“I wont eat that,” said the mother-in-law, eyeing the dish with disgust.
“Im not eating this,” she repeated, wrinkling her nose as if staring at a bucket of rubbish.
“Its beef stew,” explained her daughter-in-law, Sophie, lifting the lid of a ceramic tureen to serve the steaming, richly coloured broth. “Theres real joy in cooking with vegetables from your own garden.”
“I dont see the difference,” scoffed the mother-in-law, Margaret. “Though I suppose digging about in the dirt does take effort.”
“Of course,” Sophie chuckled warmly. “But when its a hobby, it never feels like work.”
“*Your* hobby, not one forced upon you,” Margaret sniffed, pursing her lips. “Who exactly is all this for?”
“For us. Theres not muchjust enough for two meals.”
“I wont touch this slop,” Margaret snapped, flapping her hands and stepping back. “Heaven knows whats in it!” She pretended to gag, covering her mouth and turning sharply away.
Sophie rolled her eyes and sighed.
Shed met Edward, Margarets son, a year and a half ago. Their whirlwind romance led to a quiet wedding just a month later. With the savings, theyd bought a cottage in the countryside, lovingly restoring it themselves.
In all that time, Sophie had seen Margaret only four timesas often as Edward had. Three of those visits, shed gently nudged her husband to see his mother over the holidays.
Margaret had always thought her sons marriage foolish. But with Edward grown and independent, she could only wait for what she saw as the inevitable collapse.
Yet the collapse never came, and her patience frayed.
She couldnt fathom what Edward saw in this “plain little thing,” or how Sophie had bewitched him. He was handsome, always surrounded by far more elegant, sophisticated women.
Besides, Margaret was a Londoner through and through and had raised her son the same. A mothers instinct told her Edward must already be tired of this rustic lifejust one gentle push, and hed return to how things were.
After this little misadventure, she was sure hed find a woman whod actually befriend her properly.
But she had to act fast, before sly Sophie trapped him with a child!
Margaret had a plan. She called Sophie uninvited, claiming shed never been asked to their housewarmingthough Sophie reminded her shed tried twice, only for Margaret to refuse, citing prior engagements. Margaret dismissed this with a wave and insisted on visiting.
Two days later, she stood in their bright, airy sitting room, barely containing her outrage.
Her sonjust like her and her late husband*hated* soup! In their family, only properly plated, recognisable meals were acceptable.
How had Edward let his wife take over so quickly?
Was she a witch?
A shiver ran down Margarets spine. She dismissed the crude thought that Sophie kept him through other means.
*Sophie?* Impossible!
It *had* to be magic.
Otherwise, why would her son eat this gruel?
She shot Sophie a poisonous glare.
All sweet innocence, while she *slowly poisoned* her husband!
“Whats so hard to understand?” Sophie said breezily, ignoring Margarets theatrics as she handed her a bowl. “Its simplecabbage, onions, carrots, grated beetroot (my grans recipe). I didnt get potatoes this time, but next week, maybe? Then fresh herbs from the garden, and a dash of cream!”
“Well, you enjoy your swill!” Margaret huffed.
“Youd benefit at your age! Fibre regulates digestiongood gut health means a happier you.”
Margaret flushed at the cheek but pressed on.
“Why force Edward to eat this?”
Sophie blinked.
“He seems to like it.”
“What choice does a man have if theres nothing else?”
“Cook what he wants? Order takeaway? Pop round a neighbours? Visit his mum?” Sophie listed with a smile.
At the last suggestion, Margaret reddened further.
“Dont be smart! The least you could do is ask *me* what he likes.”
“Margaret, I asked *him*. Hes a grown man. He says he likes everything.”
“Hes lying! Cant you tell? At first, he didnt want to upset you. Now hes just forcing himself!”
“Oh!” Sophie sighed dramatically. “Well, the stews madewere not wasting it. Hell manage. Will you support him too?”
“*What?!*” Margaret gaped.
“No? Pity. Hed appreciate the solidarity, Im sure.”
“You”
“Sophie! Were back!” Edwards cheerful voice rang through the hall.
A fluffy white whirlwind of a dog bolted into the room, barking excitedly.
“Aaah!” Margaret yelped, hiding behind Sophie.
“Dont worryits Daisy. She doesnt bite. Very well-trained,” Sophie soothed, raising a hand. The dog sat instantly. “Good girl.”
“Why are you letting the neighbours dog in?” Margaret hissed.
“Ours. She lives indoors with us.”
“*Indoors?!* Thats unhygienic! And Edward *hates* dogs!”
“No, Mum*you* hate dogs. Hi,” Edward said, strolling in. “Perfect timing for lunch.”
“Darling!” Margaret stood expectantly, waiting for a kiss on the cheekbut Edward barely hugged her before planting one properly on Sophies lips.
“So, lunch?” He inhaled deeply, grinning.
“Edward, theres *nothing*,” Margaret cut in.
“What do you mean?”
“Shes made pig slop. Speaking ofyou never mentioned keeping livestock. The stench must be worse than London traffic.”
Edward stared at his mother, then Sophie, then the table.
His jaw tightened as he turned back to Margaret, all earlier warmth gone.
“Honestly, Id forgotten these *habits* of yours,” he said dryly.
“*Habits?* These are *standards*, principles, *traditions!* You never complained!”
“Me? As a boy, I feared your temper. Later, I didnt see the point in arguing.”
“What nonsense!” Margaret screeched, startling Daisy into another fit of barks. “Quiet!” she snapped, shaking a fist. The dog growled.
Sophie held her back.
“She likes Sophie,” Margaret sneered. “But why let her trample over you? Happy gulping down filth? Letting her turn your home into a zoo? Whos in charge here?”
“I am,” Edward said quietly.
“Then *act* like it!” Margaret crowed, triumphant.
“Wheres your bag?”
“Still in the hall! And I havent eaten since the train!”
“Good. Thank Sophie for inviting you.”
“*What?*”
“Thank her. Then apologise.”
“Th-thank you *sorry*,” Margaret ground out.
Sophie nodded curtly.
“Lets go.”
“Go where?”
“Somewhere that suits your *standards* and *traditions*.”
“Edward, I”
“These were *yours* and Dads. Never mine. My opinion never mattered. But he did say once: If you dont like ours, make your own. So I did. Here, its *my* tastes, *my* rules. And this house belongs to my wife. Dont like it? Youve still got *your* place.”
“Edward! Shes turned you against me!” Margaret wailed. “*Shes enchanted you!*” she whispered dramatically.
Edward had had enough. He took her arm, led her to the hall, grabbed her suitcase, opened the door, and walked her silently to the gate.
“By the waySophie was on your side. She gets on with her family. She couldnt believe ours was like this. There *was* a meal made just for you. The stew was a test. You failed.” He opened the taxi door. “Your rides here.”
“Youhow did you?!”
“I told Sophie to keep it waiting. She was right to.”
“You!”
“Me, Mum. The man of the house. Like you wanted.” He signalled the driver, set her bag down, and walked back inside without a glance.
“A spell,” Margaret muttered, certain now. As the taxi pulled away, she scrolled through her contactsthere *had* to be someone who could break it. She *would* get her son back.
**Lesson:** Forcing others to live by your rules only pushes them away. True happiness begins when we let go and let people choose their own path.
