The Shade of the Past
Dusk wraps the quiet suburban streets in a gentle darkness, and the glow of street lamps trembles on the wet pavement, mirroring the cold shimmer of the autumn sky. Lydia sits alone in her empty flat, clutching an old cup with its faded pattern, staring out the window where life moves on without her. A storm rages inside her—love for her son tangled with bitterness and disdain for his wife, Emily. From the very first day they met, Lydia couldn’t accept her, as if she were a shadow from the past, here to unravel everything Lydia had so carefully built.
Emily entered their lives like an uninvited guest. Lydia took an instant dislike to her. A girl from a small village, motherless, with a father who barely scraped by—what could she possibly offer her son? Only James, her son, looked at Emily with such tenderness it made Lydia’s heart twist with jealousy. He saw light in her, while Lydia saw nothing but a threat.
Emily remembers the evening it all began. She and James arrived at Lydia’s to introduce themselves. Emily fussed with her dress, anxious to make a good impression, while James squeezed her hand nervously. But the moment they sat down at the table, Lydia, without hiding her contempt, declared, “You’re not good enough for my son.” Emily tried to argue, to say she loved James with all her heart, but Lydia only smirked coldly. Choking back tears, Emily replied that hearts don’t ask for permission. That was the point of no return.
For Emily, the battle with Lydia became a war. She had always thought herself strong—growing up without a mother had hardened her. Her father, stern but loving, taught her to take a hit and never back down. But Lydia wasn’t just a mother-in-law—she was a tempest, sweeping away everything in her path. Every glance, every word cut like glass. Emily felt her confidence melting like ice in the sun.
Memories of her childhood washed over her. She grew up in a village where everyone knew each other, where her father fixed neighbours’ appliances and taught her the value of honesty. Those lessons kept her standing, yet now, facing Lydia, she felt like a child lost in an unfamiliar city. Lydia spared no cruelty—mocking Emily’s background, her father, her dreams. It was as if she’d forgotten she, too, had once been a young woman full of hope.
When Emily and James announced their wedding, Lydia made a scene. She screamed that Emily had torn their family apart, clutched her chest, begged James to reconsider. He tried to calm her, but her tears were a weapon. In the end, the wedding went on without her—small and quiet, tinged with sadness. Emily had dreamed of a big, loving family, but instead, she was met with silence and judgment.
James loved Emily deeply, but the rift with his mother weighed on him. He knew Lydia acted out of love, but her love was like chains—heavy, suffocating. His father had died when he was young, and Lydia had poured her life into him, smothering him with care that often turned to control. Emily had been his escape—her warmth, her laughter, like a breath of fresh air. Now, he felt torn between two women, each demanding his loyalty.
When Emily and James had a daughter, Lydia seemed to soften. She came to see the baby, but the first dinner turned into disaster. Lydia attacked Emily again, calling her a “country bumpkin,” unworthy of their family. Emily fought back tears, trying to explain that she and James were building their own life, that their daughter was their joy. But Lydia wouldn’t listen, her words lashing like a whip, even in front of Emily’s father and the tiny newborn.
Now, Emily and James live in a small house built by Emily’s dad. James works construction while Emily cares for their daughter. Lydia still threatens—cutting James out of the will, leaving everything to her terrier, even offering him a way out if he left Emily. But James refuses: he chose his family, and he won’t break it apart.
They haven’t spoken to Lydia in three months. Sometimes Emily wonders if the rift will ever heal, if the warm, loving family she dreamed of will ever exist. But then she watches James cradle their daughter, sees her smile, and realizes—they already have their own little world. A place where bitterness and judgment have no room.
Life isn’t a fairy tale. Some days, the frustration makes her want to scream, to run as far as she can. But Emily won’t give up. She’ll fight for her happiness, for her daughter, for a love stronger than any hate.
As evening settles over the silent city, Lydia sits alone in her flat. The walls, once filled with her son’s laughter, now feel cold as marble. She flips through old photographs—James on his bike, his graduation, their trips to the seaside. Love for her son wrestles with resentment toward Emily, fear of losing her granddaughter, and the choking dread that she might have been wrong.
The flat, once alive, now feels like a mausoleum. Even her pampered terrier cowers in the corner, sensing the storm in her heart. Lydia stares at her phone but can’t bring herself to dial James’ number. Silence is her only companion.