“Never mind, there’s still time to find my son a proper girl!” declared the mother-in-law. And that day, I realized things would never truly be good between us again.
When Emily married William, she was certain she’d eventually find common ground with his mother. Yes, she was a difficult woman. Yes, she loved to take charge. But time heals all wounds, doesn’t it? Especially when she and William were deeply in love, working toward shared goals, saving up, supporting each other every step of the way.
Three years after the wedding, they finally bought their own flat. Not his parents’, not rented—theirs. Even if it came with a mortgage, even if it was bare, it was home. Emily dreamed of picking out bathroom tiles together, of William assembling the kitchen on weekends, of sipping tea on their own balcony. The dreams warmed her heart, even as the renovations drained her energy. That’s why she hardly noticed the silence from her mother-in-law—no calls, no visits. Emily thought: *Good. She’s finally accepted me. Backed off.* She couldn’t have been more wrong.
That evening, William was late. The sky had darkened, and still, no sign of him. Emily grew uneasy. When he finally answered his phone, his voice was casual: *”I’ll be home soon. Just had to pick up one of Mum’s friend’s daughters—she’s got a kid, and Mum asked. Couldn’t really say no.”*
By the time he walked in, Emily was seething.
“Since when are you a taxi service for women on your mother’s orders?”
William, exhausted but calm, explained. The woman had once helped him with university paperwork. Recently divorced, struggling with her child. No one else could collect her. His mum had asked—what was he supposed to do?
Emily clenched her fists. She understood hardship. But not tonight. Not when he’d promised to help choose bedroom wallpaper. Not when she’d been juggling builders and endless trips to the hardware store alone all week. Still, she bit her tongue. Gave him the benefit of the doubt. *Just this once.*
Two days later, her friend Sophie—who worked in the same office as William’s mother—called in a hushed voice.
“Emily, you didn’t hear this from me, but I overheard something. Your mother-in-law was bragging to her supervisor about her friend’s *wonderful* daughter—gorgeous, brilliant, a single mum but *so refined*—and, well, she mentioned William’s been talking to her. Can you believe it?”
Emily’s stomach twisted.
“And then,” Sophie added, “she said, *‘Never mind, there’s still time to find my son a proper girl.’* Out loud. In front of her boss!”
Suddenly, everything clicked. Why that woman had *”no one else”* to pick her up. Why William had become so chivalrous—all at his mother’s request. It wasn’t kindness. It was calculated.
That evening, William didn’t come home. When she called, his tone was familiar: *”Yeah, just dropping her off again—it’s tough with the kid.”*
Emily hung up without a word. The tears welled, but she knew crying wouldn’t help. Her marriage wasn’t just the two of them anymore—it was three. Her, William, and his mother. And his mother had clearly decided it was time to *upgrade* her son’s wife—someone without baggage, without flaws, someone *grateful* and *manageable*.
Why did his mother manipulate him so easily? Emily asked herself that every night. Maybe because she’d spent his childhood drilling into him: *”I know best.”* And he’d grown up obeying. Still did.
Emily sat in silence a long time. Only one thought spun in her mind: *Where do I fit in all this? Where’s the respect? The boundaries? The slightest recognition that I’m his wife, not some placeholder?*
She knew what came next—a hard conversation. Maybe many. And she might have to make a choice that would shape the rest of her life. But one thing was clear: if she didn’t draw the line now, the uncertainty would stretch on forever. And the decision wouldn’t be hers to make.
