The air in the grand old church was thick with tension as the guests held their breath. Eleanor Harrington, my soon-to-be mother-in-law, had been a storm cloud looming over our wedding day from the start. Shed insistedno, demandedto be my bridesmaid, claiming she was still “young and lovely” enough to stand by my side. To keep the peace for Edwards sake, Id relented. “What harm could it do?” Id told myself. “Its just tradition.”
But then she arrived in a floor-length white gown. White. The kind meant for a bride, not a mother of the groom. She snatched my bouquet mid-ceremony as if it belonged to her, positioning herself like the star of the show. I bit my lip to keep from crying, refusing to take photos beside her.
The worst came later.
As the vicar reached the solemn moment”If anyone objects to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace”Eleanors hand shot up.
“I object,” she declared, her voice ringing through the nave. “Hes my only son. I wont hand him over to some girl. Edward, come home. This is nonsense.”
Gasps rippled through the pews; someone stifled a laugh. Edward froze, his face pale. Fury burned in my chest, but in that instant, I knew exactly how to turn the tide.
With icy calm, I faced her. “Mum,” I said loudly, for all to hear, “youve forgotten your medication again, havent you? The doctor warned youskip a dose, and the delusions start. Let me fetch you some water. Todays a happy day! Im your daughter-in-law now, and thats your son. Dont you remember?”
Then, turning to the guests: “Forgive her. Shes been unwell lately. Vicar, please continue. Her words carry no weight.”
“I am not ill!” Eleanor sputtered.
“Of course not,” I soothed. “Just a little forgetful. Well sort your pills straight after.”
She faltered, retreating to her seat like a chastened child. The ceremony carried on. We said our vows, sealing the moment with a kiss. And in that heartbeat, I learned something sharp and necessary: sometimes, protecting your happiness means playing the game better than anyone else.
