Ignatius, wounded by his mothers behaviour, resolved to live apart from her.
You have no respect for me at all! The long echo of his mothers fury stretched down the telephone line, deafening Daphne with its shrill indignation.
Daphne exhaled heavily, feeling the weight of the womans demands, her voice sharp and domineering. She remembered the moment before her own wedding, when it seemed fate itself had intervened to throw her life into disarray. The grooms mother, a woman of rigid principles and unyielding opinions, had fallen ill with nothing more than a coldyet in her words, it might as well have been the plague, capable of laying waste to everything around them.
The call had come that morning, just as the hour of the ceremony approached. Surprise turned swiftly to frustrationthis news was absurd, utterly senseless. His mother insisted the wedding be postponed for weeks.
What do you mean, *postpone*? Weve arranged everythingthe reception, the guests My parents are flying in from Manchester just for this! Daphne protested.
Ignatius listened in silence, knowing a confrontation with his mother loomeda woman no one dared contradict. But now, he would speak his mind.
Mum, a cold is just a cold. I understand youre worried, but we cant cancel the wedding over something so trivial.
His firm tone was something she had never heard before. She drew a sharp breath, as though struck by the defiance of a son she had always controlled.
A choked sob crackled down the line, as if she were swallowing tears of outrage.
Fine. If neither of you care about my health Then have it your way. But mark my wordsif anything goes wrong, the blame will be on *you*.
Then, silence. The only sound in the room was the nervous tap of Daphnes fingers against the table.
The mothers hand trembled slightly as she clutched the phone, scrolling through her contacts. Her pulse raced, but her thoughts were clear: *They will not celebrate while I suffer.*
Hello, Lydia? Its me. Sorry for the rush, but I had to callthe weddings postponed. Ive come down with flu. Well have to delay it a fortnight. Yes, of course my son agreeshes concerned for me.
A pause. Then, a hushed whisper:
Oh, you poor dear! Of course, get well first!
She exhaled in relief. Lying was difficult, but necessary.
Next call.
Natasha? Yes, you heard right. Weve had to delay the wedding. Im dreadfully illthe doctors say I must rest.
Oh, what a shame! Natasha gasped, offering sympathy. Get well soon, darling!
One by one, the calls continued, each repeating the same lie: *So sorry, but we must postpone.* Every response was identicalpity, concern, unquestioning compliance.
Only the voice inside whispered that she was wrong, that she would hurt her son, his new family, herself.
After the last call, she sank onto the sofa, exhausted. Her phone buzzed in her hand, demanding confirmation. Tears crept down her cheeks.
That evening, as guests gathered for the ceremony, only Daphnes closest friends, a few of Ignatiuss colleagues, and distant relativesthose who rarely spoke to his motherremained. The rest had vanished, heeding her warnings, though no official cancellation had been issued.
For a moment, Daphne felt dizzy with shock. Then anger rose, twisting with the injustice of it all.
Yet despite everything, the air remained merry. The guests laughed, danced, revelled in the moment, weaving warmth and closeness between them.
Far from the celebration, the mother sat alone in her house, weeping quietly, cursing fate for humiliating her. Her fury dissolved into a loneliness vast as an engulfing tide.
*To them, my illness is nothinga foolish old womans whim. Was it so hard to show a little care?*
Ignatiuss relatives, learning the truth, felt betrayed. Some voiced their outrage openly; others stayed silent, fearing the fallout.
Wounded by his mothers actions, Ignatius chose to live apart from her.
Soon, the newlyweds moved to another townfar from his mother, and far from the memory of that day.
