Dad, Meet the Love of My Life – Your Future Daughter-in-Law

Author Mitsuko NagasakiReading 6 minViews 6

“Dad, meet hershe’s going to be my wife and your daughter-in-law.”

“Dad, Id like you to meet my future wife, your daughter-in-law, Emily!” beamed Marcus, his face alight with joy.

“What?!” Professor William Hart, a man of letters and a scholar, stared in disbelief. “If this is a joke, its not the slightest bit funny.”

He glanced with distaste at Emilys rough hands, dirt still caked under her nails. To him, she looked as though shed never heard of soap and water.

*Good Lord, how fortunate my dear Ann never lived to see this disgrace! We raised this boy with the finest manners,* he thought bitterly.

“Its no joke!” Marcus said defiantly. “Emilys staying with us, and well marry in three months. If you wont be at the wedding, Ill manage without you!”

“Hello!” Emily smiled cheerfully and headed straight for the kitchen. “Ive brought pasties, blackberry jam, dried mushrooms” She listed off the contents of her worn-out bag.

William clutched his chest as he watched her spill jam across the pristine white tablecloth.

“Marcus! Snap out of it! If this is revenge, its too cruel Where on earth did you find this simpleton? Shes not staying under my roof!” the professor shouted.

“I love Emily. And my wife has every right to live in my home!” Marcus smirked, clearly enjoying the chaos.

William realised his son was mocking him. Without another word, he turned and retreated to his study.

Lately, their relationship had grown strained. After his mothers death, Marcus had become unruly. He dropped out of university, spoke rudely to his father, and lived carelessly.

William had hoped his son would changereturn to the bright, sensible young man hed been. But with each passing day, Marcus slipped further away. And now, hed brought this country girl into their home. William knew hed never approve, so Marcus had chosen someone he knew his father would despise.

Soon after, Marcus and Emily married. William refused to attend the wedding, unwilling to accept this unwanted daughter-in-law. He seethed, knowing a woman like Annrefined, dignifiedhad been replaced by this uneducated girl who could barely string two words together.

Emily, obliviousor perhaps indifferentto her father-in-laws disdain, tried to win him over, only making things worse. William saw nothing good in her, dismissing her as ignorant and ill-mannered.

Marcus, having played the dutiful husband briefly, slipped back into drinking and recklessness. William often heard their quarrels, secretly hoping Emily would leave for good.

“William, your son wants a divorcehes throwing me out, and Im expecting a child!” Emily burst in one day, tears in her eyes.

“First of all, why the streets? Surely you have somewhere to go And being pregnant doesnt grant you the right to stay after a separation. I wont interfereforgive me,” he said coldly, privately relieved to be rid of her.

Emily, crushed and baffled by his hostility, packed her things in silence. She couldnt understand why Marcus had treated her so cruellywhy shed been cast aside like a stray dog. Did being from the countryside make her any less human?

***

Eight years later William lived in a care home, weakened by age. Marcus, ever opportunistic, had swiftly arranged it to avoid the burden of caring for him.

The old man had resigned himself to his fate, knowing there was no turning back. Hed spent his life teaching thousands about love, respect, and kindness. Letters of gratitude still arrived from former students yet his own family remained estranged.

“William, youve got a visitor,” his roommate announced after a stroll in the garden.

“Who? Marcus?” The old mans voice trembled, though he knew it was impossible. His son despised him.

“No idea. Just said to fetch you. Well? Go and see!”

William took his cane and shuffled toward the visitors lounge. As he descended the stairs, he spotted her.

“Hello, Emily,” he murmured, bowing his head. Guilt weighed on himhed failed to defend this kind, simple woman all those years ago.

“William!” She gasped. “Youve changed so much Are you unwell?”

“A little,” he admitted with a sad smile. “How did you find me?”

“Marcus mentioned it. He still refuses to speak to our son. But the boy keeps asking about his father and his grandfather. John isnt to blame for your disapproval. He misses having family around. Its just us two now” Her voice quivered. “Forgive meI shouldnt have come.”

“Wait!” William begged. “How is heJohn? The last photo you sent, he was only three.”

“Hes here, by the entrance. Shall I fetch him?”

“Please.”

A fair-haired boy entereda miniature Marcus. John hesitated before approaching the grandfather hed never met.

“Hello, lad. Look how tall youve grown” William choked back tears as he hugged his grandson.

They talked for hours, strolling through the autumn leaves in the care homes garden. Emily spoke of her strugglesher mothers early death, raising John alone, managing their small farm.

“Forgive me, Emily. I was wrong. I thought intelligence and breeding mattered most but kindness and sincerity matter far more.”

“William, we have an offer,” she said nervously. “Come live with us. Youre aloneso are we. Wed love to have you.”

“Grandad, come!” John tugged his hand. “Well go fishing, mushroom picking Its lovely in the village, and theres plenty of space!”

“Lets go.” William smiled. “I failed with Marcus maybe I can do better this time. Besides, Ive never lived in the countryside. Ill give it a try.”

“Youll love it!” John laughed.

A Mother’s Heart Stan sat at the kitchen table, settled comfortably in his favourite seat, staring at a steaming bowl of his mum’s legendary beetroot soup—aromatic, rich, and just a touch tangy. His spoon moved from bowl to mouth in soothing rhythm, but his mind drifted. Life had changed so much in recent years—now he could enjoy breakfast at trendy cafés, lunch at Michelin-starred spots, and dinner wherever top chefs played with molecular gastronomy. Oysters from France, truffles from Italy, Wagyu from Japan—whatever he fancied, he could have. Yet none of it quite compared to the simple perfection of his mum’s soup. Sauces, rare spices, fancy plating—it all seemed empty set against the food of his childhood. In Mum’s soup, there was something more than just ingredients or method; there was care, the warmth of hands, memories of carefree days. Stan knew: however many restaurants he visited, whatever delicacies he tasted, nothing would ever top Mum’s kitchen. As he mused, Maria entered with a fresh cup of tea, carefully placing it before him. She looked worried—troubled, even. “Stan, when do you have to set off?” He looked up, smiled. “Tomorrow morning. My car’s packed in, so I’m getting a lift with a mate.” He studied his mum. He liked how she looked—healthy, relaxed, pink-cheeked and cheerful. No one would guess she was over fifty, though she’d crossed that milestone long ago. “It’s just a couple of hours, don’t worry,” he added, trying to calm her nerves. Maria froze, grip tightening on the edge of the table like she needed to steady herself. Silence ticked by, broken only by the old wall clock. “With a mate,” she repeated, almost whispering. Colour drained from her face. “No, Stan, I don’t want you going with him.” Stan frowned—he hadn’t seen his mum like this in ages. Usually calm and collected, she was clearly shaken. He set his spoon down and watched her intently. “You don’t even know who I’m talking about,” he tried to say lightly, though an edge of worry crept into his tone. “It’s just Jack—a good driver, always careful. Solid German car, even the reg’s lucky—triple seven.” Maria moved slowly towards him, never breaking her gaze. She took his hand—her fingers cold against his warmth. “Please, son,” her voice trembled, but she was firm. “Just book a taxi, won’t you? I really can’t settle.” “What if the driver bought his licence off eBay?” he joked weakly. “Honestly, don’t worry. I’ll call you as soon as I arrive—promise. Before you even get the chance to miss me.” Stan kissed her cheek, feeling her anxiety seep into him. He hugged her tight, lending the reassurance she needed. For a moment she clung to him, soaking up the comfort, then quietly stepped away. “It’ll all be fine, Mum,” he promised, gazing into her eyes. “I swear.” Later, leaving the house, Stan walked slowly along the familiar street. It was calm, the air fresh and cool. Street lamps spilled warm pools of light across the pavement. Home wasn’t far—just a few minutes on foot. He tried not to dwell on Mum’s worried eyes, but her face wouldn’t leave his mind. Back in his flat, everything was quiet and cozy. He headed for the bedroom, where his overnight bag waited, packed and ready. He double-checked—nothing forgotten. Bag by the door, alarm set: quarter to ten. “Up at six. Don’t sleep in,” he reminded himself. Undressing, Stan got into bed, switched off the lamp. For ages he lay awake, listening to the city beyond the window, running over his morning routine in his mind—coffee, breakfast, check the presentation again—until, at last, sleep took hold. ***************** Morning didn’t go as planned. Bright sun streamed through the curtains and he squinted awake, unsure what had roused him. He checked the clock—five to nine. “Shit!” He shot up, heart pounding. Snatching the alarm from the side, he hurled it across the room. He’d slept in. “Why didn’t Jack call me?” he muttered. His phone sat on his bedside table—powered off. That was odd; it had been charging overnight. Frowning, he powered it up. Instantly, messages flooded in. First, a text from Jack at 8:00am: “Stan, where are you? Been waiting fifteen minutes. If you’re not downstairs in ten, I’ll have to head off—can’t afford the delay.” Another: “You coming? Call me.” Then: “I’m going. Sorry mate, can’t wait.” Stan froze. Jack had come, waited, called… but he’d slept through it all. Mum’s worried face popped up again—she’d begged him not to go with Jack. Not that it mattered now. He jumped out of bed, panic rising. No time left—maybe book a taxi, or hire a car instead? As he reached for the phone, he saw dozens of missed calls—all from Mum, one after another. Dread clenched his stomach. Not daring to stop for anything else, he grabbed his keys and ran, heart hammering. Please let everything be okay. When he reached Mum’s house, the door was left ajar. He rushed inside, barely catching his breath. “Mum, are you alright?” he called, anxious and loud. Maria was in the sitting room—a picture of distress, eyes red from crying, face drawn with worry. She stared at him in disbelief. “Stan… is it really you?” Her voice trembled as she got up from the sofa. “Oh, thank God…” Stan’s own nerves jangled. He’d never seen his mum like this. He hurried to her, gently holding her hands. “What’s happened, Mum?” he asked softly but firmly. “Why are you so frightened?” Just then, the telly behind them droned with grim news: “There has been a major crash on the A34 outside Oxford. Four vehicles involved—tragically, only one survivor, the driver of an Audi…” Stan turned to look—the images onscreen were terrifying: smashed-up cars, scattered belongings, blue lights. Then he spotted it—a white Audi, number plate 777. His stomach dropped. Jack’s car. Now he understood. Mum had seen the accident, recognised Jack’s car, and when Stan didn’t answer his phone… she’d feared the worst. “Mum, it’s me, I’m alive,” he said as calmly as he could. He sat her down, then darted to the kitchen for a glass of water. “Here, drink this. You can see me—I’m right here. Everything’s fine.” Maria clung to his sleeve, trembling as she pressed herself close, overcome with silent sobs. “Stan, I was so frightened…” her voice cracked. “They said on TV only the Audi driver survived. And you weren’t answering the phone—I kept calling and calling…” He hugged her tightly, soothing her as best he could. But realising she needed more, he pulled out his phone and dialled 999. “Ambulance, please,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “My mother’s had a bad shock—her heart, I think. Here’s the address…” After the call, he held her hand, keeping her calm until the blue-lights arrived. Ten minutes later a paramedic arrived, quickly assessing Maria and suggesting a hospital stay—her age and stress levels were worrying. Stan agreed immediately—he would take her to a private clinic: better care, more comfort. Soon, Maria was settled in a quiet hospital ward, under careful observation. Stan remained by her side, holding her hand, trying to project a calm he did not feel. The days drew out in gentle routine—doctor’s rounds, checks, and new treatments. Maria slowly improved; Stan camped beside her bed each night. One golden evening as the sun set, Maria spoke softly, as though she’d carried the words for ages. “You know, I always worried you’d leave and not come back.” Stan gazed at her, seeing not only a loving mum, but the woman who’d spent years carrying secret fears. “Why?” he asked gently. “You were always fiercely independent,” she said, smiling at the memory. “Even at five, you’d tie your own laces—never let me help! At school you packed your own bag, never forgot a book. I was proud, truly—but sometimes, I felt I was losing you. You became grown up so fast; I was left behind.” He squeezed her hand comfortingly, struck by the depth of her love—and her fear. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “You’ll always be the most important person in my life. I just never realised… I’m sorry.” She stroked his cheek, her touch as gentle as in childhood. “It’s enough that you know now,” she said. Stan squeezed her hand. “Mum, I’ll never leave you. You’re the most precious thing I have,” he whispered with heartfelt conviction. Maria smiled, a little shaky, but brighter. Tears sparkled—tears of relief, not worry. She squeezed his fingers, testing the reality of his presence. “I just want you to be happy,” she said. “To have a family, children—to know you’re loved and never alone.” Stan thought of Lena—a kind, thoughtful girl from work. For weeks he’d wanted to mention her to Mum, always holding back. “There is someone,” he finally admitted, shy, but then confidence steeled his words. “Her name’s Lena. She’s different—understands me without words.” Maria’s eyes brightened. “Tell me about her—how did you meet?” He told her—little stories, memories, slowly sharing a side of life he’d kept private until now. “I think she’s the one,” he finished, smiling. “I just worried you’d think I’d forget you, that everything would change…” Maria laughed, a warm, gentle sound. “Silly boy. I’ll only ever be happy if you find your happiness. I’ve never stopped you living your own life. But remember—you’ll always have your mum, who loves you, no matter what.” Stan grinned—truly, deeply for the first time in days. “I’ll never forget, Mum. And thank you… for understanding.”