Why arent you opening the door?
Because I dont want to! Guests should *warn* people before turning up unannouncednot to mention rifling through drawers, fridges, and wardrobes.
What do you mean, *wont*? Thats my *mother*! She came to see *me*!
Great! Go greet her then. Just not in *my* house.
Yknow, Sophie always got on better with my mum.
Oh, brilliant. If I started listing all the ways my ex was better than you, wed *both* be mortified.
Though Im not so sure about *me*, Emma muttered, scrubbing furiously at the kitchen table. If you two were so perfect together, why did you even break up?
Victor turned away, sulking by the window.
You already know how that went
Exactly. So spare me the trip down memory lane with *sweet little Sophie*, Emma snapped. Unless you fancy becoming single again.
She wasnt bluffing.
Theyd met nearly a year ago through mutual friendsEmma even knew Sophie, though not well. Sophie had brought Victor along one night, then vanished from the group a few months later.
One tipsy evening, Victor confessed hed dumped her after catching her cheating. Hed even shed a tear.
At the time, Emma found it endearinga man unafraid of emotion! How rare! Something in her *clicked*. Maternal instinct, probably. Not attraction. Still, it was enough to spark a relationship.
It *started* beautifully. Hed pick her up after work, text daily asking if shed dressed warm enough. She felt cherished.
Then Sophie messaged her.
*Hey. Heard youre dating Victor. Not my business, but be careful. Him and his mum? Inseparable duo.*
Emma noted it but shrugged it off. Love conquered worse, surely? Just because he was a nightmare for one woman didnt mean hed be the same for her.
*Thanks for the heads-up, but well manage.*
She ended the chat thereno need to dwell on exes.
Victor, meanwhile, had *zero* regard for her comfort.
When his mum, Margaret, first dropped by unannounced, Emma stayed calm. Maybe they just didnt *get* how rude it was? Margaret probably just worried about her son.
Emma shoved Victor toward the door, dressed hastily, and stumbled out half-asleep (it was *8 a.m.* on her day off) to meet her future mother-in-lawwho was already rummaging through the living room drawers.
Goodness, what a *mess*, Margaret sighed, like a disappointed headmistress. Socks all mismatched, Ill bet. Emma, after breakfast, Ill show you how to fold clothes *properly*.
Not *hello*. Just straight to critique. Emma gaped. Who *rooted through a strangers underwear* and then lectured them?
But snapping back felt too harsh, so she smiled politely.
Oh, *love*, those *bags* under your eyes! Margaret tutted. You need cucumber slices. Or a kidney check. My friend Margaretterrible kidneysnever rested enough
Emma nodded along, dreaming of her abandoned pillow.
Margaret stayed *all day*. By evening, Emma had absorbed a lifetimes worth of advice on flower-watering, bath-scrubbing, and *spoon-polishing*.
Victor? Nowhere. Not one hint to his mother that theyd *like some privacy*.
Your mums *energetic*, isnt she? Emma ventured later.
He shrugged. Shes just friendly. When Sophie and I lived with her, it was *lively*. Now shes lonely.
Were *not* moving in with her.
Whats your *problem* with my mum? he snapped. Sophie *adored* her.
Emma bit her tongue. Sophie was eight years youngerprobably still polishing Margarets silver. But Emma hadnt signed up for *that* brand of family bliss.
It got worse. Margaret returned *the next morning*this time inspecting the fridge.
*Chicken* eggs? Victor only eats quail. Better for *male vitality*. She wrinkled her nose. Shelves could do with a wipe, too. You *eat* off these, you know.
(*No, I eat off *plates*, actually.*)
Ill clean them later, Emma said tightly. We were hoping to *relax* today.
Victor, naturally, was still asleep.
*Relax*? Weekends are for *chores*, Margaret declared. Fetch a sponge. Next weekend, Ill teach you Victors favourite meat pie. Youll *weep* with joy!
Emma froze.
Margaret maybe text *before* visiting? So I can, say, *have plans*?
*Text*? I need *permission* to see my own son?
No. But he lives with *me* now. A little consideration would be nice.
Sophie never *complained*, Margaret sniffed.
Well, *my* exs mum brought *cherry pies*. Delicious. Want the recipe?
Margarets face darkened. Think *hard*, dear. In this family, the nightingale doesnt out-sing the lark.
She left in a huffbut the damage was done. Victor kept comparing Emma to Sophie, Margaret kept intruding, and Emma? She was *done*.
A month passed peacefullyuntil another *8 a.m.* doorbell.
Emma didnt answer.
Why wont you let her in?! Victor stormed.
Because *no*. Warn me first. Stop snooping. Basic manners.
Shes my *MUM*!
Then *you* greet her. *Outside.*
Cue the meltdown. Shouting. Accusations. Margaret wailing through the door.
Emma snapped. Either you tell your mum what *guest* means, or were *through*.
He chose the latter.
No tears shedthey werent even married. Bullet dodged.
Months later, gossip reached her: Victor had a new girlfriend. Their mutual friend smirked.
Shes *desperate* to meet you.
*Why*?
Margaret wont stop raving about you. *So pretty! So strong-willed! Cooks like a dream!*
Emma blinked. *That* Margaret? About *me*?
Guess you only earn praise *after* escaping her son.
From then on, Emma heeded red flags: men who waxed poetic about exes *and* had umbilical cords still attached.
Lifes too short for *that* kind of mammas boy.
Agree? Disagree? Comments welcome. *Or just nod silently and learn from my mistakes. She deleted the comment thread, poured a glass of wine, and turned the lock on her front doorjust to hear the solid, satisfying click.
