Emily and James were about to tie the knot. Their wedding was in full swing when the emcee announced it was time for gifts. The bride’s parents went first, followed by James’s mum, Margaret. She carried a large box tied with a bright blue ribbon.
“Blimey! Wonder what’s inside?” Emily whispered excitedly to James.
“No clue. Mum’s been tight-lipped about it,” he admitted, just as puzzled.
They decided to open presents the next day when the wedding chaos settled. Emily suggested starting with Margaret’s gift. Untying the ribbon and lifting the lid, they peeked inside… and froze in shock.
Emily had noticed something odd about James for a while—he never took even the smallest thing without asking.
“Mind if I have the last biscuit?” he’d ask, eyeing the lone custard cream in the tin.
“Of course!” Emily would reply, baffled. “You don’t have to ask.”
“Force of habit,” he’d mumble, quickly unwrapping it.
It took months for Emily to realise where this hesitation came from.
One day, James invited her to meet his parents—Margaret and Harold. At first, Margaret seemed warm, but that illusion shattered at dinner. Two plates were set out, each with a miserly scoop of mashed potatoes and a tiny meatball. James polished his off fast, then quietly asked for seconds.
“Honestly, where do you put it all? Eating us out of house and home!” Margaret snapped, mortifying Emily.
When Harold asked for more, Margaret happily piled his plate high. Emily barely finished her meal, stunned by the favouritism.
Later, while planning the wedding, Margaret made her opinions loud and clear—she hated everything: the rings, the venue, the menu.
“What a waste! You could’ve found something cheaper!” she’d huff.
Emily finally snapped.
“We’ll handle it ourselves! It’s our money, our choice!”
Offended, Margaret stopped calling and even threatened to skip the wedding.
Two days before, Harold showed up alone.
“Son, help me with something,” he said, leading James to his car.
Turns out, he’d secretly bought them a washing machine—to avoid Margaret’s meddling. He confessed they’d argued; she’d called even a wedding gift for her own son “too extravagant.”
On the day, Margaret arrived—in a posh dress, by taxi. She behaved, handed over the blue-ribboned box, then vanished into the crowd.
The next morning, Emily and James tore into the box—only to deflate.
“Towels?” Emily muttered, pulling one out.
“And socks,” James sighed, holding up two pairs of fleecy ones. “Dad was right… She just grabbed whatever was lying around. Hard to believe she’s this stingy. Honestly, she might as well have come empty-handed.”
But it didn’t end there. Days later, Margaret rang James—to grill him about other wedding gifts.
“Go on, then! What did your mother-in-law give you? What about Uncle Rob? Your mates?” she pressed.
James had had enough.
“Mum, it’s none of your business. We’re happy with what we got.”
He hung up—for once, without an ounce of guilt.
Life teaches us kindness isn’t measured by a gift’s price tag. But respect and love? They show in the little things. And Margaret, sadly, had run out of those.
