15 years ago, when Edward first brought me home to his family in Oxford, it was clear I would never be good enough for them. I remember Mrs. Margaret Thompson my soon-to-be mother-in-law standing right in the middle of the lounge, holding my battered old suitcase and inspecting its contents as if she were an auctioneer at Sothebys. Well, Edward, youve brought home a real nobody, havent you? she declared loud enough for the neighbours to hear. No house, no car, not even a decent pillowcase. I told you to look for someone of your own standing, not just pick up anyone who walked by. Itll be shameful to introduce her to anyone respectable.
I stood in the hallway, hands clamped so tightly on my handle that my knuckles turned white. I wanted the ground to swallow me whole anything not to see her cold appraisal or to hear the mocking giggle of his sister, Charlotte, who was already draping my only passable scarf around her neck and posing in the mirror.
Edward, at that time too young and awkward to stand up to his domineering mother, merely blushed from the roots up.
Mum, thats enough, he muttered, taking my well-worn towels back from her. Jane is my wife. Were not staying, were just dropping off some things until we find a flat.
A flat? she tutted, hands flapping. On your junior engineers salary? Or is your bride here bringing a secret stash of pounds? Oh, Edward, youll regret this What were you thinking, marrying someone with no prospects and no manners?
The word nobody stuck to me like a price tag. It was dragged out at every family dinner where we were only ever invited to make up numbers, someone they could laugh at for sport. To Margaret and Charlotte, nothing I did was ever right: my salad was always too rustic, my dress so very market-day, and my gifts were always a token, but not a generous one.
I endured it, as one does. I was raised to respect my elders and keep the peace, particularly since I loved Edward with all my heart. He was my anchor, even if he was always caught between his mothers demands and his duty to me.
The first years were hard. We rented, pinched pennies, and survived on next to nothing. My degree was in garment technology, so I worked in a local factory, taking double shifts and handling odd jobs at night hemming trousers and replacing zip fasteners for our neighbours. Edward took whatever he could: driving cabs, fixing computers, odd jobs galore.
His family, well-off by anyones standards with their big house in Summertown and the family cottage out in the Cotswolds never helped. Advice and criticism, they gave by the bucketful; but as for a hand, never once.
When our fridge broke and we had to keep milk outside on the window ledge, Edward rang Margaret for a short-term loan.
Theres no money, she barked down the phone, cutting him off. Even if I had it, Id think twice you two go through money like water. Your wifes probably blown it on trinkets again! She should learn to budget; when I was her age, I was making meals out of thin air!
That night, I promised myself we’d never ask them for anything, ever again.
Time, so they say, softens the rough edges but never quite removes the scars. I worked like a woman possessed. My eye for detail and obsession with quality began to pay off. I first managed to rent a tiny corner in a shopping arcade to run an alterations shop. Word spread, and my reputation grew. Soon, I had regular customers.
Within three years, I opened my own little bespoke tailoring shop. Edward, seeing my progress, left his dead-end job and started managing the business: admin, bookkeeping, purchases. Together, we became a team solid, unified, and fiercely independent.
Another five years on, nobody Jane Thompson owned a network of luxury home textile boutiques. We had a light-filled flat in a new development, a nice car, and a cottage in the countryside, all built entirely from our own effort.
Contact with Edwards family dwindled to the odd birthday phone call or obligatory Christmas gathering. His mother, now bitter and ageing, relied on Charlotte for company. Charlotte herself was right back at home, having divorced her high-flying husband. They plodded along, burning through savings and blaming fate.
Whenever Edward turned up in the new car, Charlotte would sneer: Bought it on finance, I suppose? Everyones up to their ears in debt these days.
But I just smiled. I knew every penny was earned; I owed them nothing.
Then, one brisk autumn afternoon, my phone rang: Margaret Thompson flashed on the screen. I was surprised shed always called Edward.
Hello, Jane dear! came the syrupy voice, so sweet it made my teeth ache. How are you, love?
Hello, Mrs. Thompson. Were well, thank you. Edwards at work
No, love, I wanted to speak to you. She actually called me love. Up to now, she’d only ever said that one. Charlotte and I were just thinking we havent visited in ages. Thought we might come over, see how youve settled in. Heard youve done up the place?
I couldn’t imagine why, but politeness won out.
Of course, youre welcome. Saturday for lunch?
Oh, that would be perfect, dear! See you then!
On Saturday, I laid out a proper English lunch roast pork, homemade coleslaw, cranberry tarts. Not to show off, just because I enjoyed making a good meal.
They arrived at exactly two, taking in the oak floors, wallpaper, and Italian furnishings with the calculating looks of pawnbrokers rather than relatives.
Well, havent you done well for yourselves, Charlotte couldnt resist muttering, glancing at the surroundings.
Come through, wash your hands, said Edward, helping his mother from her coat.
Dinner was awkward at first: passive-aggressive compliments, all disguised as friendly chat.
Lovely meat, Jane melts in the mouth, Mrs. Thompson chewed. Cost a fortune, I expect? We dont see much of that on a pension, not like you two.
Mum, please, Edward groaned.
Only after tea and cake, as they relaxed back, did the true reason for their visit emerge. Margaret dabbed at her lips, looked at Charlotte and began.
Well, thank you for your hospitality, children. Lovely home, truly. But this isnt just a social call. Weve got family business to discuss.
I straightened up, waiting for the inevitable.
Wed like to do up the old cottage, began Margaret. The roofs gone, floors are rotten dreadful state altogether. I cant bear the city air any more, I need a retreat. Charlotte as well, her nerves need a break.
What have you decided? asked Edward, guessing what was coming next.
We want a new build timber frame, modern, all mod cons. Even found a lovely firm, plans and all. Two-storey, big windows, sun lounge… Itll be a little paradise!
Sounds like a wonderful idea, I nodded.
A wonderful idea, yes, Margaret sighed. But its expensive. The quote came in at two hundred thousand pounds. Where are two simple women supposed to find that? Our savings wouldnt cover a shed.
The silence was heavy. The clock ticked.
So you want? began Edward.
We want your help, his mother cut in, meeting my eyes. Youre doing well, you have the money. Surely two hundred thousand isnt much for you these days it would mean the world to us. Wed build it, you could visit! The grandkids, fresh air itd be a real family legacy!
I sipped my cold tea, amused. A family legacy. The same place where I wasn’t even allowed to cross the threshold years ago.
You want a loan? I asked evenly. What terms?
Again, the glance between mother and daughter.
Oh, Jane, its family lets not talk of loans! How would we ever pay it back on my pension? Charlottes between jobs We thought you might be able to help, because you can. Youve just opened your third shop, havent you? You cant take it with you! This is about family, about doing the decent thing for your elders.
So you want us to just give you two hundred thousand pounds for a new holiday home? Edwards voice was icy.
Not give! Invest! Charlotte blurted. Itll be yours one day, after Mums gone.
May you live forever, Mrs. Thompson, I said quietly. But lets be clear. You want two hundred thousand from us, no strings, to build a luxury cottage for your comfort?
And yours, too! Margaret added.
I pushed back from the table and walked to the window, looking down at the city. The autumn leaves blew along the pavements, yellow and brash like my old pillowcases from so long ago. When I turned around, my mind was clear.
I remember our wedding day, I began, softly. I remember you, Mrs. Thompson, picking through my things, calling me a nobody. Saying your son was marrying beneath him.
Oh, dont dredge up the past, Margaret spluttered, suddenly uncomfortable. I was worried for Edward, thats all. You were young, a bit naïve. Now look at you living like a lady!
I am who I am not because of your help, but despite your scorn, I replied, keeping my voice low. Everything we have, Edward and I earned ourselves. We worked twenty-hour days. We skipped holidays and meals to make ends meet. Where were you then, family? When we asked for five hundred till the end of the month, you pleaded poverty.
We didnt have it, snapped Charlotte.
You had it, Charlotte. You bought a new coat that week. But now you come to my home, eat my food, and expect the nobody to cough up for your nice life.
Were not demanding, were asking! Margarets voice was shrill. What kind of Christian holds a grudge like this? Are you going to leave Edwards poor mother destitute?
Youve got a beautiful three-bedroom flat, Margaret, Edward cut in. Youre not destitute. A cottage in the Cotswolds is a luxury, not a necessity.
Youre under her thumb! his mother exploded, leaping up. Shes ruined you, that woman! Sitting here dripping in gold while Im left to rot? Shame on you both!
Mum, thats enough. Youre not having the money: not as a loan, not as a gift. Sell the flat, downsize, or get a mortgage like everyone else.
Charlotte jumped up, slopping tea across the tablecloth. Fine! Well manage by ourselves! When youre bankrupt, well see whos laughing!
Out, I said, quietly.
What? gasped Margaret in disbelief.
Out of my home. Dont come back.
Margaret gasped like a landed fish, unable to believe Id stood my ground. Shed always expected silence, or for Edward to feel guilty. She miscalculated.
Come on, Mum! Charlotte grabbed Margarets arm. The air in heres gone bad.
They thundered out, cursing under their breaths, and Edward simply handed them their coats. He didnt say sorry. He didnt even try to stop them. They were blood, but no longer family.
When the door finally closed, the flat was bathed in hushed silence.
I cleared the soiled tablecloth from the table, tossed it in the laundry, and sat down with my head in my hands. I didnt shake, or cry. Just utter exhaustion mingled with relief. The boil that had been festering for years had finally burst.
Edward quietly sat next to me and pulled me into a hug.
Im sorry, he said hoarsely.
You havent done anything wrong, I replied. You dont get to choose your parents. You protected us today. Thats what matters.
He managed a wry grin. Part of me thought she might genuinely want to see us. Silly, isnt it?
Not silly, just kind, I smiled. You always want to believe the best in people.
Two hundred grand he shook his head. Do you think theyd have loved us for it?
No, I said firmly. Theyd have bled us dry, then despised us for being soft. Some people always see you as an outsider first for being poor, then for being stingy. Theres no winning.
Youre right. You always are.
He fetched a bottle of good wine. Lets drink to us. To surviving. To not owing anything to anyone.
As dusk crept in, we sipped our wine in our lovely living room, phones turned off, at complete peace. I could almost hear Margaret, even now, on the phone to every relative in Christendom, painting me as some cruel villain whod kicked a dear old lady out into the cold. But the story had lost its sting.
A month on, the word came: Charlotte had persuaded her mother to take out a massive loan against their flat. The builders vanished without a trace, leaving nothing but a muddy hole. Now they were drowning in debt and lawsuits, doing the family rounds for handouts.
They called Edward a few more times but he ignored them. Eventually, he changed his number.
As I ran my hand across the smooth silk in my brand new shop, I reflected on how life, in its quiet way, rewards and punishes fairly. Everyone ends up where theyve earned and what you bring to a marriage is never your pedigree or your parents money, but your will to work, your kindness, and your courage.
Thats the true dowry. And in that, I am rich beyond measure.
