**The Mystery of the Promised Gift**
The grand hall of a restaurant in central York buzzed with the joy of Emily and James’s wedding. Guests laughed, music flowed, and the newlyweds glowed with happiness at the head of the table. When gifts were presented, Emily’s parents stepped forward first, handing over a plump envelope filled with crisp banknotes. Next came James’s mother, Margaret Whitmore, who shyly offered a bouquet of roses before leaning in to whisper, “My real gift will come later.”
“What gift?” Emily blinked, glancing at James.
“No idea what she means,” he admitted, shrugging with an uneasy smile.
But Emily couldn’t have guessed the drama her mother-in-law had set in motion.
Long before the wedding, Margaret had dropped cryptic hints. “I won’t waste money on trifles. Don’t expect a gift at the wedding—but trust me, I’ll astonish you later!”
“Whatever suits you,” Emily had murmured. “We don’t expect anything.”
“Mum, it’s fine,” James had soothed. “Just having you there is enough.”
“I’d never show up empty-handed to my son’s wedding,” Margaret had insisted. “But let’s keep this between us.”
James agreed, though Emily doubted Margaret would follow through. She knew money was tight for her, yet the couple had covered the wedding themselves, not burdening family. Emily’s parents, despite modest means, had saved up £1,500 for them. At the reception, Margaret gave only flowers—hardly noticed amid the toasts and dancing. But she stole the spotlight with her speeches, basking in the attention.
“You’ll never guess what I’ve planned,” Margaret murmured near the evening’s end, eyes twinkling. “A surprise to leave you speechless—just not yet.”
“No rush,” James said, squeezing Emily’s hand.
“I admit, I’m curious,” Emily ventured. “Do you know?”
“I swear I don’t.” James chuckled. “But who cares? We’re together—that’s what matters.”
Emily nodded, though curiosity gnawed at her. When she pressed for hints, Margaret only smiled coyly. “Patience! Ruin the surprise now, and where’s the fun?”
Months passed with no sign of the gift. What began as a joke soon grated on Emily. Eight months after the wedding, she finally broached the subject.
“So it’s all about money, is it?” Margaret snapped, voice trembling. “Not once have you asked if I’m struggling!”
“If you need help, just say so,” Emily said, bewildered by the outburst.
But Margaret played the wounded martyr, complaining to James of his wife’s “audacity.”
“Drop it, Em,” he pleaded. “She’s in one of her moods.”
“I only asked because she made such a mystery of it!”
Emily began avoiding Margaret, speaking only when necessary—which only made things worse.
“She only flattered me when she thought I’d spoil her,” Margaret lamented to James. “Now she can’t even look at me!”
“That’s not true,” James argued.
“Then why won’t she visit? Why the cold shoulder?”
Emily sighed when she heard. “Your mother’s impossible. First she resented my attention; now she resents my distance. Tomorrow it’ll be how I breathe wrong!”
“She thinks we only want her money,” James muttered.
“Funny—she hasn’t given us a thing,” Emily countered. “My parents bring treats, vegetables from their allotment—they’d never visit empty-handed.”
“Are you saying Mum does?” James bristled. “She’s my mother. Show respect.”
“Fine,” Emily snapped. “But she doesn’t just arrive empty-handed—she leaves with containers of my food.”
The gift became taboo, yet tensions simmered. Margaret, stoking the fire, nitpicked Emily’s every move—while telling friends, with angelic sweetness, how dearly she loved her. “We bend over backwards for her, and what thanks do we get? I even planned to give her my grandmother’s antique ring, but after her ingratitude…” Listeners clucked sympathetically, taken in by her act.
A year after the wedding, Margaret revived the promise. “Prepare to be stunned!” she declared upon receiving their modest dinner invitation.
“Really, no need—” Emily started.
“I’ll decide what’s needed,” came the icy reply.
James erupted later. “Why must you provoke her? Let her do what she wants!”
“Exactly,” Emily shot back. “We’ve still got last year’s ‘nothing’ to enjoy—who needs another?”
They agreed to drop the subject. For their anniversary, Emily’s parents gifted an embroidered tablecloth and linen; friends brought crystal glasses. Margaret arrived with a sprawling card, delivering a twenty-minute speech she clearly deemed gift enough.
“Not a word about gifts,” James warned on the way home.
“Wasn’t planning to,” Emily said flatly.
But the truce didn’t last. A month later, Margaret outright demanded the latest smartphone for her birthday.
“So we’re taking orders now?” Emily scoffed.
“She needs a new phone,” James hedged. “We can manage it.”
“Fine. But my mum’s birthday is next month—gifts will match.”
James sighed, mentally tallying costs. In the end, Margaret received a mid-range model—sparking outrage. She accused Emily of turning James against her, plotting revenge for such “cheapskate” treatment.
