An Evening That Changed Everything
That evening began like any other family supper, yet it ended in a manner that has left me utterly unsettled. My husband, Edward, had brought his mother, Beatrice, over, and as always, I did my best to make her feel welcomelaid the table, prepared her favourite roast chicken, even fetched the good linen. I imagined wed exchange pleasantries, perhaps discuss plans for the coming week. Instead, I found myself trapped in the most peculiar and distressing exchange. Beatrice fixed me with a steady gaze and said, Eleanor, if you refuse to do as we ask, Edward will seek a divorce. I went rigid, my fork suspended mid-air, scarcely believing what I had just heard.
Edward and I have been wed for five years. Ours is no flawless unionwhose is?weve had our quarrels and misunderstandings, but I always believed we stood together. He is a kind man, thoughtful, and even in our darkest hours, weve found a way forward. Beatrice has ever been a presence in our lives. She visits often, rings to inquire after us, and though her counsel sometimes feels more like decrees, Ive always shown her respect. But that night, she overstepped, and worse, Edward did not check herhe supported her.
It began innocently enough. We sat down to dine, and at first, the talk was lightBeatrice spoke of an acquaintance who had just retired, Edward jested about his day at the office. Then the tone shifted. She turned to me and said, Eleanor, Edward and I must speak with you seriously. I steeled myself, expecting some trivial matterperhaps a request to tend her rose garden or mend a loose shutter. Instead, she declared she wished us to live with her.
As it happened, Beatrice had decided her cottage in the Cotswolds was too spacious for one, and she desired our company. Theres ample room, she insisted. Youd sell your townhouse, put the funds toward improvements. It would be sensibleId care for you, and youd care for me. I was dumbstruck. Edward and I had only just finished refurbishing our snug little townhouse in London. It is our sanctuary, the place where weve woven our life together. To move in with her would mean surrendering that freedom, not to mention living beneath her roof would be well, suffice to say, I am not prepared for such a trial.
I attempted to demur gently, explaining that while we treasured her offer, we had no intention of relocating. I assured her we adored our home and would gladly assist her in any other way. But Beatrice would not hear it. She interrupted, accusing me of disregarding family, of modern selfishness, and insisting Edward deserved a wife who honoured his mother. Then came the threat of divorce. Edward, who had been silent, suddenly added, Eleanor, you know how much Mother means to me. We ought to stand by her. I felt the ground vanish beneath me.
I could not summon a reply. I searched Edwards face, willing him to dismiss it as absurd, but he averted his eyes. Beatrice pressed on, calling it for our own good, a family custom, and insisting I should be thankful for the chance. I held my tongue, fearing that if I spoke, I might weep or utter words I could not take back. Supper concluded in heavy silence, and soon after, Beatrice departed, Edward escorting her to the waiting carriage.
When he returned, I asked, Edward, do you truly mean for us to live with her? And what of this talk of divorce? He sighed, saying he wished no argument, but his mother needs us dearly, and I ought to be more accommodating. I was staggered. Was he truly prepared to hazard our marriage over this? I reminded him how we had chosen our townhouse together, how we had dreamed of a home of our own. But he merely shrugged and said, Consider it, Eleanor. It is not so dire as you imagine.
I lay awake all night, turning the conversation over in my mind. I love Edward, and the thought of him choosing his mother over our future together rends my heart. Yet I know I cannot surrender my independence merely to placate her. Beatrice is not unkind, but her demands and ultimatums are intolerable. I will not live where every step I take is scrutinised. Nor will I let our marriage hinge on yielding to her will.
Today, I resolved to speak with Edward again, with patience. I must know how earnest he is, whether he will seek a middle ground. Perhaps we might visit Beatrice more frequently or aid her in other ways without uprooting our lives? But if he persists, I scarce know what to do. I do not wish to lose our family, yet neither will I lose myself. Last night revealed fissures in our marriage I had not seen before. Now I must find a way to safeguard our happiness without forsaking the love I bear him.
