Emily and James were preparing for their wedding day. The ceremony was in full swing when the toastmaster announced it was time for gifts. First, the brides parents offered their congratulations, then came James mother, Margaret Whitmore, clutching a large box wrapped in pale blue paper.
What on earth could be inside? Emily whispered excitedly to James.
No idea. Mums been terribly secretive about it, he replied, baffled.
They agreed to open presents the next day when the chaos had settled. Emily suggested starting with his mothers gift first. They untied the ribbon, lifted the lidand froze in stunned silence.
For ages, Emily had noticed James odd habit: he never took anything without asking, not even the smallest thing.
May I have the last biscuit? hed murmur, eyeing the lone treat in the tin.
Of course! Emily would reply, puzzled. You neednt even ask.
Force of habit, hed smile sheepishly, unwrapping it carefully.
It took months before she understood why.
One evening, James introduced her to his parentsMargaret and Harold Whitmore. At first, his mother seemed pleasant, but that illusion shattered at dinner.
Each guest had a plate with two spoonfuls of mashed potatoes and a single, tiny meatball. James finished quickly and quietly asked for seconds.
Always stuffing your face like a starved pigeon! Nothings ever enough for you! Margaret snapped, shocking Emily.
When Harold requested more, Margaret beamed and piled his plate high. Emily ate in stunned silence, horrified by the mothers blatant disdain for her own son.
Later, while planning the wedding, Margaret showed her true colours. Everything was too expensivethe rings, the venue, the menu.
Why such extravagance? A registry office wouldve done! she huffed.
Eventually, Emily snapped.
Its our wedding, our pounds, our choice!
Offended, Margaret fell silent and even threatened to boycott the event.
Two days before the wedding, Harold arrived unannounced.
Son, help me with this, he said, leading James to the car.
Hed bought them a washing machinedefying his wifes protests. A confession followed: theyd argued fiercely because Margaret thought even a wedding gift for her own son was a waste of money.
On the big day, Margaret appeared after allwearing an elegant dress, arriving by taxi. She behaved impeccably, handed over the large box, then vanished into the crowd.
The next morning, Emily and James eagerly opened it. Their excitement turned to dismay.
Towels? Emily muttered, pulling out the first one.
And socks, James sighed, holding up two pairs of thick woolly ones. Dad was right Mum just grabbed whatever was lying around. Honestly, no gift wouldve been better.
But that wasnt the end. Days later, Margaret calledto interrogate them about the other presents.
Go on then, who gave what? Emilys mum? Uncle George? Her friends? she pressed.
James refused to indulge her.
Mum, its none of your business. Were happy with what we received.
Then he hung upwithout guilt, for the very first time.
Life teaches us: the size of a gift says nothing of the givers heart. But respect and love reveal themselves in small things. And Margaret, sadly, had none left to give.
