“Don’t worry, there’s still time to find my son a proper girl!” declared the mother-in-law. That was the day I realised things between us would never truly be right.
When Emily married Oliver, she was sure they’d find common ground with his mother eventually. Yes, she was a difficult woman. Yes, she loved to take charge. But time heals all wounds—or so she thought. Besides, she and Oliver were deeply in love, working together toward their goals, saving up, supporting each other every step of the way.
Three years after the wedding, they decided to buy a house—their own place. No more renting, no more living with parents. It was mortgaged and barely furnished, but it was theirs. Emily daydreamed about picking out tiles for the bathroom, Oliver assembling the kitchen on weekends, and quiet evenings with tea on their own balcony. The dreams kept her warm, but the renovations drained her—so much so that she barely noticed the absence of her mother-in-law’s calls and visits. Emily thought: *Finally, peace. Maybe she’s accepted me at last.*
She was wrong.
That evening, Oliver was late. Darkness fell, and still no sign of him. Emily’s worry grew until he finally texted:
*”Running late. Had to pick up my mum’s friend’s daughter—she’s got a little one, and Mum asked. Couldn’t say no.”*
By the time he walked in, Emily was seething.
“Since when are you a chauffeur? Or is rescuing random women on your mother’s orders part of your new routine?”
Oliver, exhausted but calm, explained. The woman had helped him with university paperwork years ago. Recently divorced, struggling with a child, no one else to pick her up. *Mum just asked—*
Emily clenched her fists. Sure, she understood hardship. But not tonight. Not when he promised to help choose wallpaper for their bedroom. Not when she was juggling builders and DIY stores all week while he flitted off on errands for his mother. Still, she bit her tongue. *Fine. Just this once.*
Two days later, her friend Sophie—who worked at the same office as her mother-in-law—called in a hushed voice.
“Emily, you didn’t hear this from me, but I overheard something. Your mother-in-law was telling the boss how her friend raised this *perfect* daughter—smart, gorgeous, a single mum but so *respectable*. And guess what? Oliver’s already spending time with her. Can you believe it?”
Emily’s stomach twisted.
“And then,” Sophie added, “she said, *‘There’s still time to find my son a proper girl.’* Out loud. In front of everyone!”
Suddenly, it all made sense. The “errand” for the struggling single mother. The sudden rush of chivalry. All planned—all calculated.
That night, Oliver was late again. When Emily called, his tone was casual.
“Yeah, just dropped her off. It’s tough with the kid…”
She hung up without a word. Tears stung, but crying felt pointless. This wasn’t just a marriage—it was a trio. Her, Oliver, and his mother. And his mother had clearly decided it was time for an upgrade: a wife without baggage, without flaws, *grateful* and *manageable*.
Why did Oliver fall for it? Maybe because she’d spent his whole life making him feel guilty. Because she’d drilled into him: *I know best.* And he’d listened—still listened.
For a long time, Emily sat in silence. Only one thought spun in her mind: *Where am I in all this? Where’s the respect? The boundaries? Does he even see me as his wife—or just a placeholder?*
She knew what came next—hard conversations, maybe even harder choices. But one thing was clear: if she didn’t draw the line now, someone else would keep rewriting the saga of her life. And it wouldn’t be her.
