«Why wont you open the door?»
«I dont want to! And I wont. Guests should call ahead, and they definitely shouldnt go rummaging through drawers, fridges, and wardrobes.»
«What do you mean, you wont? Thats my mother! Shes come to see *me*!»
«Well, go greet her, then! Just not in *my* house.»
«At least Victoria got on with my mum.»
«You know, if I started listing all the ways my ex was better than you, wed both end up embarrassed.»
«Though Im not so sure about myself,» Anastasia cut in sharply, scrubbing at the kitchen table. «If you two were so happy with Victoria, why did you break up?»
Victor turned away, wounded, and glared out the window.
«Well, you already know the story…»
«I do. So spare me the tales of your precious *Vicky*,» Anastasia snapped. «Unless you want me to be your next ex.»
She was already half-ready to walk out.
Shed met Victor almost a year ago at a mutual friends gathering. Shed even known Victorianot well, but enough. It was Victoria whod brought Victor along. Then, a few months later, shed vanished from the scene entirely.
One night, tipsy, Victor confessed hed dumped her after catching her cheating. Hed even shed a tear.
At the time, Anastasia found it endearinga man unafraid to show emotion, who valued love. Something clicked inside her, a pang of pity, a need to comfort.
She realised later that *something* was probably maternal instinct, not romantic interest. But it had been enough to start things between them.
At first, it was lovely. Hed wait for her after work, drive her home, send sweet messages daily, ask if shed dressed warmly enough. She felt *cared for*.
The first red flag came when Victoria herself messaged her.
«Hey. Heard youre seeing Victor. Not my business, but be careful. Him and his mum? Theyre a package deal.»
Anastasia noted it but brushed it off. Love conquered worse obstacles. Just because things went sour with one woman didnt mean history would repeat.
«Thanks, but well figure it out,» she replied, keen to shut the conversation down. It felt wrong to indulge gossip about Victor.
Victor, meanwhile, had no such qualms about *her* comfort.
When his mother, Margaret, first turned up unannounced, Anastasia bit her tongue. Maybe they just didnt realise how awkward it was. Maybe Margaret was just worried, wanting to see who her son lived with.
She sent Victor to greet his mother, threw on clothes, scraped her hair into a ponytail, and stumbled outsleep-deprived, dark circles under her eyesto meet her potential mother-in-law.
Who was already rifling through the living room drawers.
«Ah, everythings a mess,» Margaret sighed, smiling indulgently. «Soon youll be mismatching socks. Anastasia, after breakfast, Ill show you how to fold clothes properlyno wrinkles, no lost items.»
Not *hello*. Just criticism. Anastasia was too stunned to speak. A stranger, digging through her underwear, in *her* home? Rude.
But snapping back seemed wrong, so she endured.
«Oh, darling, those under-eye bags!» Margaret tutted. «You need cucumber slices. Orbetterget your kidneys checked. My friend once»
Anastasia nodded, smiled, pretended interest in some strangers ailments. All she wanted was to crawl back into bed. It was 8 AM on a *Sunday*. Shed stayed up late, planning to sleep in.
No such luck.
Margarets *visit* lasted till evening. A barrage of *advice*: how to water plants, scrub baths, polish spoons. Anastasia felt like a wrung-out dishrag. And Victor? Not once did he step in, suggest they needed rest.
«Your mums always this *hands-on*?» Anastasia ventured that night.
She loved big families, but boundaries mattered.
«Yeah. Why? She just wants to bond,» Victor shrugged. «We lived with her before. Lively. Now shes lonely.»
«Please tell me we wont be a trio.»
«You dont like my mum?» His voice tightened. «Victoria got on with her.»
Anastasia said nothing. Victoria was eight years younger, a people-pleaser. Of *course* they got on.
Shed probably memorised Margarets friends names, diagnoses, ironed sheets perfectly, baked pies to her recipes.
Anastasia hadnt signed up for that. She had life experience. The fewer outsiders meddling in a relationship, the better. But Victor disagreed.
«Mums sociable. Gets on with anyone.»
*»Not everyone wants her to,»* Anastasia nearly said.
It got worse. Margaret returned the next morning. Inspected the fridge.
«Chicken eggs? I only cooked quail for Victorbetter for men,» she declared. «These shelves are grubby. You *eat* from here, Anastasia.»
*»I dont lick the shelves,»* she thought.
«Ill clean them later,» she said. «We were planning to relax. Its our *day off*.»
Victor, of course, was still asleep.
«Nonsense! A day off is for cooking and cleaning,» Margaret said. «Fetch a sponge. Next weekend, Ill teach you Victors favourite meat pie. Youll love it!»
Anastasia froze. Arms crossed. She wouldnt play housemaid on command.
«Margaret, maybe take my number? Call before visiting. So I can plan.»
«*Call?* I need permission to see my own son?»
«No. But your son lives with a woman now. We should respect each others needs.»
«Victoria never minded.»
«My exs mum never barged in at dawn,» Anastasia shot back. «She brought cherry pies. Delicious. Want the recipe?»
Margarets face darkened. Wrinkles deepened. Anger flashed.
«Think carefully, dear. In our family, the nightingale doesnt outsing the lark.»
She left, but the tension lingered. Victor was deaf to her feelings. His mother treated their home as hers. And always, *always*, Victorias ghost hovered.
«Victorias cabbage rolls were better. Her mum taught her,» Victor would muse.
«Get her to teach you, then.»
She suspected Margaret would poison Victor against her. Didnt want to discuss it. Just wanted the topic *gone*.
A calm month passedthen it happened again. A knock at dawn. This time, Anastasia refused to answer.
Harsh? Maybe. But barging in uninvited after *hints* was worse.
Five minutes later, Victor stormed out. Sleepy, furious.
«Why wont you open the door?»
«I dont want to! Guests should *call first*. And *not* rifle through my things!»
«Shes my *mother*!»
«Then greet her! *Not in my house.*»
The fight that followed probably woke the neighbours. He accused her of rejecting his motherand him. Margaret shrieked, demanded entry, rang the bell.
Finally, Anastasia snapped.
«Enough! Either you send your mother home*politely*or were done.»
He chose the latter.
She wasnt heartbroken. They hadnt even married. Maybe it was for the best.
Months later, news reached her: Victor had a new girlfriend. A mutual friend told her.
«Shes moved in with him *and* his mum. Already wants out. Asked to meet you.»
«Why?»
«According to Margaret, youre *perfect*. Pretty, strong-willed, a great cook.»
«*Margaret* said that? About *me*?»
«Seems she only likes the ones whove escaped.»
From then on, Anastasia listened to gossipcarefully. She wasnt naive, but she didnt ignore warnings either.
And she *especially* avoided men obsessed with exesor their mothers.
With those *mummys boys*, happiness was impossible. Mum always came first.
Maybe thats rightin *moderation*.
But she wasnt signing up for round two.
