Hope and Scott are fortunate to have their mothers’ help in raising Miles, their son. However, when the grandmothers begin to compete with each other, things turn ugly, and deep family secrets are revealed.

When Scott and I had our son, Miles, everyone told us how lucky we were to have both our mothers close by to help with the baby.

“It’s a blessing, Hope,” my boss often reminded me. “You can leave Miles at home, guilt-free, knowing he’s in good hands. Plus, you and Scott can sneak in some date nights. You know, keep that spark alive and all that.”

And honestly, she wasn’t wrong. Having my mom, Evelyn, and Scott’s mom, Thelma, around made it easier to catch our breath in those exhausting early months. For a while, everything felt perfect.

We had support, we had each other, and Miles was thriving.

But then, like with most things that seem too good to last, it didn’t. The tension between our moms started off small.

As Miles grew, so did the subtle competition between Evelyn and Thelma. The jabs were small at first, disguised as playful banter. Thelma would bring over a carefully chosen organic onesie. A day later, my mother would show up with an entire set of designer baby clothes.

Each grandmother vied for Miles’ attention, and by extension, ours.

It was harmless at first, until it wasn’t.

“It’s almost ridiculous, Hope,” Scott said when we had a moment alone one night. “I know they love being grandmothers, but sometimes I think they’re just overdoing it.”

“I agree. Did you see the latest outfit my mom got for Miles? That’s proper name-brand stuff, and this kid is going to what? Wear it for a month or two before he outgrows it?”

“Should we put an end to it?” he asked, cutting me a slice of cheesecake.

“No,” I exclaimed. “Leave them in their happy grandmother phase! It’s less of a stress to have to worry about it all.”

But I was so wrong.

Thelma, being widowed and with more time on her hands, naturally spent more time with Miles. This grated on my mom’s nerves, who had her hands full with my dad and my brother’s kids.

Her frustration started bubbling up, and every visit turned into a passive-aggressive contest before long.

“It’s not my fault I have other responsibilities,” Mom would huff when she found out Thelma had been with Miles for three straight days.

“I’m not blaming you,” I said, trying to calm her down. “Thelma was just helping out while I caught up on work. Maternity leave was a blessing, but catching up is giving me a run for my money, Mom.”

Her responses were always sharp, with the edge of jealousy creeping into her voice.

“I’m sure she was, Hope,” she would retort. “I’m sure Thelma loves being the hero.”

I knew that things were spiraling, but I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten until Scott came home one evening, his face pale and his usual calm replaced with confusion and anger.

“Hope,” he started, lifting a sleepy Miles from his carrier. “I just talked to my mom. She’s been crying all afternoon. What did your mom say?”

I froze, almost dropping the blender full of Miles’ pureed food onto the floor.

“What? My mom?” I racked my brain, thinking back to the day’s earlier visit. “I don’t know. Thelma left before I even got out of the shower. She did cook a roast chicken for dinner and left it in the oven.”

Scott didn’t say much more; he just stirred the gravy I’d left simmering, his jaw tight. I slipped outside to call my mom, nerves knotting my stomach.

As much as I adored my mother, she had a knack for saying the wrong thing at the worst possible time. And her bedside manner wasn’t great either.

“Mom, what happened with Thelma today?” I asked the moment she answered the phone. “Scott just spoke to her. She’s been crying since she left.”

There was a pause, one so heavy it pressed against my chest.

“I told her I knew the truth,” Mom finally said, her tone weary.

“The truth about what?” I demanded, the knot in my stomach tightening with every second.

“That she’s not really Miles’ grandmother. She needed to know that I knew. She needed to be reminded of her place in my grandson’s life.”

I could barely breathe.

“Mom, what on earth are you talking about?” I gasped.

Her voice softened, and suddenly I felt like a little girl being comforted after a nightmare.

But this was anything but that.

“Hope, it’s something we need to talk about in person, sweetheart. Bring Scott. I’ll explain everything.”

The drive to my mother’s house felt like an eternity. Scott, still trying to process what I’d told him, kept his eyes fixed on the road.

Miles gurgled in his car seat, taking in the scenery as the car sped along.

“Hope, it’s probably a misunderstanding… right?” he murmured, clutching the steering wheel tightly. “They just need to work things out.”

“I’m sure it’s not as serious as my mom is making it out to be, honey,” I said, glancing at Miles in his seat. “You know how dramatic these old ladies are.”

Scott let out a humorless chuckle. I could tell that he was worried about what was to come.

When we arrived, my mother was waiting, the kitchen table set with tea and snacks, including pureed fruit for Miles. The atmosphere was heavy, like a prelude to whatever bombshell she was about to drop on us.

“Mom?” I asked, trying to prompt some reaction from her.

She poured us tea, her hands shaking slightly. After a long sigh, she began to speak.

“Thelma isn’t Miles’ biological grandmother, Scott. She’s not your biological mother.”

The words hung heavy in the air, sharp and disorienting.

Scott’s usual composure cracked immediately.

“What do you mean, Evelyn? How do you know this?” he exclaimed.

Mom explained that she’d recently reconnected with an old school friend, now a doctor well into his practice.

“When he asked about you, Hope, I told him that you were married and had a son. I showed him the family photo we all took for Miles’ newborn baby shoot. And he recognized Thelma as a patient…”

“Okay? And?” Scott asked.

“Dr. Matthews is a fertility specialist. Thelma struggled to have a child, and even his methods didn’t help. I mean, IVF and whatnot were not as popular back then. He put your parents in contact with an adoption agency.”

Scott’s face was a mix of disbelief and pain.

“So… I was adopted?” he gasped.

“Yes,” my mother confirmed, her tone unchanged. “Thelma couldn’t have children, and you were adopted as a newborn.”

We sat there in stunned silence. Even Miles was quiet. I could just see Scott’s mind racing behind his eyes, but to his credit, my husband held onto his composure.

“I need to hear this from my mom,” he said.

I nodded, taking his hand.

We drove to Thelma’s house, the weight of the revelation pressing down on us. When Thelma opened the door, her eyes were red and swollen from hours of crying.

“I didn’t want you to love me any less, Scott,” she said. “I was scared. I thought if you knew, you might go looking for your birth parents… I couldn’t imagine helping you look for your birth mother, forgetting me in the process.”

Scott’s eyes softened, though his tears threatened to escape.

“You should have told me. I understand not wanting to say anything when I was younger. But it’s definitely something that I would have wanted to know as an adult. Look, Mom. It doesn’t change anything. You’re my mom. You’ll always be my mom.”

Relief washed over Thelma’s face, though it was clear that her emotions were still wrapped around her.

But I couldn’t blame her. She had carried this secret for decades, afraid of the consequences. If I had to put myself in her shoes, I would be just as terrified. The thought of losing Miles over a secret was… devastating.

Later that night, as we lay in bed, the weight of the family secret settled over us.

“I can’t believe she kept this from me,” Scott said softly. “But I do understand why.”

“She was just trying to protect you,” I replied. “In her own way. I get that she should have mentioned it, but honey, think about it. If we had this huge secret that could potentially tear Miles away from us, what would we do?”

“We’d hide it. Or keep it in the dark for as long as possible,” he said without missing a beat.

I nodded.

“Oh,” he said softly, realizing the impossible emotions that came with being a parent.

The following weeks were a blur of processing and healing. Scott kept questioning things from his life, and I could see how he was struggling.

“So, it was just pure coincidence that my dad and I enjoyed eating oranges? Wild. It’s all wild, Hope.”

My mom apologized to Thelma, admitting that it was her jealousy that had driven her to speak out of turn.

“I’m sorry,” she told Thelma, her voice thick with regret. “I was bitter, but I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

Surprisingly, my mother-in-law forgave her.

“It’s a relief, really, Evelyn,” she said, adding jam to her scone. “I’ve been carrying this secret for so long, terrified of what might happen if Scott found out. But now it’s out, and he doesn’t hate me.”

As painful as the truth had been, it brought us closer. Scott learned that family isn’t defined by biology but by the people we choose to love and nurture.

In the end, both the grandmothers realized that they didn’t need to compete; they were both essential parts of Miles’ life. But this hasn’t stopped any squabbles over which homemade food is better for him. Or how often he should be carried.