**She Knows Best**
For Margaret Wilkins, that October when Michael married Kirsty was a dark time. She barely noticed the golden hues of autumn. All she saw was her boyher lifes purpose, her greatest projectslipping away into the clutches of that Kirsty.
Shed taken an instant dislike to her future daughter-in-law. Too self-sufficient, too independent. Kirsty looked her in the eye, had opinions of her own. Worst of all, she had a childborn out of wedlock, no less. What kind of woman did that make her? «Shes trapped my Michael,» Margaret fumed bitterly, «and now hell be raising another mans child.»
There had been another girl, of course. Emma.
The daughter of an old friend. The one Margaret had already imagined building a future with Michaelquiet, dutiful, a sensible accountant at a respectable firm. Most importantly, Emma understood the special bond between mother and son. Shed even said once, «Margaret, Id always come to you for adviceyou know him best.» The right kind of words.
But Kirsty? Impossible to reason with. Every suggestionhow to make Michaels favourite shepherds pie, the best way to iron his shirtswas met with a polite but firm, «Thanks, but well manage.» That *we* cut Margaret to the quick. She was his *mother*. She *knew* best.
—
At Kirstys home, no one was overjoyed either. Nearing thirty, shed been living with her parents, raising her daughter, and longing for love. Michael had proposed moving in together almost immediatelythough without her daughter at first. Then, two months later, a registry office wedding. Hed found his match, he said, ready to build a life.
Kirsty was over the moon. This was the real thing, the blinding passion shed dreamed of. When anyone cautioned herlove is blind, Michael wasnt readyshe brushed it off. She loved him fiercely, certain she could warm him, make him happy, help him «spread his wings.»
A month before the wedding, her mother watched her over tea, a strange sadness in her eyes.
«Kirsty, loveyou do know Michaels difficult?»
«Mum, hes just sensitive!» Kirsty shot back. «No ones ever understood him. I do.»
«Its not about understanding, darling. Hes used to being coddled, living under his mums wing with no responsibilities. Are you ready to carry him, his mother, *and* your daughter?»
«Hell outgrow it once were a family! He just needs love and support. I can give him that.»
Her sister, Claire, was blunter. After one visit where Michael spent the evening ranting about his old boss without letting anyone else speak, she pulled Kirsty aside.
«Chris, hes a complete narcissist. Do you *see* that? He doesnt notice anyone elsejust himself.»
«Hes just upset. You havent seen how sweet he can be!»
«Youre idealising him,» Claire sighed. «Marriage isnt about sweetnessits about who takes the bins out and brings you tea when youre ill.»
Kirsty didnt listen. She thought they were just jealous of her whirlwind romance. They rarely argued in those early months. She loved nesting in their new flat, trying new recipescooking for him was a joy. And with his frequent business trips, they missed each other terribly. She ignored outsiders opinions, calmly brushing off her mother-in-laws meddling. At least Michael had his own placethat gave her hope.
—
If she could have, Margaret wouldve forbidden the marriage. But it all happened too fasther boy was nearly thirty-four, after all. Hopes that hed dump Kirsty in three months, like the others, faded fast. Worse, the brides family took over the wedding plans. Margaret refused to helpshe was the grooms only guest and let them foot the bill.
At the ceremony, she watched the couple closely. Kirsty was clearly smitten, gazing adoringly at Michael. «It wont last,» Margaret thought. «Shell tire of him soon enough. Hell never survive with her.»
After the wedding, Kirsty brought her daughter home and threw herself into married life. Margaret lived across London but called and visited so often, it grated on Kirstys nerves. She criticised everythingher cooking, her cleaning. Michael never stood up to her. Maybe he didnt know how. Seeing Kirsty try to «reform» him only stoked Margarets fury.
When Michael lost his job, she doubled downdaily calls, unannounced visits with pies, inspecting the fridge and cupboards.
«Oh, Michael, you prefer white socks. Kirsty, why havent you bought any?»
«Mum, enough,» hed mutterbut he wore the socks she brought.
Kirstys disillusionment came slowly, painfully. She couldnt compete with Margarets cooking or cleaning. She worked longer hours to cover bills as Michaels «temporary» unemployment dragged on for six months. He waited for severance from his bankrupt firm, refusing to «lower himself» with just any job. They lived on Kirstys salary and dwindling savings.
Once, when money ran too low for groceries, he said breezily, «Just borrow from Mum till payday.»
She stared. «Michael, were *adults*. Maybe you could actually look for work?»
«You dont believe in me?» His face twisted. «I wont take *any* rubbish job! Should I stack shelves, then?»
Margaret seized every complaint, stoking the fire. «She doesnt understand you, son. Never appreciated you. I *told* you. Emma never wouldve done this.»
She painted an illusiona world where Michael was cherished, unlike Kirstys world of nagging and unreasonable demands to «grow up.» He stayed silent, nodding when Margaret nitpicked unwashed dishes or tracked-in mud. After she left, hed snap at Kirsty: «Why cant you just *clean* properly so shes got nothing to complain about?»
Kirsty fought back, of courseargued, reasoned. But she hit a wall. Michael obeyed his mother. He *wanted* to lead his own family but had been raised to believe *she* was in charge. Her word was law. She knew best. In a crisisno money, a fighthe ran to her. She fixed things. She provided. With her, he was safe.
And materially? Hed never had to strive. His guilt-ridden father had bought him everythingbikes, cars, even his flat by thirty.
Before the affair came to light, Kirsty already knewshed married a perpetual child, doomed to compete with his mother. So when someone sent her damning footage, she didnt even confront him. She called her parents, packed her things, and left.
Margaret was *relieved*. Finally, that foolish marriage had crumbled. Her boy was hers again.
First, she comforted him: «Youre a manthese things happen. *She* drove you to it. Never made a proper home. A happy man doesnt stray. Dont worry, love. Mums here. Ill cook, Ill clean. Maybe Emma will visitshe always liked you.»
—
Kirsty, though resolute, was shattered. In her family, marriages lasted. Divorcing after two years felt like abject failure. She expected pleas to reconcile, to forgive, to «make it work.» But they never came.
Instead, something remarkable happened.
When she called her mother, sobbing, «I cant do this. Im filing for divorce,» the reply was simply, «Alright, love. Come home. Your rooms waiting.»
That evening, as Kirsty spilled every miserable detail, her mother listened without interruption.
«Divorce him, darling,» she said softly when Kirsty finally paused. «Did Michael ever *once* put you first?»
«Never, but youre not going to talk me out of it?»
«No. Hell never change. Youd be mothering him forever. Is that what you want?»
Her sister was blunter: «Thank God. Im glad you finally *see* him.» Even her grandmothermarried fifty-five yearsblessed the decision. Her stern father, usually a traditionalist, slammed the table: «Good on you for not putting up with that nonsense!»
Then, a different anger surged in Kirsty. She confronted her mother, ready to explode.
«Why didnt any of you *stop* me?» she cried, tears choking her. «You *saw* what he was like! At the wedding, *before* the wedding! Why didnt you *drag* me away? Did you even *care* who I married?»
Her mother looked at her, weary but loving.
«Kirsty, my girl. What would it have changed? If Id knelt outside the registry office, begging you not to go through with itwould you have listened? Would you have believed me? Or would you have hated me forever, convinced Id ruined your happiness?»
Kirsty had no answer. Of *course* she wouldnt have listened. They *had* tried to warn hershed thought them jealous.
«Sometimes, the only way to learn is through your own mistakes,» her mother said gently. «We couldve forced you to avoid this one. But youd have spent your life wonderinghating us for the what if. Now? You *know*. For yourself. And that lesson will stay with you forever. It hurts, but its *yours*.»
Kirsty 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 behind the fantasy. And that was a lesson no one could take from her.
—
What do *you* think?
Its a painful dilemma for any family. Margaret, too, would never changestill certain she knew best, still waiting for Michael to outgrow his need for her. But Kirsty, at least, had learned the most important truth of all: love shouldnt feel like surrender. And some people, no matter how fiercely you believe in them, are not yours to save. She closed the door gently behind her, not with anger, but with quiet certainty. The life she wanted was still possiblejust not with him. And this time, she would listento herself.
