She Knows Best
There had been another one before her. Beatrice.
The daughter of a family friend. The kind of girl Margaret had already, in her mind, paired off with her son, Michael. Quiet, obedient, sensible. An accountant at a respectable firm. And most importantlyshe understood the unique bond between mother and son. Beatrice had even said once, «Margaret, Id always ask your adviceyou know him better than anyone.» The right words, perfectly chosen.
But this Christine! Impossible to reason with. Every offer of helphow to make Michaels favourite roast, how to iron his shirts just sowas met with a polite but firm, «Thanks, well manage.» That word*we*cut Margaret like a knife. She was his *mother*. She knew best!
***
At Christines house, no one was particularly thrilled either. At nearly thirty, she still lived with her parents, raising her daughter alone, and yes, she wanted love. Michael had proposed moving in together almost immediatelywithin a month of meetingthough without her daughter at first. Then, just two months later, he suggested marriage. Hed finally found *the one*, he said, ready to build a nest.
Christine was over the moon. This was the real thing, the blinding love shed dreamed of. When anyone tried to temper her excitementpointing out infatuations blindness, that Michael wasnt readyshe bristled. She loved him fiercely, certain she could warm him, 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 an odd sadness.
«Christine, you know Michaels not the easiest, love?» 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 mums wing with no responsibilities. Are you ready to carry everything? Him, his mother, your daughter?»
«Hell detach from her once were a proper family! He just needs love and support. Ill give him that.»
Her sister, Victoria, was blunter. After one visit where Michael spent the entire evening ranting about his old boss without letting anyone else speak, she pulled Christine aside.
«Chris, your Michaels a complete narcissist. Do you even *see* that? He doesnt notice peopleonly himself.»
«Hes just upset. You havent seen how tender and funny he can be!»
«Youre romanticising him,» Victoria sighed. «Marriage isnt about tenderness. Its about who takes the bins out and brings you tea when youre ill.»
Christine didnt listen. She was sure they were just jealous of her whirlwind romance. She and Michael barely argued those first months. She adored setting up their home, trying new recipescooking for him was a joy. Plus, he travelled often for work, so they missed each other. She ignored outsiders doubts, and when her future mother-in-law tried to dictate her life, she calmly shrugged it offthankfully, Michael had his own flat. That gave her hope.
***
If Margaret could have stopped the wedding, she would have. But it happened too fasther boy was nearly thirty-four, after all. Her hope that hed toss Christine aside like the others faded when the brides family got involved. Margaret refused to help organise the wedding. She was the only guest on Michaels side, figuring if the brides parents wanted a lavish do, let them pay.
At the ceremony, she watched the couple closely. Christine was clearly besotted, gazing at Michael like he hung the moon. *This wont last*, Margaret thought. *Shell tire of him. He cant live with her.*
After the wedding, Christine moved her daughter in and threw herself into married life. Margaret lived across town but called and visited so often it grated. She criticised everythingChristines cooking, cleaning, even the socks she bought.
«Mum, enough,» Michael would grumblebut he wore the socks she brought.
Christines awakening was slow and painful. First, she couldnt compete with Margarets domestic prowess. Second, she worked longer hours because Michaels «temporary» unemployment dragged on for six months. He waited for payouts from his bankrupt firm, refusing to «settle» for just any job. They lived on Christines salary and dwindling savings.
Once, when money ran too low for basics, he said breezily, «Just call Mum. Borrow till payday.»
She stared. «Michael, were *adults*. Maybe start looking for work?»
«You dont believe in me?» His face twisted. «I wont take *any* job! Want me stacking boxes?»
Margaret seized every complaint, every muttered gripe about Christine, fanning them into infernos. «She doesnt *understand* you, love. Doesnt appreciate you. I *told* you. Beatrice never wouldve done this.»
She painted a fantasy world where Michael was cherishedunlike Christines world of nagging and unreasonable demands to *grow up*. Michael never argued. He nodded when Margaret nitpicked unwashed dishes or sand in the hall. Then, after she left, hed snap at Christine: «Why cant you just *clean* properly so shes not on my case?»
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 a crisisbroke, fightinghe ran to her. Because she fixed things. Because she provided. Because with her, he was safe. Mum always had his back.
And money? Michael never struggled for that either. His guilt-ridden father had bought him everythingbikes, a car, even a flat by thirty.
Before the cheating came to light, Christine realised shed married an eternal child, doomed to compete with his mother. So when someone sent her *that* video, she didnt even confront him. She called her parents, packed her things, and left.
Margaret, hearing the news, felt pure relief. Finally, this foolish marriage had crumbled. Her boy was hers again.
First, she comforted him: «Youre a man, these things happen. *She* drove you to itno warmth at home. A happy man doesnt stray. Dont worry, love. Mums here. Itll be like before. Ill cook, clean Maybe Beatrice will visit. She always liked you.»
***
Christine, though resolved, was shattered. In her family, divorce after two years was a humiliating failure. She expected pleas to *try harder, forgive, save the marriage*. But none came.
Then came the real surprise.
When she called her mum, sobbing, «I cant do this. Im filing for divorce,» the reply was simple: «Alright, love. Come home. Your rooms waiting.»
That evening, as Christine spilled every detail, her mother listened.
«Divorce him, love,» she said softly when Christine finally paused. «Has Michael ever once put you first?»
«Never, but youre not going to talk me out of it?»
«No. That man wont change. Youd be babysitting him forever. Is that what you want?»
Her sister agreed: «Thank God! Youve finally woken up.» Even her grandmother, married fifty-five years, blessed the decision. Her usually traditional father slammed the table: «Good on you for not tolerating that nonsense!»
And *that* was when Christines anger surged. She stormed to her mother, ready to scream.
«Why didnt you *stop* me?!» she choked out. «You *saw* him! At the wedding, before itwhy didnt you *drag* me away?! Did you even *care* who I married?!»
Her mother looked at her, weary and loving.
«Christine, my girl. What would it have changed? If Id knelt outside the registry, begging you not to go through with itwould 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* tried to warn her. Shed thought them jealous.
«Sometimes the only way to learn is through your own mistakes,» her mother said gently. «We couldve taken that choice from you. But youd have always wondered, always resented us. Now you *know*. For yourself. And that knowledge stays. It hurts, but its yours.»
Christine weptnot just for the failed marriage, but for the clarity. They hadnt been indifferent. Theyd been wise. Theyd let her fall so shed learn to see the man, not the fantasy. And that lesson was priceless.
***
What do you think?
The hardest family dilemma. Margaret, for all her meddling, never saw it comingthat the day her son came crawling back, shed hand him a suitcase and say, No, Michael. Not this time. Hed stare, stunned, as she locked the door, then walk the long way home alone, the echo of his mothers voice fading behind him: You had your chance. Now let her go. Hed stare, stunned, as she locked the door, then walk the long way home alone, the echo of his mothers voice fading behind him: You had your chance. Now let her go.
Rain soaked his coat as he trudged through the dark streets, past the park where he used to push his niece on the swings, past the café where Christine once surprised him with breakfast. His phone buzzedMum againbut he didnt answer.
At the flat, he stood outside the door, key in hand, hesitating. Inside was emptinessher books gone, the photos stripped from the walls, only faint outlines marking where love had hung.
He sat on the bare floor, back against the door, and weptnot for Christine, not really, but for the life hed been too blind to hold.
And miles away, Christine stirred her tea, her daughter asleep in the next room, the silence not heavy, but peaceful. For the first time in years, she breathed freely.
She knew better now.
