fights exactly five times a year—just before big celebrations. She’d sulk, vanish, then reappear once gift-giving was no longer expected.
“Mum’s in a strop again,” Emily told David. “Suddenly decided we should’ve rushed over after midnight on New Year’s.”
“That’s daft,” David scoffed. “She’s always said she hates being disturbed at night.”
“Try figuring her out,” Emily shook her head. “But I’ve got a bad feeling. This has happened before…”
“How d’you mean?” David sat down, watching her closely.
“She always rows before holidays,” Emily said thoughtfully. “Last year, two days before our daughter’s birthday—she didn’t show, didn’t bring a thing. Same before your milestone party. If you tally up the year’s celebrations, it’s a bit odd. But maybe I’m wrong. Don’t want to think poorly of her. Must just be coincidence.”
David smirked. He’d long suspected his mother-in-law was dodging gift expenses. Her pre-holiday dramas were too perfectly timed.
Sure enough, Margaret resurfaced once the New Year festivities ended. As if nothing had happened, she rang Emily to say she missed her and fancied a visit. The next day, she arrived empty-handed—not even a sweet for her granddaughter.
“Bit late for presents now, isn’t it?” she brushed it off, as if this were perfectly normal.
For six weeks, peace reigned. But as Mother’s Day neared, Margaret grew prickly again.
“D’you think I should get Mum a gift?” Emily wondered.
“Don’t,” David said firmly. “Bet you anything she’ll vanish before the day and reappear after.”
“But what if she doesn’t?” Emily fretted. “Then I’m stuck scrambling for last-minute bits?”
David hugged her, rubbing her back.
“I’ll wager we’re getting nothing again,” he said lightly.
He was right. The day before Mother’s Day, Margaret launched into a rant about Emily buying expired cheese without a thought for her.
“Selfish, that’s what you are!” she spat before slamming the phone down.
David was triumphant. Now he was certain: Mother-in-law schemed to skip gifts.
“Your birthday’s in two weeks,” he chuckled. “Brace for Act Two of Margaret’s greatest hits.”
“Wonder what her excuse’ll be this time?” Emily asked nervously. “That I ruined her life again?”
But the reason was different. Another shouting match, another baffled Emily relaying it to David.
“Another row. She yelled—no clue why. But she’s clearly miffed,” she sighed.
“Course she is. Your birthday’s coming,” David laughed. “And y’know what’s in a month?”
“What?” Emily blinked.
“Your dear mum’s birthday!” he grinned. “She won’t pick a fight before that. Fancy teaching her a lesson?”
Emily frowned.
“Give her a taste of her own medicine,” David suggested. “Start a row over nothing. See how she likes it. Her birthday’s the one at stake, not ours!”
After thinking it over, Emily agreed. Days before her mum’s birthday, she began snapping back, nitpicking, fueling arguments. Yet Margaret carried on unbothered. Emily realised: Mum wouldn’t risk missing her gift—that smartphone she’d eyed for a year.
“You don’t love me, do you?” Emily faked hurt over the phone.
“Don’t be silly,” Margaret huffed.
“You always do this!” Emily cried before hanging up, sure her mum wouldn’t call first.
“Bet she’ll come begging for that gift,” David held out his hand.
“Twenty quid says she won’t,” Emily countered.
“Ah, you’ll lose,” he laughed. “Margaret won’t sabotage her own present.”
Three days later, Margaret turned up on their doorstep with a small cake. Emily paled—David was right.
“If the mountain won’t come to Muhammad…” Margaret forced a smile, handing over the cake.
In the kitchen, Emily passed David the money.
“What’s this for?” Margaret asked.
“We bet whether you’d come crawling after my ‘upset’. I lost,” Emily said flatly.
“Rubbish,” Margaret muttered, flushing.
“You start fights before our celebrations to skip gifts,” Emily went on. “I tested it. But for your own present? You’d cross deserts.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Margaret waved her off.
“Mum, when did you last give this family anything? Two years back! You save pennies by starting drama,” Emily smiled.
“I hadn’t noticed,” Margaret mumbled, feigning surprise.
She didn’t leave without her prized phone. Emily hoped she’d change, but Margaret’s “reform” lasted only till her granddaughter’s birthday—gifting an old doll clearly stolen from the attic. After that, nothing. Emily finally understood: some people don’t change. But she’d learned to shield her family from their games.