I still recall the day my fiancé introduced me to his mother, and she thrust a thick sheaf of paper at me a list of thirty demands for a future daughterinlaw.
Marion Clarke, are you out of your mind? I exclaimed, my voice shaking. This is absolute madness!
Nothing mad about it, Sophie, the other voice interjected. Im simply saying what I think.
But you cant tell the boss outright that his decisions are idiotic!
Sophie, my colleague and close friend, perched on the edge of her swivel chair, rolled her eyes. At thirtyfive shed learned not to stay silent when something was amiss. I could feel the offices stale air as she twirled a pen, glancing toward the door.
If we keep quiet, theyll stop treating us like people, she whispered. The new project is a disaster, and I said so.
What now? I asked.
Nothing. Let them think what they will. My conscience is clear.
Sophie shook her head and returned to her screen. I checked my mobile three missed calls from Andrew. A small smile tugged at my lips. Andrew had entered my life six months earlier, and everything had shifted since. After a failed marriage that ended five years ago, I never imagined I could love again. Yet Andrew was different attentive, caring, dependable.
I dialed back.
Hey, sunshine. How are you?
Fine. Just had another row with the boss.
Youre incorrigible, he chuckled. Listen, I have something serious to discuss.
Whats happened?
Nothings wrong. Just Mum wants to meet you. Were heading to her this weekend.
My heart stumbled. Meeting the mother was a weighty step. Andrew had spoken of her often. Eleanor Whitaker, sixtyeight, a widow who lived alone in a detached house outside the village of Loxford, Surrey. By his account she was strict but fair.
Are you sure? Isnt it a bit early?
Weve been together half a year. Its time. She keeps asking when Ill introduce her to the woman I keep talking about.
Alright, I sighed. Saturday then?
Exactly. Ill pick you up at ten. Dont worry, everything will be fine.
The rest of the week flew by in frantic preparation. I bought a modest navy dress that fell to the knees, selected a box of fine chocolates and a bouquet of chrysanthemums Andrew said his mother favored those flowers.
On Friday evening I called Sophie.
Can you believe it? Tomorrow Im meeting his mother.
Oh dear, thats serious! Are you nervous?
Terrified. What if she dislikes me?
Youre wonderful. What could she possibly find fault with?
I dont know. Andrew says shes strict. What if she decides Im not good enough for her son?
Dont overthink it. Itll be fine.
Still, I lay awake that night, rising repeatedly for water. In the morning I agonised over my hair let it down or pull it back. I finally settled on a tidy bun.
Andrew arrived precisely at ten, looking dapper in dark trousers, a crisp white shirt and a navy blazer a look I seldom saw him wear.
You look stunning, he said, planting a kiss on my cheek.
Thank you. You too, dear fiancé.
He smiled oddly, saying nothing more.
The drive took about an hour. He chatted about work and holiday plans, but my mind drifted. The nearer we got to his mothers cottage, the tighter my chest felt.
The house was a spacious twostorey building with a manicured garden. At the gate, Eleanor Whitaker stood on the porch tall, dignified in a tailored suit, her silver hair neatly set, her expression unreadable.
Good morning, Mother, Andrew kissed her cheek. This is Marion.
Good morning, Mrs. Whitaker, I offered, handing over the flowers and chocolates. Its a pleasure to meet you.
She scanned me from head to toe, accepted the gifts and gave a curt nod.
Please, come in.
Inside, the rooms were immaculate, every surface dustfree, everything in its proper place. The sitting room featured solid oak furniture and family portraits in matching frames.
Have a seat, Eleanor indicated the sofa. Would you care for some tea?
Yes, thank you.
While she disappeared to the kitchen, I examined the photographs Andrew as a child in school uniform, in a military cadet shirt, at his university graduation. In each, his mother stood beside him; his father appeared only in old, faded pictures.
My father died when I was fifteen, Andrew murmured quietly, noticing my stare.
Eleanor returned with a tray teapot, cups, sugar bowl, all from a single matching set. She poured tea and settled opposite me.
So, Marion. Andrew has spoken a great deal about you.
I hope only good things.
A mix, actually, she sipped. You work as an accountant?
Yes, for a construction firm.
Were you married before?
I felt the question tighten my chest.
Yes. We divorced five years ago.
Any children?
No.
Why the divorce?
Andrew shuffled uneasily on the armchair.
Marion, I have a right to know who my son is involved with, Eleanor said sharply, then turned her gaze back to me. So why?
It was a clash of temperaments, I replied calmly.
Excuses. Whats the real reason?
I inhaled deeply.
My husband was unfaithful. I discovered it and filed for divorce.
Understood, she nodded. And why no children?
It just never happened.
Health issues?
Andrews voice rose.
Mother! If she has fertility problems, I need to know. I want grandchildren.
I felt my cheeks flare. The conversation was veering far from what I had imagined.
I have no health issues. It was simply a failed marriage.
Eleanor set her cup down. Now, to business. You may not know, but our family has certain traditions and rules. If you intend to become part of it, you must understand and obey them.
She rose, walked to a side cabinet, retrieved a folder, returned and placed several stapled sheets before me.
Whats this? I asked, bewildered.
Its a list of requirements for a future daughterinlaw. Thirty points. Read them carefully.
I glanced at Andrew, who stared at the floor. My eyes fell on the first page.
Point one: The daughterinlaw must visit her motherinlaw at least twice a week.
Point two: She must be able to prepare every dish from the family cookbook.
Point three: She must bear a minimum of two children within the first three years of marriage.
Point four: She may not work after the birth of her first child.
Point five: She must obtain her motherinlaws approval for any major purchase
With each clause my eyes widened. The list dictated how to dress, how to run the household, how to raise children, even what hairstyle to wear.
Is this a joke? I asked, looking up.
I am not joking, Eleanor replied, her tone icy. These are serious demands. My late daughterinlaw adhered to them without fail.
You had a older son?
Yes. He died in a car crash with his wife three years ago. Andrew is now my only child, and I will not allow him to be with an unsuitable woman.
I turned to Andrew.
Did you know about this list?
He nodded, eyes still fixed on the floor.
And you said nothing?
I thought I hoped Mum would change her mind, or that youd agree.
The list reads like something from the Middle Ages! I snapped, throwing the papers onto the table.
Dont dramatise, Eleanor pressed her lips together. These are reasonable expectations for a proper lady.
Reasonable? Point fifteen says I must hand over my salary!
For the family budget. I will allocate the money appropriately.
Point twentytwo claims I cannot see my friends without your permission!
A married woman has no need for frivolous outings.
And point twentyeight says I must live with you for a year after the wedding?
To teach you how to run a proper household.
I shook my head.
This is lunacy. Andrew, how could you bring me here knowing all this?
Marion, lets talk calmly
What are we to discuss? That your mother wants to make a slave of me?
Eleanor rose, her face flushing. I am offering you honest terms. In return you will have a wonderful husband, a comfortable life, a family.
I am not merchandise to be bought!
All women are for sale, just at different prices, she said coldly.
I grabbed my handbag.
Andrew, drive me home. Immediately.
Marion, wait
If she leaves now without accepting my terms, its over for you both, his mother snapped.
Andrew stood, looked first at his mother, then at me, pleading in his eyes.
Marion, perhaps youll reconsider? Not every point is set in stone, we can discuss
Every point is mandatory, Eleanor interrupted. No exceptions.
I stared at Andrew, the man I had loved, caught between me and his mother, and I saw clearly whose side he truly stood on.
Take me home, I whispered.
The drive back was silent. Andrew tried to speak several times, but I turned my gaze to the window. When we stopped at my house, he turned to me.
Marion, lets talk.
What about? That you lied to me for six months?
I didnt lie! I just didnt know how to say it.
You took me to restaurants, gave me flowers, spoke of love, yet you knew your mother had this list for me.
I hoped she would change her mind once she got to know you better.
And she doesnt even want to know me. She wants a robot to obey her commands.
My mother is simply lonely. After my father and brother died she has no one. I am all she has.
What do you have, Andrew, besides Mum?
He fell silent.
Youre thirtyseven, a grown man. Yet you cant decide without your mothers consent.
Its not true
It is, Andrew. And you know that. Im not angry, I pity you.
I stepped out of the car, he followed.
Marion, wait! I love you!
I halted at the doorstep, turned.
If you loved me, you wouldnt have subjected me to this humiliation. Goodbye, Andrew.
I slammed the door, slipped off my shoes and collapsed onto the sofa. Tears welled, but I swallowed them. No more crying over men unworthy of my tears.
The phone rang. Sophies name flashed.
How did it go? Did Mum like me?
It was a nightmare.
What happened?
I recounted everything. Sophie gasped at intervals.
Shes mad! And Andrew, he brought you there like a lamb to the slaughter.
He says he loves me.
He loves his mother. To him you were just a pastime.
I wont say that.
Sophies voice softened. Hes a decent man, but he chose the easy road.
I knew she was right, but the heart does not obey reason. I still loved Andrew, and love does not switch off with a snap.
That evening he texted: Marion, lets meet, Ill explain everything. I did not reply.
Later he sent: Ill talk to my mother, convince her to soften the demands. Silence followed from my side.
In the dead of night he wrote: I cant live without you. Please answer. I turned the phone off.
The next morning at work I tried to focus on numbers, but the thirtypoint list haunted me. How could anyone in the twentyfirst century impose such conditions?
Miss Clarke, theres a visitor, the secretary announced.
Who?
An elderly lady, says its a personal matter.
My brows knit. Could it be?
In the reception I saw Eleanor, still in her austere suit, a handbag perched on her knees.
What are you doing here? I asked.
We need to talk.
Theres nothing to discuss.
There is. Five minutes of your time.
I wanted to refuse, but curiosity won. I led her to the conference room.
Im listening, I said.
She sat, smoothing her skirt.
You left yesterday without hearing the end.
I heard enough.
No. You do not know the whole story.
I do not wish to know.
My eldest son, Andrew, married against my will, she began, staring out the window. I opposed his wife; she was frivolous, flighty. I knew it would end badly.
What then?
They married. A year later she cheated. He forgave, then she cheated again. He loved her to madness, forgave everything. Then they were killed in a crash. She was with a lover.
I sat, stunned.
After their deaths I found her letters. She mocked my son, called him a rag, used his money, loved another.
Im sorry, but
I cannot let history repeat. Andrew is my only son now. I must protect him.
Protect? Youre strangling him!
Im looking after his welfare.
Youve made him a spineless man who cannot take a step without your approval.
She pursed her lips.
Ive made him a respectable man.
Respectable? At thirtyseven he lives with his mother, afraid to defy her.
He doesnt live with me. He has his own flat.
But you make the decisions.
She rose.
I see this conversation is futile. Remember if you do not accept my conditions, Andrew will find someone else who will.
Let him look for a hollow shell like himself, I retorted.
She left with a disdainful glance. I remained seated, the weight of her story settling like ash. One tragedy should not imprison anothers future.
The day dragged on. Andrew called several times; I let it ring out. At evening, leaving the office, I saw his car waiting. He stepped out, waiting.
Marion, please, hear me out.
I know youre here. I heard about your brother.
He looked startled.
Yes. He came to see you.
What did you decide?
How do you think?
He lowered his head.
Marion, I truly love you. But Mum shes all I have left of my family.
You could have a family of your own. But your mother wont let you.
Shell only let you if you accept her terms.
You dont understand. No sane woman will accept such terms. The one who does will be with you out of calculation, not love.
Youre wrong
You are right, Andrew. Deep down you know it.
He stared at his shoes.
You know what? I wish you happiness, truly. But you must learn to stand on your own.
I am independent!
No, youre a puppet in your mothers hands. Until you see that, nothing will change.
I walked past him toward the bus stop. He shouted after me: Marion! Ill wait! Maybe youll change your mind! I did not turn.
A week passed. Andrew wrote daily, unanswered. His silence bruised, but I knew I was doing right. One Friday Sophie dragged me to a café after work.
Stop sulking. Forget that motherson.
Im not sulking. Im thinking.
Whats there to think about? He showed his true colours.
Sophie, Im not looking for a weak man.
No, you need a strong one.
Its easy to say, but I cant just erase six months of memories.
She was right; there were good moments. Andrew had been attentive, caring. Yet his care was always filtered through his mothers control.
On Saturday I visited my own mother in her modest suburb cottage, a stark contrast to Eleanors immaculate manor. The walls were splashed with my mothers paintings, the garden a delightful chaos.
Marion, you look downcast, she hugged me at the door.
Its fine, Mum.
Dont lie to your mother. Whats wrong?
Over tea I poured out the whole tale.
Good that it ended this way, she said. Imagine marrying him unaware of all this, then discovering it later. It would have been worse.
True.
My motherinlaw can be a blessing if shes reasonable, a curse if not.
How did you get on with your own motherinlaw?
She smiled. We were friends. She treated me like a daughter, I treated her like a mother.And so, with the weight of the past lifted, I finally walked away, knowing that my own future would be built on my terms alone.
