My husband Victor and I are preparing for our daughter Catherine’s wedding. Cathy is 27 now—it’s time she starts her own family, especially since she’s found a good man, Thomas. He’s serious, works as an engineer, treats Cathy with care, and Victor and I took to him straight away. Everything was leading to the wedding—we’d already begun discussing dates, the dress, and the guest list. But when I found out what “dowry” Thomas’s mother, Margaret, had provided for her son, I nearly lost my voice. Are we back in the Middle Ages, where a dowry determines who’s worthy of whom?
Cathy is a clever girl. She graduated from university, works in marketing, and supports herself. Victor and I always taught her to be independent, not to rely solely on her husband. Of course, as parents, we wanted to help the young couple get started. We decided to gift them money for a house deposit so they could take out a mortgage. I’d also been quietly assembling Cathy’s “trousseau”—lovely bedsheets, a set of crockery, even new curtains—to make their nest cosy. I thought these were small touches to show we cared. And Thomas, as the groom, had promised to contribute too—he’d saved up and said he wanted everything between him and Cathy to be equal.
Last week, Victor and I went to Margaret’s to discuss the wedding. She’s a striking woman, always with salon-perfect hair and a tone that suggests she knows everything. We sat down for tea, and suddenly she says, “Natalie, what are you giving Cathy for her dowry? It’s tradition for the bride to bring something into the family.” At first, I thought she was joking. Dowry? Are we meant to bring cows and chests of gold? But Margaret was serious. Then she drops it: “I’ve given Thomas a paid-off car and half the flat’s deposit. What about you?”
I nearly dropped my cup. A car? Half a flat? Is she now presenting us with a bill for her son? I kept my composure, smiled, and said we were helping the children too—but didn’t go into details. Inside, I was seething. Victor and I aren’t millionaires, but we’ve done everything we could for Cathy. Now it feels like our contributions are “trifles,” while Margaret’s raised some prince we’re meant to shower with gifts?
Back home, I told Cathy everything. She just laughed. “Mum, what does it matter what they give? Thomas and I will manage.” But I felt hurt—not for myself, for Cathy. She’s so bright, so kind, and now she’s being weighed on some medieval scale. I spoke to Victor, but as usual, he brushed it off. “Nat, don’t let it get to you. The important thing is they love each other.” Easy for him to say—I can’t shake it off. Why should we justify ourselves to Margaret? And where does she get these demands? Does she think her Thomas is a commodity, and we’re meant to “pay up”?
A few days later, Cathy mentioned Thomas wasn’t thrilled with his mum’s talk either. He’d said the car and money were nice, but he didn’t want the wedding to turn into a bidding war. “I’m marrying Cathy, not her dowry,” he told her. That softened me a little. Thomas has his head on straight, and he truly loves our girl. But Margaret won’t let up. The other day, she rang to ask about Cathy’s dress, how many guests we’re bringing, and whether we’d “add something substantial” to the dowry. I barely held back from saying a few choice words.
Now I’m stuck wondering how to handle this. On one hand, I don’t want to sour ties with the future in-laws. The wedding’s meant to be joyful—I want Cathy happy. But on the other, her tone grates, as if we owe something. Victor and I worked our whole lives, raised Cathy, gave her an education, values, love. Isn’t that worth more than cars and flats? And shouldn’t the young couple build their own life? When Victor and I married, we started in a rented room and still made a family. Now it feels like we’re being dragged into an auction.
Cathy, clever girl, tries to smooth things over. “Mum, don’t worry. Thomas and I will sort it out. If needed, we’ll take a loan and buy a flat without any dowry nonsense.” But I see it bothers her too. She wants the wedding to be happy, not a battleground. I’ve decided not to entertain Margaret’s comments anymore. She can say what she likes—we’ll do what’s right. We’ll give Cathy and Thomas what we promised and cheer them on. If she wants to measure wallets, that’s her problem.
Still, it leaves a bitter taste. A wedding should be about love, not ledgers. And I know Cathy and Thomas will be fine—they’re young, strong, in love. As for the dowry? Margaret can keep her cars. The real dowry Cathy brings is her heart, her mind, her kindness. And that’s worth more than gold in any family.
