She Knows Best
There had been another one before. Tabitha.
Her friends daughter. The one Margaret had already imagined as the perfect match for her son, Michaelquiet, obedient, sensible. An accountant at a respectable firm. Most importantly, she understood the unbreakable bond between mother and son. Tabitha had even said once, Margaret, Ill always ask for your adviceyou know him better than anyone. Such proper words.
But this oneChristina! Impossible to reason with. Every suggestionhow to season Michaels steak, the right way to iron his shirtswas met with a polite but firm, Thank you, well manage. That *was* cut Margaret to the bone. She was his *mother*! She knew best!
***
At Christinas house? No joy either. Nearing thirty, she still lived with her parents, raised her daughter alone, and of course, dreamed of love. Michael proposed moving in together almost immediatelybarely a month after they metthough without her daughter at first. Then came the registry office, all within months. *Finally found the one*, hed said, *ready to build a nest*.
Christina was over the moon. This was the blinding, once-in-a-lifetime love shed dreamed of. When anyone tried to temper her, to warn her that infatuation was blind, that Michael wasnt ready, she bristled. She loved him fiercely, certain she could heal him, make him happy, help him *spread his wings*.
A month before the wedding, she sat at her mothers kitchen table. Her mum sipped tea, watching her with quiet sadness.
Christina you know Michaels difficult, dont you?
Mum, hes just sensitive! she shot back. No ones ever understood him. But I do.
Its not about understanding, love. Hes used to being coddled, living under his mothers wing with no responsibilities. Are you ready to carry everythinghim, his mum, *your* daughter?
Hell *detach* from her once were a family! He just needs love and support. And Ill give it.
Her sister, Veronica, was blunter. After one visit where Michael spent the evening ranting about his old boss without letting anyone else speak, she pulled Christina aside.
Chris, your Michaels a total narcissist. Do you even *see* that? He doesnt notice peoplejust himself.
Hes just upset! You havent seen how tender he can be!
Youre romanticising him, Veronica sighed. Marriage isnt about tendernessits about who takes the bins out and brings you tea when youre ill.
Christina didnt listen. She thought they were jealousthey didnt believe in real love. She and Michael barely argued those first months. She loved setting up their home, trying new recipescooking was a joy for him. Plus, he travelled often for work; absence made the heart grow fonder. So she ignored outsiders warnings, calmly brushing off her mother-in-laws meddlingthankfully, Michael had his own flat. That gave her hope.
***
If she could, Margaret wouldve forbidden the marriage. But it happened too fasther boy was nearly thirty-four. Hopes that hed dump Christina like the others within months faded. Worse, the brides family got involved, organising a lavish wedding. Margaret refused to help. She was the grooms only guest, silently watching the couple at the reception. Christinas adoring gaze made her scoff. *This wont last. Shell tire of him. Michael cant live with her.*
After the wedding, Christina moved her daughter in, throwing herself into married life. Margaret lived across London but called and visited so often it grated. She criticised everythingher son never stood up to her. Maybe he couldnt. Seeing Christina try to fix him, demand *growth*, filled Margaret with fury.
When Michael lost his job, she doubled down. Daily calls. Uninvited visits with pies, checking the fridge and cupboards.
Oh, Michael, you love white socks. Christina, why havent you bought any?
Mum, *enough*, hed grumblebut he wore the socks she brought.
Christinas disillusionment was slow and painful. She couldnt compete with his mums cooking or cleaning. She worked longer hours as Michaels temporary unemployment stretched to six months. He waited for severance from his bankrupt firm, refusing to job-hunt, expecting the world to hand him something *worthy*. They lived on Christinas salary and dwindling savings.
Once, when money ran low, he said breezily, Just call Mum, borrow till payday.
She froze.
Michael, were *adults*. Maybe start looking for work?
You dont believe in me? His face twisted. Im not taking *any* job! Or dyou want me stacking shelves?
Margaret seized every complaint, every gripe about Christina, fanning them into crises:
She doesnt *understand* you, son. Doesnt *appreciate* you. I always saidTabitha would never treat you like this.
She painted an illusiona world where Michael was cherished, unlike Christinas world of *nagging* and unreasonable demands to *grow up*. Michael stayed silent, nodding when his mum nitpicked unwashed dishes or sand in the hallway. Then, after she left, hed snap at Christina: Why cant you just *clean* so she wont complain?
Christina fought back, of courseargued, pleaded. But she hit a wall. Michael *obeyed* his mother. He wanted to lead his new family, but childhood had taught him: *Mums in charge. Her word is law. She knows best.* In crisesno money, no peacehe ran to her. She *fixed* things. She *gave*. With her, he was safe. Mum always took his side. And finances? Michael never strained himself there either. His guilt-ridden father had bought him *everything*bike, moped, car, even a flat by thirty.
Before the affair came to light, Christina already knewshed married an eternal child, doomed to compete with his mother. So when someone sent her *that* video, she didnt even confront him. She called her parents, packed her bags, and left.
Margaret, hearing the news, *relieved*. Finally, this foolish marriage was over. Her boy was hers again.
First, she consoled him:
Youre a manthese things happen. *She* drove you to it. Didnt make a proper home. A happy man wouldnt stray. Dont worry, son. Ill clean, Ill cook. And who knowsmaybe Tabitha will visit. She always liked you.
***
Christina left decisively but was shattered. In her family, marriages *lasted*divorce after two years felt like failure. She expected pleas to *forgive*, *persevere*. But they never came.
Then came the strangest part.
When she called her mum, sobbing, I cant do this. I want a divorce, the reply was simple: Alright. Come homeyour rooms ready.
That evening, as she spilled every detail, her mum just listened.
Divorce him, love, she said softly. Did Michael ever *once* put you first?
Never, but youre not going to talk me out of it?
No. That man wont change. Youd be his caretaker forever. Is that what you want?
Her sister agreed: *Finally.* Im glad youre seeing sense. Even her grandmothermarried fifty-five yearsblessed the divorce. Her strict father, usually all for tradition, slammed the table: Good on you for not tolerating this!
Thats when a *new* fury hit Christina. She stormed to her mum, ready to scream.
Why didnt you *stop* me?! she choked out. You *knew*! 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 mum looked at herexhausted, loving.
Christina, my darling. What wouldve changed? If Id begged you at the registry office, would you have listened? Or would you have hated me for *ruining* your happiness?
Christina had no answer. Of *course* she wouldnt have listened. They *had* warned her, and shed called it envy.
Sometimes the only way to learn is through your own mistakes, her mum said gently. We couldve forced you. But then youd always wonder, always resent us. Now? You *know*. For yourself. And thats yours forever. It hurtsbut its yours.
Christina weptnot just for the broken marriage, but for the clarity. They hadnt been indifferent. Theyd been *wise*. They let her fall so shed learn to see the man, not the fantasy. And that lesson? Priceless.
***
What do *you* think?
The hardest dilemma for any family. Margaret still calls every Sunday, her voice bright with news of Michaelhow hes finally started applying for jobs, how Tabitha came to dinner last week and they laughed about old times. Christina listens, once, then deletes the number. She keeps her daughter close, teaches her to ride a bike in the park, sings off-key in the kitchen. Some evenings, she sits with her mother on the porch, saying nothing at all, just watching the light fade. And when the wind picks up, she feels, for the first time in years, like shes standing on solid ground.
