For two years now, Ive been married to Oliver, and from the very beginning, his mother, Margaret, has made it clear she disapproves of me. Shes convinced her son shouldve married someone more suited to their family, and shes done everything in her power to drive a wedge between us.
At first, I brushed off her sharp comments, but over time, they grew more frequent and cutting. No matter how hard I triedwhether it was cooking her favourite roast or keeping the house spotlessit was never enough.
Oliver knew what was happening, but he kept insisting it would blow over. Mums just set in her ways, hed say. Deep down, shes kind.
Then, one Sunday morning, she barged into our room and drenched me with a bucket of icy water. Up, you lazy thing! she snapped. I gasped, startled awake, dripping and furious.
Why would you do that? I demanded, shivering.
She folded her arms. In this house, no one lazes about past dawn. Everyone rises early.
I checked the clock6:30 AM. My voice shook with anger. Its my only day off! I deserve a lie-in!
She scoffed. Deserve? Under my roof, youll follow my rules. Your rights mean nothing here.
That was it. Id had enough.
When I told Oliver, I was tremblingnot with fear, but resolve. I described how cruel shed been, how small she made me feel. I wont live like this, I said. Not from family.
I didnt ask him to choose. Just to stand beside me.
He was quiet a long moment. Then, finally, he met my eyes. Youre right. Its us first. Were leaving.
We packed our things that very day and moved to a little cottage in the Cotswolds. Some wounds never fully heal, but distance taught us something invaluable: respect isnt givenits earned, and no one should ever make you beg for it.
