“Did you buy a gift for just your mum again and forget about me?” Claire said, her voice tinged with disappointment.
The apartment was filled with the smell of oranges and cinnamon on New Year’s Eve. Claire, wearing a new silk scarf, was working her magic over the festive table. Martha, elegant in a paisley patterned shawl, assisted her with the salads.
Huge snowflakes covered the streets of London in a white blanket, with only two days left until New Year. Claire stood by the window of their twelfth-floor flat, absent-mindedly watching the snowfall. In the distance, the lights of Christmas garlands twinkled, and decorated Christmas trees were visible in the neighboring windows.
On the coffee table lay a small box tied with a golden ribbon—a gift for her mother-in-law. Claire had picked it herself: a delicate shawl with a traditional design. Martha had been dreaming of it for some time. “I hope John likes my choice,” Claire thought, adjusting the bow on the package for the hundredth time.
The sound of a key turning in the lock made her jump. John entered, holding a large shopping bag from an expensive store.
“You won’t believe it, I barely made it in time!” he exclaimed excitedly, brushing snow off his coat. “It was the last one left. Mum will be thrilled!”
Claire froze. She felt her heart skip a beat.
“And what’s that?” she asked, trying to keep her voice casual.
“That cashmere cardigan she had her eye on at Harvey Nichols a month ago. Remember, she mentioned it?” John pulled out the luxurious garment in a rich chocolate color.
Claire remembered. Just as she remembered that the cardigan cost nearly half her monthly salary. And two weeks ago, she had shown her husband a silk scarf that she liked… He’d nodded distractedly and changed the subject.
“You bought a gift only for your mum again and forgot about me?” the words slipped out, filled with the bitterness of years of neglect.
John stood still, the cardigan in his hands. His face showed surprise, followed by mild irritation.
“Claire, you know how important Mum is to me,” he gently placed the cardigan back in the bag. “She’s my only mum. Besides, we didn’t agree on gifts this year…”
Claire turned back to the window. Outside, snow kept falling, as cold as the emptiness growing inside her.
“We never agree, John. You just always…” she trailed off, her voice betraying her upset.
The sound of keys in the hallway announced Martha’s arrival. They had planned to discuss the New Year’s menu together today. Claire quickly wiped her eyes and forced a smile.
“Oh, it’s great that you’re both home!” Martha entered, carrying a bag of oranges. “I thought, maybe we could make a Waldorf salad like last year?”
Claire nodded mechanically, avoiding her mother-in-law’s gaze. Her throat felt tight as she moved the gift box from the coffee table, her hands trembling slightly.
“Mum, let me help you,” John offered, taking the bag of oranges, but Martha paused at the doorway, looking from her son to Claire.
“Is something wrong?” she asked quietly. After fifteen years of her son’s marriage, she had learned to sense tension between the young couple.
“Nothing,” John answered too quickly. “Everything’s fine.”
“Yes, everything’s perfect,” Claire couldn’t hold back the bitter irony. “As usual. John just bought a gift for mum. That cardigan from Harvey Nichols.”
Martha went pale as the penny dropped.
“John, but we talked about…,” she began.
“Mum, don’t start,” her son interrupted. “I wanted to make you happy. What’s wrong with that?”
Claire turned sharply to her husband:
“The problem is you can’t see past your own nose! Fifteen years, John. Fifteen years I’ve felt second best. Every holiday, every weekend revolves around your mum. Her wishes, her plans, her gifts.”
“Claire, darling…” Martha stepped towards her daughter-in-law, but she stepped back.
“No, this isn’t about you. It’s all about him,” Claire gestured towards her husband. “‘Mum’s important to me’, ‘Mum’s my only mum’… And what about me? Am I just an accessory to this family?”
“You’re being unfair!” John snapped.
“Am I? What are you doing for me?”
Claire chuckled bitterly. “You don’t even remember what I told you two weeks ago. About the scarf I liked. You nodded and forgot. But you remember the sweater your mum wanted perfectly!”
Silence fell. Only the ticking clock on the wall marked the seconds of tense quiet.
“I… I think I’ll leave,” Martha said softly. “We’ll discuss the menu tomorrow.”
“Mum, please stay…,” John began.
“No, son. You two need to talk. It’s long overdue.”
The door quietly closed behind the mother-in-law. Claire stood by the window, hugging her arms—a familiar gesture she turned to when feeling especially burdened.
Instead of heading home, Martha walked through the snowy streets. Snowflakes landed on her face, dissolving into unbidden tears. “How blind I’ve been all these years…” she thought.
The phone buzzed in her pocket. It was John.
“Mum, where are you? I’ll come down for you.”
“I’m in the park, by the bench,” she replied. “You know, we really need to talk.”
Five minutes later, John, wearing his coat over a house jumper, sat beside her. Snow continued to fall, covering their shoulders in a white layer.
“Son,” Martha took his hand. “Do you remember how you used to love doing jigsaw puzzles as a child?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” John exclaimed, puzzled.
“Everything. You always started with the most vivid piece. And couldn’t complete the puzzle because you didn’t see how all the parts fit together.”
She paused, gathering her thoughts.
“Just like now, you see only one vivid piece—your love for me. But family, John, is a whole picture. And Claire is an essential part of it.”
“Mum, but I do love Claire!” he countered.
“You do. But do you show her?” Martha sighed. “You know what frightens a woman the most? Feeling invisible. Especially to the person she loves.”
John sat silently, watching the snow fall.
“You think I need that cardigan?” his mother continued. “I need my son to be happy. And that’s only possible if your wife is happy. I see how she cares for our family. Cooking my favorite meals, remembering special dates, and even choosing that scarf…”
“What scarf?”
“The one she picked for me. I saw it by accident when I came in. With the pattern I always wanted.”
John covered his eyes with his hand.
“Goodness, I’ve been such an idiot…”
“Not an idiot, son. Just… engrossed in one fragment and forgetting about the bigger picture.”
As John walked home, he stopped by Harvey Nichols. The store’s displays glowed with festive lights, reflected in the freshly fallen snow. That silk scarf Claire had admired was still there, almost as if waiting for him.
The flat was quiet. A cup of cold tea sat on the kitchen table—Claire hadn’t finished it.
“Claire?” he called, looking into the bedroom.
She lay on top of the bedspread, facing the wall. Her shoulders trembled slightly.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’ve been a blind fool.”
“Fifteen years blind?” she replied, her voice thick with emotion, without turning.
“Yes. And a fool every year,” he gently touched her shoulder. “You know, Mum said something today… about puzzles. How I always got stuck on one bright piece and missed the whole picture.”
Claire slowly turned. Her eyes were red from crying.
“I got so used to thinking I needed to be the perfect son that I forgot to be a good husband,” he pulled a scarf from a bag. “Recognize this?”
She propped up on her elbow, looking at the shimmering silk in disbelief.
“John, you don’t need to. It’s not about the scarf…”
“I know,” he held her hand. “It’s not about gifts. It’s about not seeing how much you care for both of us. For Mum, too. That scarf you picked… It’s perfect, isn’t it?”
A single tear rolled down her cheek.
“I just want to know I matter to you too. Not just in words…”
“In actions,” he finished. “And I’ll try to prove that. Not just today. Every day.”
New Year’s Eve filled the apartment with aromas of oranges and cinnamon. Claire in her new silk scarf was setting up the festive table. Martha, exquisite in her paisley shawl, was lending a hand with the salads.
“Claire, your potato salad always turns out special,” her mother-in-law smiled. “Will you teach me your secret?”
“Of course,” Claire caught herself smiling back, genuinely touched. “I add a dash of apple cider vinegar to the mayonnaise. It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”
John, watching them, discreetly took a photo with his phone: two of the most important women in his life, bent over the holiday table, so different yet so connected.
“Ladies,” he cleared his throat to get their attention. “Before the clock strikes midnight, I have something to say.”
He produced two envelopes.
“Mum, this is for you,” he offered the first envelope. “A stay at that spa retreat you’ve always wanted. For two weeks, come springtime.”
Martha clutched her chest: “John…”
“And this,” he turned to Claire, “is for us. A trip to Venice for our anniversary. Fifteen years is a significant milestone.”
Claire froze, napkin in hand: “But you said work would be too busy in spring…”
“Work can wait,” he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I’ve missed so much, worrying about trivial things. It’s time to catch up.”
Outside, the first fireworks of the New Year exploded. Their colorful sparks reflected in Claire’s eyes, making them shimmer.
“Happy New Year, my dear ones,” Martha said softly, looking at them. “Let this be the start of something new. Something real.”
Claire leaned into John’s shoulder. The cashmere cardigan lay untouched in the cupboard, but it no longer mattered. More important was the warmth spreading through her heart—a warmth from everything finally falling into place.
