In a quiet little town by the River Thames, where life drifted along like a slow current and family traditions ran deep, Charlotte found herself lost in thought about her mother. “I wonder what excuse she’ll invent to take offence this time?” the woman mused. “Most likely, she’ll claim I ruined her life.” Yet the reason, when it came, was entirely different—and it shattered her heart all over again.
“Again,” Charlotte sighed, rolling her shoulders as she glanced at her husband. “Another argument. Or rather, *her* argument with *me*. She shouted, wouldn’t let me get a word in. I still don’t know what it was about, but one thing’s clear—Mum’s displeased.”
“What did you expect? Her birthday’s coming up,” chuckled Henry, her husband. “Remember? A month from now.”
Charlotte froze, baffled by his meaning.
Over the phone, her mother’s voice—sharp with indignation—lashed out like hailstones.
“Is this how you thank me for everything I’ve done? Charming! I thought you’d at least come by at midnight to wish me a Happy New Year!” she screeched.
“Mum, we always visit the next day,” Charlotte tried to interject.
“This year you could’ve broken the habit!” snapped Eleanor before slamming the phone down, her resentment blooming two full days before the holiday.
Charlotte listened to the dial tone, the familiar ache tightening her chest. This wasn’t new. Eleanor had a habit of picking fights precisely five times a year—always before major celebrations. She’d sulk, vanish, then reappear just as gifts became irrelevant.
“Mum’s in a huff again,” Charlotte murmured, recounting the latest episode to Henry. “Suddenly decided we’re supposed to rush over at midnight on New Year’s Eve.”
“That’s rubbish,” Henry scoffed. “She’s always said she loathes being disturbed at night.”
“Try figuring her out,” Charlotte sighed. “But I’ve got a bad feeling. This has happened before…”
“How so?” Henry sat forward, eyes sharp.
“She picks fights before every holiday,” Charlotte mused. “Last year, it was two days before our daughter’s birthday—she didn’t show, didn’t bring a thing. Before that, your milestone party—same story. Add it all up, and it’s… odd. But I must be wrong. I don’t want to think poorly of her. Just coincidences,” she lied to herself.
Henry smirked. He’d long suspected his mother-in-law’s quarrels were a ruse to dodge gift-giving. Her timing was too precise.
Sure enough, Eleanor resurfaced the moment the New Year’s festivities ended. As if nothing had happened, she called Charlotte, announcing she missed her and would visit. The next day, she arrived empty-handed—not even a candy for her granddaughter.
“The holidays are over; presents don’t matter now,” she dismissed, as though it were perfectly normal.
For six weeks, peace reigned. Then, as Mother’s Day loomed, Eleanor grew prickly again.
“Should I even bother with a gift?” Charlotte wondered aloud.
“Don’t,” Henry said firmly. “Bet you anything she’ll vanish before the day and reappear once it’s passed.”
“But what if she doesn’t?” Charlotte fretted. “Then I’ll be scrambling for last-minute options.”
Henry pulled her close, rubbing her back.
“I’ll wager we’ll be giftless again,” he said, amused.
He was right. The day before Mother’s Day, Eleanor erupted over Charlotte supposedly buying expired cheese and “never thinking of her.”
“You only care about yourself!” she spat before hanging up.
Henry was triumphant. His theory was solid: his mother-in-law manufactured rows to skip presents.
“Your birthday’s in a fortnight,” he chuckled. “Brace for Eleanor’s next performance.”
“What’ll her excuse be this time?” Charlotte muttered. “That I ruined her life again?”
But the reason was different. Another screaming match, another baffling grievance. Charlotte just shook her head, telling Henry, “Another row. She yelled—I didn’t even catch why. But she’s cross, that’s certain.”
“Well, what did you expect? Your birthday’s near,” Henry grinned. “And guess what’s in a month?”
“What?”
“Your dear mum’s birthday!” he crowed. “She won’t pick a fight before *that*. Fancy teaching her a lesson?”
Charlotte frowned.
“Give her a taste,” Henry urged. “Take offence at nothing, stir up drama. See how she likes it. *Her* birthday, not ours!”
After some thought, Charlotte agreed. Days before her mother’s milestone, she began snapping, nitpicking, fanning flames. But Eleanor, blind to the game, stayed serene. Charlotte realised: her mother wouldn’t risk missing her gift—a new phone she’d coveted for a year.
“You don’t love me,” Charlotte said theatrically into the receiver, feigning hurt.
“Don’t be absurd,” Eleanor huffed.
“You *always* do this!” Charlotte cried, slamming the phone down, certain her mother wouldn’t call back.
“Bet she comes begging for that present,” Henry held out his hand.
“Twenty quid,” Charlotte said.
“You’ll lose,” he laughed. “Eleanor won’t sabotage her own celebration.”
Three days later, Eleanor appeared on their doorstep with a small cake. Charlotte paled—Henry was right.
“If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed,” Eleanor said stiffly, handing over the cake.
In the kitchen, Charlotte passed Henry the money.
“What’s this?” Eleanor asked.
“We bet whether you’d come crawling for your gift after my ‘hurt feelings.’ I lost,” Charlotte said flatly.
“Ridiculous!” Eleanor flushed.
“You pick fights before our holidays to skip gifts,” Charlotte continued. “I decided to test it. But for *your* present, you’d cross deserts.”
“Nonsense,” Eleanor waved her off.
“When did you last give this family anything? Two years ago! You save money by starting rows,” Charlotte smiled.
“I never noticed,” Eleanor mumbled, feigning shock.
She didn’t leave without her precious smartphone. Charlotte hoped she’d reflect, but the change lasted only until their daughter’s birthday—when Eleanor brought a dusty old doll, clearly dug out of storage. No more gifts followed. Charlotte finally understood: some people never change. But she’d learned to shield her family from their games.