Every woman dreams of finding a worthy man, building a strong family, and living a truly happy life. But as the saying goes, fairy tales don’t happen to everyone. And the deeper the love, the harder the fall.
Emily was certain she had met her soulmate. Back in school, she’d crossed paths with Oliver—a tall, charming lad with a smile fit for the silver screen. He’d swept her off her feet from the moment they met. Friendship turned to moonlit strolls, whispered confessions… and before long, they were a couple.
Her mother, Margaret, had taken an instant dislike to Oliver. She saw something lazy and unfocused in him. But Emily was blind to it—to her, he was perfect. She earned top marks and secured a place at university, while Oliver barely scraped into college before dropping out altogether.
“Mum, you don’t understand! This is real love!” Emily insisted, refusing to hear a word against him.
When Oliver landed a job as a shop assistant at an electronics store, he acted as if he’d climbed the ladder of success. Never mind that his wages barely covered beer and crisps—he was content. Margaret, however, was not. She tried to reason with her daughter, but it fell on deaf ears.
The pair had a modest wedding, then moved into a dingy flat in Manchester, courtesy of Oliver’s mates. Thin walls, nosey neighbours—none of it fazed Emily. As long as she had him, she was happy. Oliver worked half-heartedly, shrugging off any responsibility, while Emily turned to her mother for help. Margaret never refused, offering groceries, clothes, even dipping into her savings.
Every encounter with her son-in-law left Margaret seething. He felt like an intruder—out of place, weak. In her eyes, he was no man at all.
When times got tougher, Emily asked to stay with her mother for a few months—just long enough to save for their own place. Reluctantly, Margaret agreed, but soon regretted it. Oliver lazed on the sofa all day while Emily juggled work and studies, exhausted yet still defending him.
“He’s just tired,” she’d say.
Three months in, Oliver couldn’t take the pressure and convinced Emily to return to their cramped flat—no more lectures, at least. Margaret breathed a sigh of relief, praying only one thing: that her daughter wouldn’t get pregnant.
Fate had other plans. Oliver lost his job. Emily, meanwhile, earned a promotion and a decent wage. Then came the news: she was expecting.
Margaret was overjoyed at becoming a grandmother, but her happiness faded fast. Her disdain for Oliver hadn’t softened, and when Emily, worn out by their living situation, asked to stay again, Margaret laid down her terms:
“Just you and the baby. Oliver isn’t welcome here. Not even on the doorstep.”
“Mum, he’s the father of my child!” Emily snapped.
“Did you think of that when you married him?” Margaret replied coldly. “Let him prove himself as a man first.”
Emily was torn. On one side—exhaustion, a newborn, no comfort. On the other—pride and resentment. She went back to Oliver in that tiny flat, hoping her mother would change her mind. But Margaret stood firm.
To her, Oliver was an outsider, not the man she’d dreamed of for her daughter and grandchild. But what could she do? Children follow their hearts, not their heads. A mother’s heart ached, yet her decision held.
Time would tell who was right. For now, mother and daughter learned to love from a distance, accepting choices that didn’t align with their dreams.
So tell me—did Margaret do the right thing? Or should she have welcomed Oliver for the sake of her daughter and grandchild?
