My husband, Victor, and I were getting ready to see our daughter Catherine married. Cathy’s 27 now, and it’s high time she settled down—especially since she’s met a good lad, Thomas. He’s a serious sort, works as an engineer, treats Cathy with real care, and Victor and I took to him straight away. Everything seemed set for the wedding—we’d already started talking dates, dresses, and guest lists. But when I found out what Thomas’s mother, Margaret, had provided for her son as a “dowry,” I nearly lost the power of speech. What is this, the Middle Ages, where a dowry decides who’s worthy of whom?
Cathy’s a bright girl. She’s got a degree, works in marketing, and takes care of herself. Victor and I always raised her to be independent, never to rely solely on a husband. Still, as parents, we wanted to give the young couple a good start. We decided to give them money for a house deposit so they could take out a mortgage. I’d also been quietly putting together a few things for Cathy—nice bed linen, a dinner set, even new curtains—so their little nest would be cosy. Thought it was just the small touches, really, something to show we cared. And Thomas, as the groom, had promised to do his bit too—he’d savings of his own and said he wanted everything to be fair between him and Cathy.
Then last week, Victor and I went over to Margaret’s to discuss the wedding. She’s quite the figure, always perfectly coiffed and acting like she knows everything under the sun. We sat down for tea, and straight off she says, “Natalie, what’s Cathy bringing to the marriage? We’ve traditions, you know—the bride should come into the household with means.” Thought she was joking at first. A dowry? What next—should we be delivering cattle and chests of gold? But Margaret was dead serious. Then she drops it: “I’ve given Thomas a brand-new car and half the cost of a flat. What have you done?”
Nearly dropped my cup. A car? Half a flat? What, is she running a tab for us now? I kept my cool, smiled, and said we were helping the kids too, though I didn’t go into details. Inside, though, I was livid. Victor and I aren’t made of money, but we’ve done everything we can for Cathy. Now suddenly our contributions are just “bits and bobs,” while Margaret’s acting like she’s raised some prince we ought to shower with gifts?
When we got home, I told Cathy everything. She just laughed. “Mum, who cares what they’ve given? Thomas and I will manage.” But it stung—not for me, but for her. She’s such a lovely, kind girl, and now she’s being judged like some medieval bride. Victor, ever the peacemaker, just said, “Nat, don’t let it bother you. The main thing is, the kids love each other.” Easy for him to say—I couldn’t shake it off. Why should we have to justify ourselves to Margaret? And where does she get off with these demands? Does she think her Thomas is some prize on the market, and we ought to pay up for him?
A few days later, Cathy told me Thomas wasn’t happy with his mum’s talk either. Said the car and money were nice, but he didn’t want the wedding turning into some bidding war. “I’m marrying Cathy, not her dowry,” he told her. That thawed me a bit—he’s got a good head on his shoulders, and it’s clear he loves our girl. But Margaret won’t let up. Called the other day, quizzing me on Cathy’s dress, how many guests we’d have, and whether we’d be “adding anything substantial” to the dowry. I barely held my tongue.
Now I’m left wondering—how do we handle this? On one hand, I don’t want to sour things with the future in-laws. A wedding’s meant to be a celebration, and I want Cathy happy. But on the other, that tone of hers—like we owe them something—sets my teeth on edge. Victor and I worked all our lives, raised Cathy, 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 in a bedsit, and we managed fine. This whole thing feels like we’ve been dragged into some auction.
Cathy, bless her, tries to smooth things over. “Mum, don’t fret. Thomas and I will sort it. If need be, we’ll take a loan and buy our own place, dowry or not.” But I can see it weighs on her too. She wants the wedding to be a joy, not a battleground. I’ve decided I won’t rise to Margaret’s bait anymore. Let her talk—we’ll do what’s right. We’ll give Cathy and Thomas what we promised and be glad for them. If she wants to measure wallets, that’s her lookout.
Still, there’s a bitterness in the back of my throat. A wedding should be about love, not ledger books. And I know Cathy and Thomas will be all right—they’re young, strong, and mad about each other. As for dowries? Margaret’s welcome to keep her cars. The real dowry Cathy brings is her heart, her wits, and her kindness. And that’s worth more than gold in any family.
