Why wont you open the door?
Because I dont want to! Guests should warn before dropping bynot rifle through drawers, fridges, and wardrobes!
What do you mean, you wont? Thats my mother! She came to see *me*!
Then *you* go greet her! But not in *my* house.
Emma always got along better with my mum, you know.
If I started listing all the ways my ex was better than you, wed both be embarrassed.
Though Im not so sure about *me*, snapped Emily, scrubbing the kitchen table raw. If you two were so perfect with Emma, why did you break up?
Edward turned away, stung, glaring out the window.
You already know how that ended.
Exactly. So stop bringing up your precious Emma, Emily cut in. Or Ill be your next ex.
She meant it. She was ready to walk away.
Shed met Edward nearly a year ago at a mutual friends gathering. She even knew Emmanot well, but enough. Emma had brought Edward along, then vanished from their lives months later.
One drunken night, Edward confessed hed caught Emma cheating. Hed even cried. At the time, Emily thought it sweeta man unafraid of emotion, who valued love. Something in her had *clicked*. She wanted to comfort him.
Now she realised that *something* was maternal instinct, not attraction. But it had been enough to start their relationship.
At first, it was lovely. Hed meet her after work, drive her home, send sweet texts, ask if shed dressed warmly. She felt cared for.
Then Emma messaged her.
*Hey. Heard youre seeing Edward. Not my business, but be careful. Him and his mum? Theyre a package deal.*
Emily noted it but brushed it off. Love overcame worse obstacles. Just because hed failed with one woman didnt mean hed fail with her.
*Thanks, but well figure it out.* She didnt want to engageit felt disloyal.
Edward, however, had no such concerns.
When his mother, Margaret, first turned up unannounced, Emily stayed calm. Maybe they didnt realise how rude it was. Maybe Margaret just worried about her son.
She sent Edward to greet his mother, threw on clothes, scraped her hair into a ponytail, and stumbled outsleep-deprived, dark circles under her eyesto meet her potential mother-in-law.
Who was already inspecting their dresser drawers.
Hmm. A mess, Margaret said with a pitying smile. Soon youll have mismatched socks. Emily, after breakfast, Ill teach you how to fold clothes properly.
Not *hello*. Just criticism.
Emily froze. A stranger, rifling through her underwear in *her* home, was beyond rude. But snapping back felt wrong so early in the relationship. She bit her tongue.
Oh, love, those bags under your eyes! Margaret tutted. Cucumber slices, dear. Or get your kidneys checked. My friend, she
Emily smiled, nodded, pretended interest in strangers ailments while yearning for bed. It was *eight a.m.* on a *Saturday*. Shed stayed up late, planning to sleep in.
Margaret stayed until evening, dispensing advice on flowers, scrubbing baths, polishing cutleryeven made Emily practice. By the end, Emily felt wrung out. And Edward? Didnt lift a finger.
Is your mum always this involved? Emily ventured that night.
She didnt mind close families, but boundaries mattered.
Yeah. Why? Shes just being friendly, Edward shrugged. Emma and I lived with herit was lively. Now shes lonely.
Were not moving in with her, though?
Youve got a problem with my *mother*? Edward bristled. Emma got on with her fine.
Emily stayed silent. Emma was eight years younger, a people-pleaser. Of *course* they got on. She probably knew Margarets friends by name, their medical histories, starched sheets just right, baked pies to her recipes.
Emily hadnt signed up for that. Life had taught her: the fewer outsiders in a relationship, the better. But Edward disagreed.
Mums sociable. Gets on with anyone.
*Not everyone wants her to,* Emily nearly said. She didnt.
It got worse. Margaret returned the next morningearlyand inspected the fridge.
*Chicken* eggs? I only made Edward quail eggs. Better for men. She sighed. Shelves need scrubbing. You *eat* off these, Emily.
*Not directly off the shelves,* Emily thought.
Ill clean them later. We wanted a quiet day. Its the *weekend*.
Edward, of course, was still asleep.
Weekends are for *chores*, Margaret declared. Fetch the sponge. Next Saturday, Ill teach you Edwards favourite meat pie. Youll love it!
Emily stiffened, arms crossed. Running on a strangers schedule? *No.*
Margaret, maybe take my number? Call before visiting. We might have plans.
*Call?* Cant I visit my own son?
Of course. But your son lives with *me* now. We should respect each other.
Emma never minded, Margaret sniffed.
Well, *my* exs mum never barged in at dawn. She brought cherry scones. Delicious. Want the recipe?
Margarets face darkened. Wrinkles deepened. Fury flickered in her eyes.
Emily, think carefully. The nightingale wont outlast the lark.
She left, but the tension lingered. Edward wouldnt listen. Margaret treated their home as hers. And Emmas ghost haunted them.
Emmas stuffed peppers were better. Her mum taught her, Edward would muse over dinner.
Get her to teach *you*, then.
She suspected Margaret would poison Edward against her but avoided the topic. She just wanted it *gone*.
A peaceful month passeduntil the doorbell rang at dawn again. This time, Emily refused to answer.
Harsh? Maybe. But was it harsher than ignoring her request after last time?
Five minutes later, Edward stormed out, groggy and furious.
Why wont you open the door?
I dont *want* to! Guests *warn* people. They dont snoop!
Thats my *mother*!
Then *you* greet her*outside*.
The row shook the walls. Edward accused her of rejecting his motherrejecting *him*. Margaret shouted through the door, rang incessantly.
Finally, Emily snapped.
Enough! Either you explain what *guest* means and send her home, or were *done*.
Edward chose the latter.
Emily wasnt heartbroken. Theyd never even married. Maybe it was for the best. A man tethered to his ex and his mother? *No, thanks.*
Months later, gossip reached her: Edward had a new girlfriend. A mutual friend smirked.
She moved in with him *and* Margaretalready wants out. Asks to meet you.
Why?
According to Margaret, youre *perfect*. Beautiful, strong-willed, a great cook.
Were talking about *Margaret* and *me*?
Guess she only likes the ones who escape Edward.
From then on, Emily listened to warnings. She kept her wits but stopped ignoring red flagsespecially men obsessed with exes and mothers.
Life with mummys boys never worked. Mum always came first. Maybe thats rightin *moderation*. Agree?
Thoughts? Comments below. Likes appreciated.
