For Margaret Williams, that October when Michael married Emily was a bitter season. She barely noticed the golden hues of autumn. All she saw was her boyher pride, her purposesliding into the grasp of that Emily.
Shed despised her future daughter-in-law from the start. Too bold, too self-assured. Met her gaze head-on, had opinions of her own. Worst of all? A child in her arms, born out of wedlock. «What sort of woman does that?» Margaret fumed silently. «Now shes trapped my Michael, and were meant to feed her little girl too?»
There had been another girl. Charlotte.
The daughter of an old friend. The one Margaret had already pencilled into her sons futurequiet, deferential, an accountant at a respectable firm. Most importantly, she understood the sacred bond between mother and son. «Margaret,» Charlotte had once murmured, «Id always seek your advice. You know him best.» Perfect words.
But this Emily? Impossible. Every offer of helphow to season Michaels steak just right, how to iron his shirtswas met with a polite but firm, «Well manage, thank you.» That *we* cut deep. She was his *mother*. She *knew* best.
***
At Emilys home, no one was celebrating either. At nearly 30, shed been living with her parents, raising her daughter, longing for love. Michael had swept her off her feetmoving in after barely a month, though without her child at first. Then, a whirlwind proposal. «Ive found my match,» hed declared, ready to build a life together.
Emily was over the moon. This was the blinding, all-consuming love shed dreamed of. When friends cautioned her»Infatuation blinds you, hes not ready»she brushed them off. She loved him fiercely. Shed warm him, make him happy, help him «spread his wings.»
A month before the wedding, her mother studied her over tea, eyes heavy with worry.
«Emily, love you know Michaels not the easiest sort, dont you?»
«Mum, hes just sensitive!» Emily shot back. «No ones ever understood him. But I do.»
«Its not about understanding, darling. Hes used to being coddled, living under his mothers wing, no responsibilities. Are you ready to carry him *and* his mum *and* your girl?»
«Hell grow up once were a family! He just needs love!»
Her sister Victoria was blunter. After an evening where Michael monologued about his grievances without letting anyone else speak, she pulled Emily aside.
«Chris, hes a narcissist. Do you *see* that? He doesnt notice anyone but himself.»
«Hes just upset! You havent seen him tender, funny»
«Youre romanticising him,» Victoria sighed. «Marriage isnt about sweetness. Its about who takes the bins out and brings you tea when youre ill.»
Emily didnt listen. They were just jealous, she decided. Their early months were blisscooking for him, nesting in his flat. And when his mothers meddling began, she brushed it off. At least they didnt live under Margarets roof.
***
If she couldve, Margaret wouldve forbidden the marriage. But it happened too fasther boy was nearly 34, after all. Hopes that hed toss Emily aside like the others faded when her family threw an extravagant wedding. Margaret refused to help. She sat alone on his side, watching the brides adoring gaze. «It wont last,» she thought. «Hell tire of her.»
After the ceremony, Emily brought her daughter home, eager to start their life. But Margaret called daily, dropped by unannounced with pies, critiqued the fridge.
«Michael loves white socks. Emily, why havent you bought any?»
«Mum, enough,» hed grumblebut he wore the socks she brought.
Emilys disillusionment came slowly, painfully. She couldnt compete with Margarets cooking or cleaning. She worked longer hours as Michaels «temporary» unemployment stretched to six months. He waited for severance from his bankrupt firm, refusing «beneath him» jobs. They survived on her salary and dwindling savings.
Once, when money ran low, he said breezily, «Just borrow from Mum till payday.»
She froze.
«Michael, were *adults*. Maybe you could actually look for work?»
«You dont believe in me?» His face twisted. «I wont just take *any* job! Should I stack boxes instead?»
Margaret seized every complaint, every sigh about Emily, fanning the flames: «She doesnt *understand* you, darling. *Charlotte* never wouldve treated you like this.»
She painted a world where Michael was cherishedunlike Emilys world of nagging and demands to *grow up*. He nodded silently when Margaret nitpicked unwashed dishes or muddy floors. Then, after she left, hed snap at Emily: «Why cant you just *clean* so she stops complaining?»
Emily fought back, arguedbut hit a wall. Michael obeyed his mother. He *wanted* to lead his new family but had been raised to defer to her. In crisesbroke, fightinghe ran to Margaret. She *fixed* things. She *gave*. With her, he was safe. His father, guilt-ridden, had always bought his way out of troublebikes, cars, even his flat.
Before the affair came to light, Emily realised shed married a perpetual child, doomed to compete with his mother. So when a compromising video landed in her inbox, she didnt confront him. She called her parents, packed her bags, and left.
Margaret was *relieved*. «That foolish marriage is over. My boys come home.»
She soothed him: «Men stray when theyre unhappy at home. She drove you to it. Dont worry, darling. Mums here. Ill cook, Ill clean. Maybe Charlotte will visitshe always liked you.»
***
Though shed left decisively, Emily was shattered. In her family, divorce after two years felt like failure. She expected pleas to reconcilebut they never came.
Then, the unexpected.
When she called her mother, sobbing, «I cant do this. Im divorcing him,» the reply was calm: «Alright, love. Your rooms ready.»
That night, as Emily spilled every painful detail, her mother listened. Then, softly: «Divorce him, darling. Did he *ever* put you first?»
«Not once, but youre not going to talk me out of it?»
«No. That man wont change. Youd be nursing him forever. Is that what you want?»
Her sister was blunt: «Thank God you woke up.» Even her grandmothermarried 55 yearsblessed the decision. Her usually traditional father slammed the table: «Good. You shouldnt tolerate that nonsense!»
Then, a new fury erupted in Emily. She confronted her mother, tears blazing:
«*Why didnt you stop me?!* You *saw* him! At the wedding, before itwhy didnt you *drag* me away? Did you even *care* who I married?»
Her mothers gaze was weary, loving: «Emily, my love. Would it have changed anything? If Id begged on my knees at the registry, would you have listened? Or would you have hated me for ruining your happiness?»
Emily fell silent. She *wouldnt* have listened. They *had* warned hershed called it jealousy.
«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 what if. Now? You *know*. And that lesson is yours forever.»
Emily weptnot just for the broken 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 fairy tale. And that? That was priceless.
***
What do you think?
Its a brutal dilemma. Margaret, too, would sit alone in the quiet of her spotless kitchen, the phone silent, the house too still. Shed trace the rim of her cooling tea cup and wonder why victory tasted so much like ashes. Michael moved through the house like a ghost, defensive and sullen, blaming everyone but himself. Charlotte never came. The flat remained empty, the future unwritten. And one grey November morning, as she washed his childhood dishes, she realisedshe hadnt saved him. Shed only made sure he stayed lost.
