Get out of my house! I snapped at my motherinlaw as she began her tirade again.
The only thing I had ever truly feared in my life was the wrath of that woman, the very same motherinlaw I had once had through a marriage that never should have happened. My first husband, James Hart, was a child of the local orphanage and had never known parents. Our marriage lasted a mere five years before I filed for divorce. When we wed, I was still a student at the University of Manchester. A year in, James fell into drinking, racked up debts and his obligations began to pinch me as his wife. I was forced to abandon my degree, take a job, and start paying off the mounting bills.
That marriage gave me nothing but trouble. When the divorce was final, I breathed a sigh of relief at last the constant fighting would end.
For two quiet years I rebuilt myself, recovering piece by piece. Then I met Robert Finch. He was single, had never been in a serious relationship, and things moved swiftly. He proposed, I said yes, and we went to his mothers house to tell her.
The moment we stepped over the threshold, I saw the sour look on Mrs. Finchs face. She tossed a curt Hello at me and slipped into the next room. At first I didnt grasp what was wrong; perhaps something about my dress or my demeanor. I was, after all, modestly dressed. When we sat at the kitchen table, she stared at me in silence, a look that made my skin crawl. My cheeks flushed and she launched into a sharp remark.
So this is the girl with no proper training, eh? she said, a faint grin of contempt playing on her lips. I paused, then answered calmly while sipping my tea.
Yes, I didnt finish my studies life simply took me in another direction. But I intend to complete my degree.
Mrs. Finch huffed loudly.
Intend? And when you become a wife, what then? When will you raise children, cook for your husband, and keep the house spotless? Youre a proper little princess, she laughed, taking another sip before setting her cup down. My son doesnt need a virgin like you anyway.
She went on, Youre average in looks and figure, and you have no sense. The words cut deep. I rose from the table, fled to the bathroom, and broke down in tears. A stranger was insulting me for no reason while my husband stood mute. We left the Finch house as quickly as we could.
I refused to return, yet Mrs. Finch kept dropping by our flat, each visit a fresh attempt to belittle and wound me. I eventually sought help from a therapist. After a few sessions it became clear that she was a classic manipulator and that I had allowed myself to become her victim. The next time she tried to insult me, I told her plainly that she was no longer welcome in our home.
We no longer see each other, and Im content with that. My husband has nothing to say about it. Ive learned that protecting your own peace sometimes means drawing firm boundaries, and that no ones opinion should dictate the worth of your own life.
