My husband, Victor, and I are preparing to marry off our daughter, Emily. At 27, it’s high time she started her own family, especially since she’s found a decent bloke—Adam. He’s serious, works as an engineer, treats Emily with care, and Victor and I took to him straight away. Everything was heading toward the wedding—we’d already begun discussing dates, the dress, and the guest list. But when I found out what Adam’s mother, Margaret, had given her son as a “dowry,” I nearly lost my tongue. What is this, the Middle Ages? Does dowry still decide who’s worthy of whom?
Emily is a clever girl. She graduated from university, works as a marketing manager, and supports herself. Victor and I always taught her to be independent, never to rely solely on a husband. Still, as parents, we wanted to help the young couple get started. We decided to give them money toward a deposit on a flat so they could take out a mortgage. I’d also been quietly putting together a “trousseau” for Emily—nice bedsheets, a set of crockery, even new curtains to make their nest cosy. I thought these were little things, but they’d show we cared. Adam, as the groom, had promised to contribute too—he had savings and said he wanted everything to be equal between him and Emily.
Then, last week, Victor and I went to Margaret’s to discuss the wedding. She’s a formidable woman, always with salon-perfect hair and a tone like she knows everything. We sat down for tea, and she starts: “Natalie, what are you giving Emily as a dowry? It’s tradition, after all, for the bride to bring something into the family.” At first, I thought she was joking. Dowry? Since when are we carting over cows and chests of gold? But Margaret was dead serious. Then she drops it: “I’ve given Adam a car, paid in full, and half the cost of a flat. What about you?”
I nearly dropped my cup. A car? Half a flat? Is she about to send us an invoice for her son? I kept my cool, smiled, and said we were helping the kids too, but didn’t go into details. Inside, I was boiling. Victor and I aren’t millionaires, but we’ve done everything we can for Emily. Now it turns out our trousseau is “trifles,” while Margaret’s practically raised a prince we’re meant to shower with gifts?
Back home, I told Emily everything. She just laughed. “Mum, who cares what they give? Adam and I will manage.” But it stung—not for me, for Emily. She’s such a bright, kind soul, and now she’s being weighed on some medieval scale. I talked to Victor, but he brushed it off as usual: “Natalie, don’t let it get to you. The important thing is they love each other.” Easy for him to say. Why should we justify ourselves to Margaret? And where does she get off making demands? Does she think Adam’s a commodity we’re meant to bid for?
A few days later, Emily mentioned Adam wasn’t thrilled with his mum’s talk either. He said the car and money were nice, but he didn’t want the wedding to turn into a bidding war. “I’m marrying Emily, not her dowry,” he told her. That warmed me a bit—Adam’s got his head on right, and he clearly loves our girl. But Margaret won’t let up. She rang the other day, quizzing me about Emily’s dress, how many guests we’re bringing, and whether we’d be “adding anything substantial” to the trousseau. I barely held back from giving her a piece of my mind.
Now I’m stuck wondering how to handle this. On one hand, I don’t want to sour things with the future in-laws. The wedding’s a celebration, and I want Emily happy. But her tone—as if we owe something—drives me mad. Victor and I have worked all our lives, raised Emily, gave her an education, values, love. Isn’t that worth more than cars and flats? And shouldn’t the young ones build their own lives? When Victor and I married, we started with a room in a shared flat, and we made it work. Now it feels like we’re being dragged into some auction.
Emily, bless her, is trying to keep the peace. “Mum, don’t worry, Adam and I will sort it. If need be, we’ll take a loan and buy a flat without any dowry nonsense.” But I can tell she’s uncomfortable too. She wants the wedding to be joyful, not a battleground. I’ve decided not to engage with Margaret anymore. Let her prattle on—we’ll do what we think is right. We’ll give Emily and Adam what we promised and be happy for them. If she wants to measure wallets, that’s her problem.
Still, there’s a bitter aftertaste. A wedding should be about love, not ledger books. And I know Emily and Adam will be fine—they’re young, strong, and in love. As for dowry… Margaret can keep her cars. Emily’s real dowry is her heart, her mind, and her kindness. And with that, she’ll be worth her weight in gold in any family.
