When Mum Said “No”: How Nadine Saved a Marriage
Nadine was frying courgettes when the doorbell suddenly chimed. She opened it to find her son—Daniel stood there, a duffel bag in hand, his eyes weary.
“Mum, I left Rebecca,” he blurted before he’d even stepped inside.
“You *what*?” Nadine gasped.
“I can’t take it anymore. She doesn’t cook, the flat’s a mess, she won’t work…” His voice cracked. “Can I stay here for a bit?”
“No.” The word was firm as she wiped grease from her hands, holding his gaze.
Daniel stared.
“What d’you mean, *no*?”
“Exactly that. You’re not moving in. But sit down—eat first. Then we’ll talk.”
He devoured the roast with Yorkshire puddings like a man starved, complaining between mouthfuls:
“Before the wedding, we were always out—pubs, restaurants. Then we married, and I thought meals would just *happen*. But she’s like a child, Googling recipes—overcooked one day, raw the next. I lie and say it’s nice, but Christ, it’s grim.”
“She’s *trying*, Dan,” Nadine sighed. “Not everyone’s born knowing. You just snipe at her.”
“Trying? Have you seen the state of the place? Clothes on every chair—*in the bloody bathroom*. The wardrobe looks like a tornado hit it. She naps or scrolls her phone. I’m picking up after her like a maid. I said something once—she sobbed for an hour.”
“She’s young, love. Still learning. And you? Grown men don’t whinge. Lead with patience. Show her *how* to love you.”
“But I *do* love her—”
“Then make her *feel* it. That’s all.”
The next morning, once Daniel left for work, Nadine rang Rebecca.
“Sweetheart, I’m popping over. We’ll chat.”
She bought groceries, arrived at their flat. Rebecca answered, still yawning.
“You see Dan off to work?” Nadine asked, stepping past her.
“Er—no? He had toast and went. Why?”
“And that’s fine by you, is it? Look at this kitchen—disaster zone. Lunchtime, and you’ve only just woken?”
“Sorry… I was up late… online shopping…”
“Rebecca, I love you like my own. I’m here to *help*. Let’s tidy up, then I’ll teach you to cook.”
“We’ll manage…”
“Suit yourself. But don’t come crying later. Here—groceries.”
Days passed. Daniel crashed at Nadine’s more often—once even lied about a “business trip” just to avoid home.
“I’m done,” he moaned. “She doesn’t read, doesn’t *care* about anything. Just TikTok and shopping. Won’t work. Keeps asking for money—like I’m a cashpoint.”
Nadine listened but said nothing.
Then, one evening, Rebecca appeared on her doorstep. Tears streaked her face.
“Mum… he *hates* me… comes home late, ignores me… says marrying me was a mistake. *You* raised him like this.”
“Or maybe *your* mum missed a lesson? Think only blokes have duties? Marriage isn’t a stroll in Hyde Park—it’s *work*.”
They talked for hours. Nadine guided, nudged, insisted. A plan formed: Rebecca would learn to cook, keep house, *find a job*.
Months later, Nadine helped land her a position, taught her roast dinners, proper puddings. One night, they invited her over. The table was laid—homemade, steaming.
“Mum, Rebecca’s *brilliant* now! Eats like a Michelin star!”
Nadine swallowed the lump in her throat, squeezed Rebecca’s shoulder.
“Well done, love. It’s *yours* to keep now.”
Life settled. Breakfasts together, shared chores. No more late-night moaning—no more tears.
Five years on, their daughter’s first birthday party filled the house. As guests left, Rebecca pulled Nadine aside.
“Mum… thank you. We’d have split without you. I was so *daft* back then…”
“You weren’t daft—just untrained. Now look at you—a family.”
“I want to go back to work early. Help with babysitting? You and my mum taking turns?”
“Course, silly. That’s what nanas are *for*.”
Nadine wasn’t just mother-in-law now—she was *family*. Two grandkids later, she’s retired, their little feet padding through her home often. And if anyone asks how she saved that teetering marriage?
“I back women. Even if it means knocking my own lad into shape.”
