Emma and James were getting married. Their wedding was in full swing when the master of ceremonies announced it was time for gifts. The bride’s parents were first to congratulate the newlyweds. Next came James’s mother, Margaret, holding a large box tied with a bright blue ribbon.
“Blimey! I wonder what’s inside?” Emma whispered excitedly to James.
“Not a clue,” he admitted, shrugging. “Mum kept it under wraps.”
They decided to open the gifts the next day, once the wedding chaos settled. Emma suggested starting with Margaret’s box. Untying the ribbon and lifting the lid, they peeked inside… and froze in disbelief.
Emma had noticed something odd about James for a while—he never took even a trifle without asking.
“Mind if I have the last biscuit?” he’d murmur, eyeing the lone treat in the tin.
“Course not!” Emma would reply, baffled. “No need to ask.”
“Old habit,” he’d say, grinning sheepishly as he unwrapped it.
It took months before Emma understood where her fiancé’s hesitation came from.
One evening, James introduced her to his parents, Margaret and Philip. At first, his mother seemed warm, but that illusion shattered at dinner. Margaret served two plates—each with a spoonful of mash and a tiny meatball. James finished quickly, then quietly asked for seconds.
“Honestly! Eating like a horse! You’ll bankrupt us!” Margaret snapped, shocking Emma to her core.
When Philip asked for more, Margaret piled his plate high. Emma barely finished her meal, stunned by her future mother-in-law’s disdain for her own son.
While planning the wedding, Margaret became worse. She hated everything—the rings, the venue, the menu.
“Such a waste! Could’ve done it cheaper!” she’d snipe.
Finally, Emma snapped. “We’ll handle it! It’s our money, our choice!”
Margaret, offended, stopped calling and even threatened to skip the wedding.
Two days before, Philip visited alone. “Son, help me with something,” he said, leading James to his car.
He’d bought them a washing machine—to avoid Margaret’s meddling. He confessed they’d argued; she’d called even a modest wedding gift “too dear.”
On the day, Margaret arrived—wearing a lavish dress, hailing a cab. She behaved, handed over the blue-ribboned box, then vanished into the crowd.
The next morning, Emma and James eagerly opened it. Their excitement turned to dismay.
“Towels?” Emma muttered, pulling one out.
“And socks,” James sighed, lifting two pairs of fleecy ones. “Dad was right… Mum just grabbed whatever was lying about. Hard to believe she’s got so tight-fisted. Wish she’d come empty-handed.”
But it didn’t end there. Days later, Margaret called to grill James.
“Go on, then! What did your in-laws give you? And Emma’s mates?” she pressed.
Unwilling to discuss it, James cut her off. “Not your business, Mum. We’re happy with what we got.”
He hung up—for once, without a shred of guilt.
Life teaches us kindness isn’t measured in price tags. But respect, like love, shows in the little things. And Margaret, sadly, had none left.
