“Don’t worry, there’s still time to find my son a proper girl!” declared the mother-in-law. And that day, I realised things would never truly be right between us.
When Marina married Andrew, she was sure she’d eventually find common ground with his mother. Yes, the woman was difficult. Yes, she loved to take charge. But time heals all wounds, or so they say. Besides, she and Andrew were deeply in love, working toward shared goals—saving, striving, supporting each other.
Three years after their wedding, they finally bought their own flat. Not his parents’, not rented, but theirs. A mortgage, sure, and barely any furniture, but theirs. Marina dreamed of picking out tiles for the bathroom together, of Andrew assembling the kitchen on weekends, of sipping tea on their balcony. The dreams warmed her heart, even as the renovations drained her energy. Oddly, her mother-in-law’s calls had stopped entirely—no check-ins, no surprise visits. Marina thought, *Maybe she’s finally accepted me. Maybe she’s backing off.*
She was wrong.
That evening, Andrew was late. Night had fallen, and still no sign of him. Marina’s worry grew until he finally answered the phone.
“I’m on my way. Just had to pick up Mum’s friend’s daughter—she’s got a kid with her. Mum asked, and I couldn’t say no.”
By the time he walked in, Marina was seething.
“Since when did you become a taxi service? Or is rescuing women on your mother’s orders a new hobby?”
Exhausted but calm, Andrew explained—this woman had once helped him with university paperwork. Recently divorced, struggling with her child, no one else could fetch her. *Mum just asked…*
Marina clenched her fists. She understood helping others, but not tonight—not when he’d promised to choose wallpaper. Not this week, when she’d shouldered everything—contractors, hardware stores, endless decisions. Still, she stayed silent. One favour. Fine.
Days later, her friend Annie—who worked where the mother-in-law did—called in a hushed voice.
“Marina, don’t say I told you, but I overheard something. Your mother-in-law was bragging to her boss about her friend’s *wonderful* daughter—smart, beautiful, a single mum but *so* respectable. Oh, and guess what? Andrew’s already been talking to her.”
Marina’s stomach dropped.
“And that’s not all,” Annie continued. “She actually said, *‘Don’t worry, there’s still time to find my son a proper girl.’* Out loud, in front of her boss!”
Suddenly, everything made sense. The “urgent” errand. Andrew’s sudden chivalry. All calculated. All planned.
That night, when Andrew was late again, Marina called. His tone was predictably weary.
“Just dropping her home again… It’s hard with the kid—”
She hung up without a word. Tears stung her eyes, but crying felt pointless. Her marriage wasn’t between two people anymore—it was three. Her, him, and his mother. And his mother had clearly decided it was time to “upgrade” his wife—someone without baggage, without flaws, someone *grateful and manageable.*
Why did Andrew let her manipulate him? Marina lay awake every night wondering. Probably because his mother had spent his whole life making him feel guilty. Because she’d drilled into him: *I know what’s best.* And he’d never stopped listening.
Sitting in silence, one thought looped in her mind: *Where do I fit in this? Where’s the respect? The boundaries? The slightest recognition that I’m his wife, not some placeholder?*
She knew a hard conversation was coming. Maybe more than one. And she might have to make a choice that shaped the rest of her life. But one thing was clear—if she didn’t draw the line now, the uncertainty would stretch on forever. And the decision wouldn’t be hers to make.
