The fiancé introduced me to his mother, and she thrust a list of thirty demands into my hands.
Marian, have you lost your mind? This is sheer madness!
It isnt madness, Eleanor. Im only saying what I think.
But you cant blurt out to the boss that his decisions are foolish!
Marian leaned back in her swivel chair, a wry smile curling her lips. At thirtyfive shed long stopped keeping her mouth shut when something went awry. Eleanor, her colleague and confidante, twisted a pen nervously, glancing toward the office door.
Eleanor, if we stay silent theyll think were invisible. The new project is a disaster, and I said so.
And now?
Nothing. Let them mutter. My conscience is clear.
Eleanor shook her head and returned to her screen. Marian checked her phone three missed calls from George. A smile spread. George had entered her life six months earlier, and everything had shifted. After a failed marriage that ended five years before, she never imagined loving again. Yet George was different attentive, caring, dependable.
She dialed back.
Hello, love. How are you?
Fine. Had another row with the boss.
Youre incorrigible, his voice was warm. Listen, I need to talk seriously.
Whats happened?
Nothings wrong. Its just my mother wants to meet you. Were going to her this weekend.
Marians breath caught. Meeting the mother was a weighty step. George had spoken of her often. Agnes Whitaker, sixtyeight, a widow, lived alone in a stone cottage out in the Cotswolds. By Georges account she was strict but fair.
Are you sure? Isnt it a bit early?
Marian, weve been together half a year. Its time. Mother keeps asking when Ill bring her the woman I keep talking about.
All right, Marian sighed. Saturday?
Yes. Ill pick you up at ten. Dont worry, itll be fine.
The rest of the week whirred by in preparation. Marian bought a modest navy dress that fell to her knees, selected a box of fine chocolates and a bouquet of daffodils George had told her his mother adored those blooms.
On Friday evening she called Eleanor.
Can you believe it? Tomorrow Im off to meet his mother.
Oh, thats serious! Nervous?
Terrified. What if she doesnt like me?
Stop it, youre wonderful. What could she not like?
I dont know. George says shes stern. What if she decides Im not good enough for her son?
Marian, stop overthinking. Itll be fine.
Still, anxiety gnawed at her. She slept poorly, waking several times for water. In the morning she wrestled with whether to let her hair down or pull it back, finally opting for a neat bun.
George arrived precisely at ten, dressed sharply in dark trousers, a white shirt and a jacket a look Marian rarely saw on him.
You look splendid, he said, kissing her cheek.
Thank you. You look dashing yourself.
He smiled oddly, saying nothing else.
The drive took about an hour. George chatted about work and upcoming holidays, but Marian listened only halfheartedly. The nearer they came to the cottage, the tighter her chest clenched.
The house was a solid twostorey building with a tidy garden. At the gate stood Agnes, tall and dignified in a crisp suit, her silver hair neatly set, her expression unreadable.
Hello, mother, George kissed her cheek. This is Marian.
Good afternoon, MrsWhitaker, Marian offered the flowers and chocolates. Pleased to meet you.
Agnes surveyed her from head to toe, accepted the gifts with a curt nod.
Please, come in.
Inside the rooms were immaculate, not a speck of dust, everything in its place. The lounge featured heavy oak furniture and family portraits in matching frames.
Sit down, Agnes gestured to the settee. Would you like some tea?
Yes, thank you.
While Agnes fetched tea, Marian examined the photographs: George as a boy, in school uniform, in a military outfit, at university graduation. In each, his mother stood beside him; his father appeared only in old, faded pictures.
My father died when I was fifteen, George whispered, noticing her stare.
Agnes returned with a tray, the teapot, cups and a sugar bowl all matching a single service. She poured, settled opposite Marian.
So, Marian. George has spoken of you often.
I hope only good things.
A mix, Agnes sipped. Are you a clerk?
Yes, with a construction firm.
Were you married?
Marians throat tightened. The question was expected, yet still uncomfortable.
I was. We divorced five years ago.
Any children?
No.
Why the divorce?
Mother George shifted uneasily. Maybe I shouldnt
George, I have a right to know who my son is involved with, Agnes said sharply, turning to Marian. So why?
We just didnt click, Marian replied calmly.
Thats an excuse. The real reason?
Marian inhaled deeply.
My husband was unfaithful. I discovered it and filed for divorce.
I see, Agnes nodded. And no children?
We never could.
Health problems?
Mother! George raised his voice. If she has fertility issues I should know. I want grandchildren.
Marian felt her cheeks flush. The conversation was spiralling far from what shed imagined.
I have no health issues. It was simply a failed marriage, she said.
Agnes set her cup down.
Now to business. George, perhaps you havent told her, but our family has certain traditions. If you intend to join us, you must know and obey them.
She rose, fetched a folder from a side cabinet, returned and handed Marian several stapled sheets.
Whats this? Marian asked, bewildered.
A list of requirements for the future daughterinlaw. Thirty points. Read carefully.
Marian glanced at George, who stared at the floor. She unfolded the paper.
Point one: the daughterinlaw must visit her motherinlaw at least twice a week.
Point two: she must master every recipe in the family cookbook.
Point three: she must bear at least two children within the first three years of marriage.
Point four: she may not work after the birth of her first child.
Point five: all major purchases must be approved by the motherinlaw
With each clause her eyes widened. The list dictated attire, household chores, childrearing methods, even the style of hair she should wear.
Youre joking? she asked, looking up.
Im serious, Agnes replied, coldly. My late daughterinlaw adhered to them without fail.
You had a eldest son?
He was. He died in a car crash with his wife three years ago. George is now my only child, and I will not let him be with an unsuitable woman.
Marian turned to George.
Did you know about this?
He nodded, eyes still fixed on the floor.
And you said nothing?
I hoped mother would change her mind, or that you would agree.
Agree to this? Marian rose, scattering the pages. George, this is medieval!
Dont dramatise, Agnes said, pursing her lips. They are reasonable demands for a respectable woman.
Reasonable? Point fifteen says I must hand over my salary!
For the family budget. I will allocate the money properly.
Point twentytwo says I cannot meet friends without your permission!
A married woman has no need for frivolous outings.
And point twentyeight? I must live with you for a year after the wedding?
So I can teach you proper housekeeping.
Marian shook her head.
This is insanity. George, how could you bring me here knowing all this?
Marian, lets talk calmly
Talk about what? That your mother wants to turn me into a slave?
How dare you! Agnes rose, her face flushing. Im offering fair terms. In return you get a good husband, a secure life, a family.
I am not a commodity!
Every woman has a price, just a different one, Agnes said icily.
Marian grabbed her bag.
George, drive me home. Now.
Marian, wait
If she leaves now refusing my terms, its over between you, the mother interjected.
George stood, looked first at his mother, then at Marian. A plea lingered in his eyes.
Marian, perhaps youll reconsider? Not every point is set in stone, we could discuss
Every point is nonnegotiable, Agnes cut in. No exceptions.
Marian stared at George, the man she loved trapped between her and his mother, his allegiance clear.
Take me home, she whispered.
The drive back was silent. George tried several times to speak, but Marian turned to the window. He stopped the car outside her house, turned to her.
Marian, lets talk.
About what? That youve been lying to me for six months?
I wasnt lying! I just didnt know how to say it.
You took me to restaurants, gave me flowers, spoke of love, yet you knew about this list.
I hoped shed change her mind once she got to know you better.
She doesnt even want to know me. She wants a robot to obey her.
Mother is lonely. After her husband and brother died she has no one. Im all she has.
And what do you have, George? Besides your mother?
He fell silent.
Youre thirtyseven, a grown man, yet you cant decide without mum.
Thats not true
It is, George. And you know what? Im not angry, I pity you.
Marian stepped out of the car, George followed.
Marian, wait! I love you!
She halted at the doorway, turned.
If you loved me, you wouldnt have subjected me to this humiliation. Goodbye, George.
She locked the door, slipped off her shoes and collapsed onto the settee. Tears rose, but she held them back. No more sobbing over men unworthy of her tears.
The phone rang. It was Eleanor.
How did it go? Did his mother like you?
Eleanor, it was a nightmare.
What happened?
Marian recounted everything, Eleanor gasping now and then.
Shes mad! And George! He brought you here like a lamb to the slaughter.
He says he loves me.
He loves his mum. To him you were a pastime.
Dont say that.
Its true. A decent man would never allow that.
Marian knew Eleanor was right, but the heart does not heed reason. She loved George, and that love did not switch off with a snap.
That evening George texted: Marian, lets meet, Ill explain. She did not reply. Later: Ill talk to my mother, get her to soften the list. Silence followed.
Late night: I cant live without you. Please answer. She turned the phone off.
The next morning at work she tried to focus on the numbers, but the thirtypoint list haunted her. How could anyone in the twentyfirst century impose such demands?
MissClarke, theres a visitor, the secretary announced.
Who?
An elderly lady, says its a personal matter.
Marian frowned. Could it be?
In the reception sat Agnes, her suit immaculate, a small handbag on her knee.
What are you doing here?
We need to talk.
I have nothing to discuss.
There is something. Five minutes, please.
Marian wanted to refuse, curiosity won. She led the woman to a meeting room.
Im listening.
Agnes sat, smoothing her skirt.
Yesterday you left before hearing the end.
I heard enough.
No. You dont know the whole story.
I dont want to know.
My eldest son Andrew married against my will, Agnes said, looking out the window. I opposed his bride; she was frivolous, carefree. I knew it would end badly.
And?
They wed. A year later she cheated. He forgave, then she did again. He loved her to madness, forgave everything. Then they were killed in a crash. She was with a lover.
Marian stayed silent.
After their deaths I found her letters. She mocked my son, called him a ragboy, spent his money, loved another.
Im sorry, but
I will not let history repeat. George is my only son. I must guard him.
Guard? Youre suffocating him!
Im caring for him.
Youve turned him into a puppet who cant step out without your approval.
Ive made him a respectable man.
A respectable man at thirtyseven still lives with his mother and fears contradicting her.
He doesnt live with me. He has his own flat.
Yet you make the decisions.
Agnes pursed her lips.
Ive fashioned a decent son.
A decent son who lives under his mothers thumb.
She stood.
This talk is useless. Remember, if you reject my terms, George will find someone else.
Let him find a hollow version of himself, like he already is.
Agnes glared and left. Marian remained seated, the story of Andrew shedding light but not justification. One cannot turn a life into a prison because of one tragedy.
The day dragged on. George called several times; she let it ring. At night, leaving the office, she saw his car parked. He waited.
Marian, please listen.
George, your mother already came. I know everything about your brother.
She came? he seemed surprised.
Yes. She tried to explain herself.
What did you decide?
What do you think?
He lowered his head.
Marian, I truly love you. But mum shes all I have left of my family.
You could have a family of your own. Yet your mother wont allow it.
Shell if the woman accepts her conditions.
You dont understand. No decent woman would accept such terms. The one who does will be with you for convenience, not love.
Youre wrong
Youre right, George. Deep down you know it.
He stared at his shoes.
You know what? Marian sighed I wish you happiness, truly. But it wont come while youre a puppet.
Im independent!
No, youre a marionette in your mothers hands. Until you see that, nothing changes.
She walked past him toward the bus stop. He shouted, Marian! Ill wait! Maybe youll change! She didnt look back.
A week passed. George wrote daily, but Marian stayed silent. It hurt, yet she knew she was doing right. One friend dragged her to a café after work.
Stop moping. Forget that mothers son.
Im not moping, just thinking.
Whats there to think about? He showed his true face.
George isnt a bad man, just weak.
Do you need a weak man?
No, Marian shook her head. I dont.
Thats it. Forget and move on.
Easier said than done. She couldnt simply erase six months of love, however painful the ending. Yes, George had been caring, but all that care was under his mothers control.
On Saturday she visited her own mother in their modest suburban home, a stark contrast to Agness tidy cottage. The walls were splashed with paintings her mother made in retirement.
Marian, you look glum, dear, her mother embraced her at the door.
Im fine, mum.
Dont lie to me. Whats wrong?
Over tea Marian recounted the whole saga.
Glad it turned out this way, actually.
Why?
Imagine marrying him, not knowing all this, then discovering it. Itd be worse.
Youre right.
A mother-inlaw can be a blessing if sensible, a curse if tyrannical.
How did you get on with your own motherinlaw?
We wereAnd as the years slipped by, Marian found peace in her own independence, grateful that the painful lesson had taught her to cherish freedom above all else.
