The Mystery of the Promised Gift
In the spacious dining room of a restaurant in the heart of York, the wedding of Emily and James was in full swing. Guests laughed, music flowed, and the newlyweds glowed with happiness at the head of the table. When the time came for gifts, Emily’s parents stepped forward first, presenting a plump envelope stuffed with cash. Next came her mother-in-law, Margaret Whitmore, who modestly handed the couple a bouquet of roses before leaning in to whisper, “My real gift will come after the wedding.”
“What gift?” Emily shot her husband a puzzled glance.
“No idea what Mum’s on about,” James admitted with a helpless shrug. But little did Emily know just how elaborate her mother-in-law’s scheme would turn out to be.
Long before the wedding, Margaret had mysteriously hinted, “I won’t waste money on tat. Don’t expect anything at the wedding—but later, I’ll floor you with something grand!”
“Oh, you really don’t have to,” Emily had replied, flustered.
“Mum, we’re just happy you’ll be there,” James had reassured her.
“I won’t show up to my own son’s wedding empty-handed,” Margaret had declared. “But let’s keep this between us, no blabbing to the relatives.”
“Fine by me,” James had agreed, though Emily doubted her mother-in-law would keep her word. She knew Margaret wasn’t exactly rolling in it—the couple had paid for the wedding themselves to avoid burdening family. Emily’s parents, despite their modest means, had still scraped together £1,500 for the newlyweds. At the reception, Margaret’s roses went largely unnoticed amid the toasts and dancing. She stole the show anyway, delivering speeches so long-winded they could’ve counted as aerobic exercise.
“You’ve no clue what I’ve got planned,” Margaret murmured to the couple as the night wound down, eyes twinkling with mischief. “It’s a surprise that’ll knock your socks off—just not yet.”
“Honestly, don’t stress,” James said, squeezing Emily’s hand.
“I’m intrigued, I’ll admit,” Emily said, biting back curiosity.
Months passed, but the fabled gift never materialised. What began as an amusing mystery soon grated on Emily’s nerves. Eight months after the wedding, she finally broached the subject.
“Oh, so it’s all about money for you, is it?” Margaret snapped, voice shaking with faux hurt. “Could’ve asked how I’m managing instead!”
“If you need help, just say so,” Emily stammered, baffled by the outburst.
Margaret played the wounded martyr perfectly, complaining to James about his wife’s “audacity.”
“Drop it, Em,” he begged later. “Mum threw such a strop, I can’t deal.”
“I only asked because she made such a production of it!”
Things went downhill from there. Margaret accused Emily of avoiding her—”All charm when she thought I’d splash out, now she can’t bear the sight of me!”—while Emily sighed, “Your mum’s impossible. First she hated me hovering, now she hates me keeping my distance. Next she’ll fault me for breathing wrong!”
The gift became a forbidden topic, but Margaret kept fanning the flames. To outsiders, she played the doting mother-in-law: “We bend over backwards for her, and what thanks do I get? I even planned to give her my grandmother’s antique ring, but see how she repays me!”
By their first anniversary, Margaret was back to teasing her “spectacular surprise.” The couple celebrated quietly at a bistro—Emily’s parents gifted hand-embroidered linens; friends brought crystal glasses. Margaret arrived with nothing but a rambling, 15-minute card speech, clearly expecting applause.
“Not. A. Word,” James warned Emily afterward.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” she muttered.
The peace lasted a month—until Margaret, preparing for her birthday, outright demanded a pricey smartphone.
“Are we seriously taking orders now?” Emily groaned.
“It’s just a phone, Em,” James reasoned. “We can manage.”
“Fine. But my mum’s birthday is next month—fair’s fair.”
Predictably, the budget-friendly handset they settled on sent Margaret into melodramatic overdrive. She accused Emily of turning James against her and began plotting revenge for such “cheapskate betrayal.”
