“It’s fine, there’s still time to find my son a proper girl!” declared the mother-in-law. And that was the day I realised things would never truly be right between us.
When Emily married Thomas, she was certain she’d eventually find common ground with his mother. Yes, she was difficult. Yes, she loved to take charge. But time heals all wounds, doesn’t it? Besides, she and Thomas were deeply in love, working toward shared dreams, saving up, supporting each other. There was no storm they couldn’t weather.
Three years after the wedding, they finally bought a flat. Their own. Not rented, not inherited. Mortgaged, yes, and bare of furniture, but theirs. Emily dreamt of picking bathroom tiles together, of Thomas assembling the kitchen on weekends, of evenings spent sipping tea on the balcony—their balcony. The dreams warmed her, even as the renovations drained her. For a while, the calls from her wife-in-law faded into silence. No calls, no visits. Emily dared to think: maybe it’s settled. Maybe she’s accepted me. Stopped interfering.
She was wrong.
That evening, Thomas was late. The sky was dark, and he still hadn’t returned. Emily’s worry tightened. Finally, he replied:
“On my way. Just had to pick up Mum’s friend’s daughter—she’s got a child. Mum asked. Couldn’t say no.”
By the time he stepped inside, Emily was seething.
“Since when are you a chauffeur? Or is that just your new role—saviour of women, by maternal decree?”
Thomas, weary but calm, explained. The woman had once helped him with university paperwork. She’d left her husband, had no one to fetch the child. Mum insisted…
Emily clenched her fists. Someone else’s trouble mattered, yes. But not tonight—not when he’d promised to choose wallpaper for the bedroom. Not this week, when she alone had been wrangling builders and darting between hardware stores. She swallowed it. Believed him. Just this once, she told herself.
Then came the call from Sophie, Emily’s friend who worked at the same office as her mother-in-law.
“Emily, swear you won’t say I told you,” she whispered. “But I overheard your mother-in-law boasting to her boss. Said her friend’s daughter was smart, gorgeous—a single mum, but so dignified. And guess what? Thomas is already talking to her. Can you believe it?”
Emily’s stomach dropped.
“And then—” Sophie hesitated. “She said, ‘It’s fine, there’s still time to find my son a proper girl.’ Right in front of her boss!”
A switch flipped in Emily’s mind. Suddenly, it made sense—why this woman had “no one to fetch her,” why Thomas had so abruptly become a Good Samaritan on his wife’s orders. All planned. All calculated.
That evening, Thomas wasn’t home again. When she called, his tone was infuriatingly familiar:
“Yeah, just drove her back again… Tough with the kid…”
Emily hung up. Tears pricked her eyes, but she knew better than to cry. Her marriage wasn’t a partnership—it was a trio. Her, him, and his mother. And the mother had decided it was time to “upgrade” her son’s wife to someone more suitable: no past, no flaws, just obedient and trustworthy.
Why did she wield such control? Emily asked herself. The answer was simple—guilt. A lifetime of “I know best,” and Thomas, conditioned to obey. Still obeying.
Emily sat in silence for hours. One thought circled; Where am I in all this? Where’s the respect? The boundaries? The slightest hint that I belonged here—not as a placeholder, but as his wife?
She knew what came next: a reckoning. Maybe several. And a choice that would shape the rest of her life. But one thing was certain—if she didn’t end it now, the ellipsis would stretch on forever. And she wouldn’t be the one writing it.
