There Was Another One. Eleanor.
The daughter of a family friend. The one Margaret Wilkins had already imagined sharing a future with her son, Michael. A quiet, obedient girl. An accountant at a respectable firm. And most importantlyshe understood the unbreakable bond between mother and son. Eleanor had even once said, *»Margaret, Ill always seek your adviceyou know him best.»* Such perfect words.
And then there was Christine. Impossible to reason with. Every offer of helphow to make Michaels favourite meat pies, the proper way to iron his shirtswas met with a polite but firm, *»Thank you, well manage.»* That *»we»* cut Margaret to the quick. She was his mother! She knew best!
***
At home, Christine found little sympathy either. Nearing thirty, she lived with her parents, raised her daughter, and longed for love. Michael proposed moving in together within weeks of meetingthough initially without her child. Two months later, he suggested marriage, declaring hed finally found his match and was ready to build a life.
Christine was over the moon. This was the blinding, all-consuming love shed dreamed of. When friends cautioned herlove was blind, Michael wasnt readyshe bristled. She adored him, certain she could warm his heart, make him happy, help him *»spread his wings.»*
A month before the wedding, she sat at her mothers kitchen table. Her mum sipped tea, watching her with quiet sadness.
*»Christine, you know Michaels difficult, dont you?»* she ventured.
*»Mum, hes just sensitive!»* Christine shot back. *»No ones ever understood him. But I do.»*
*»Its not about understanding, love. Hes used to being coddled, living under his mothers wing with no responsibility. Are you ready to carry him, his mother, and your daughter?»*
*»Hell detach once were a family! He just needs love and support. I can give him that.»*
Her sister, Victoria, was blunter. After an evening where Michael monopolised the conversation with grievances about his former boss, she pulled Christine aside:
*»Chris, your Michaels a selfish bore. Cant you see? He doesnt notice anyone but himself.»*
*»Hes just upset. You havent seen how tender he can be!»*
*»Youre idealising him,»* Victoria sighed. *»Marriage isnt about tenderness. Its about who takes out the bins and brings you tea when youre ill.»*
Christine ignored them. She was sure they envied her whirlwind romance. They didnt believe in true love. She and Michael barely quarrelled in those early months. She adored nesting in their new home, trying recipescooking for him was a joy. And with his frequent business trips, absence kept their hearts fond. She dismissed outsiders opinions and calmly deflected her future mother-in-laws meddlingthankfully, Michael had his own flat, a small mercy.
***
If she could have, Margaret would have forbidden the marriage. But it all happened too fasther boy was nearly thirty-four, after all. Hopes that hed flee within months, as he had with past girlfriends, faded. Worse, the brides large family took charge of the wedding. Margaret refused to help. She was the grooms only guest and reasoned that if the brides parents wanted a lavish affair, let them foot the bill. At the ceremony, she watched the couple intently. Christines adoration was obvious. *»It wont last,»* Margaret thought. *»Shell tire of him. He could never endure her.»*
After the vows, Christine brought her daughter home, throwing herself into domestic bliss. Margaret lived across town but called and visited so often it grated. She criticised everything. Michael never contradicted herperhaps he didnt know how. And seeing Christine try to *»reform»* him only stoked Margarets outrage.
When Michael lost his job, his mother doubled down. Daily calls. Uninvited visits with shepherds pies, inspecting cupboards and fridge.
*»Oh, Michael, you prefer white socks. Christine, why havent you bought any?»*
*»Mum, enough,»* hed grumblebut wore the socks she brought.
Christines disillusionment came slowly, painfully. First, she paled in comparison to Margarets cooking and cleaning. Second, she worked longer hoursMichaels *»temporary»* unemployment stretched to six months. He waited for severance from his bankrupt firm, refusing to job-hunt, convinced the world owed him something *»worthy.»* They survived on Christines wages and dwindling savings.
Once, when money ran low, he said airily, *»Just borrow from Mum till payday.»*
She froze. *»Michael, were adults. Maybe you could look for work?»*
*»You dont believe in me?»* His face twisted. *»I wont take just any job! Or dyou want me hauling crates?»*
Margaret seized every complaint, every resentful word about his wife, fanning the flames: *»She doesnt understand you, son. Never valued you. I always saidEleanor would never treat you so.»*
She painted an illusion: a world where Michael was cherished, unlike Christines realm of nagging and unreasonable demands to *»grow up.»* Michael stayed silent, nodding when his mother nitpicked unwashed dishes or sand in the hall. After she left, hed snap at Christine: *»Why cant you just clean properly so theres no fuss?»*
Christine fought back, of course. Argued, pleaded. But she hit a wall. Michael obeyed his mother. He wanted to lead his new family but had been raised to defer to her. Her word was law. *She* knew best. In crisesbroke, quarrellinghe ran to her. Because she fixed things. Because she provided. Because with her, he was safe. His father, guilt-ridden, had always bought his way outfancy bikes, a motorbike, a car, even a flat by thirty.
Before the affair came to light, Christine realised shed married a perpetual child, doomed to compete with his mother. So when she received *that* video, she didnt confront him. She called her parents, packed her bags, and left.
Margaret, hearing the news, felt only relief. At last, this foolish marriage had crumbled. Her boy was hers again.
Her first act was to console him: *»Youre a manthese things happen. She drove you to it. Never made a proper home. A contented man doesnt stray. Dont fret, son. Im here. Well manage. Ill cook, Ill clean. And perhaps Eleanor will visit. She always fancied you.»*
***
Christine, though resolute, was shattered. In her family, marriages endureddivorce after two years felt like failure. She expected pleas to *»patch things up,»* to forgive. But none came.
Then came the real surprise.
When she sobbed to her mother, *»I cant do this. Im filing for divorce,»* the reply was simple: *»Alright, love. Come home. Your rooms waiting.»*
That evening, as Christine poured out her grief, her mother listened without interruption.
*»Leave him, darling,»* she said softly. *»Did Michael ever once put you first?»*
*»Never, but youre not going to talk me out of it?»*
*»No. That man will never change. Youd be nursing him forever. Is that what you want?»*
Her sister agreed: *»Thank God! Youve finally seen sense.»* Even her grandmother, married fifty-five years, blessed the divorce. Her typically traditional father slammed the table: *»Good on you for not tolerating that nonsense!»*
Then, a different anger surged in Christine. She confronted her mother, tearful and furious.
*»Why did none of you stop me?!»* she cried. *»You saw what he was like! At the wedding, before itwhy didnt you grab me, forbid it?! Did you even care who I married?!»*
Her mother looked at her with weary love. *»Christine, my girl. What wouldve changed? If Id begged on my knees outside the registry, would you have listened? Or would you have hated me forever, convinced Id ruined your happiness?»*
Christine had no answer. Of course she wouldnt have listened. They *had* warned hershed dismissed them as jealous.
*»Sometimes the only way to learn is through your own mistakes,»* her mother said gently. *»We couldve robbed you of this lesson. But youd have spent your life mourning a fairy tale, blaming us. Now you know. For yourself. And that knowledge will stay. It hurts, but its yours.»*
Christine weptnot just for the broken marriage, but for the clarity. They hadnt been indifferent. Theyd been wise. Theyd let her stumble so shed learn to see the man, not the prince. And that was a priceless lesson.
***
And what do you think?
The hardest dilemma any family faces. Watching a child walk into fire, knowing they must burn to learn its hot. Do you block their path, risk their rage, and possibly lose them? Or do you stand aside, break your heart in silence, and trust theyll crawl back, scarred but wiser? Love isnt always protection. Sometimes, its letting goand waiting with open arms when they return.
