Emily and James were about to marry. Their wedding was in full swing when the master of ceremonies announced it was time for gifts. The bride’s parents went first. Then came James’s mother, Margaret Victoria, clutching a large box tied with a sky-blue ribbon.
“Goodness! I wonder what’s inside?” Emily whispered excitedly to James.
“No idea,” he admitted. “Mum kept it a secret.”
They agreed to open presents the next day, after the celebrations. Emily insisted on starting with her mother-in-law’s box. Untying the ribbon, lifting the lid—they peered inside… and froze in shock.
Emily had long noticed something odd about James—he never took anything without permission, not even a trifle.
“Mind if I finish the last biscuit?” he’d ask hesitantly, eyeing the lone treat in the tin.
“Of course!” Emily would reply, puzzled. “You don’t need to ask.”
“It’s just habit,” James would murmur, unwrapping it quickly.
Only months later did Emily understand his hesitation.
One evening, James invited her to meet his parents—Margaret Victoria and Charles Edward. At first, his mother seemed warm. But that illusion shattered at dinner, where Margaret served two plates, each with a meagre spoonful of mash and a tiny cutlet. James finished his quickly, then quietly asked for more.
“Always eating! Like a starved horse! You’ll beggar us!” Margaret snapped, startling Emily.
Yet when Charles asked for seconds, Margaret piled his plate high, beaming. Emily left the table shaken, baffled by the woman’s disdain for her own son.
During wedding preparations, Margaret only grew worse. The rings? Too costly. The venue? Extravagant.
“Why waste money? You could’ve found something cheaper!” she’d scold.
Emily finally snapped.
“We’ll handle it ourselves, thanks!” she shot back. “It’s our money, our choice!”
Margaret, offended, stopped calling—even threatened to skip the wedding.
Two days before, Charles arrived alone, dragging James to his car.
“Help me with your gift, son,” he said, revealing a washing machine—bought in secret to spite his wife. He confessed they’d quarreled bitterly; Margaret thought even a wedding gift for her son was too dear.
On the day, Margaret arrived—in a lavish gown, by cab. She behaved, handed over the blue-ribboned box, then vanished into the revelry.
Next morning, Emily and James eagerly unwrapped it—only to deflate.
“Tea towels?” Emily muttered, pulling out the first.
“And socks,” James sighed, lifting two pairs of scratchy wool ones. “Dad was right… She just grabbed the first thing she found. I wish she’d come empty-handed instead.”
But it didn’t end there. Days later, Margaret rang—to interrogate them.
“Go on, tell me! What did the in-laws give you? And Uncle George? And Emily’s friends?”
James had had enough.
“Not your business, Mum. We’re happy—that’s all.”
He hung up, guiltless for the first time in his life.
Kindness isn’t measured in pounds. But respect, like love, lives in the little things. And Margaret Victoria had long let hers slip away.
