**The Mother-in-Laws Dress**
I noticed something odd the moment I stepped into the restaurant. Something was offfar too empty for a Friday night, the lighting dimmed excessively, the maître d smiling unnaturally wide. Oliver, though, was as he always wasonly the fingers laced through mine trembled faintly.
“Your table,” the maître d said, pulling out a chair, and I paused at the entrance to a private dining room. Hundreds of candles flickered in the dark, casting eerie shadows over the crisp white tablecloth. At the centre stood a vase of deep red rosesmy favourites. Soft music played in the background.
“Oliver,” I gasped, “whats going on?” Instead of answering, he dropped to one knee. A ring glinted in his shaky fingers. “Emily Whitaker,” he said solemnly, “I thought long and hard about how to make this moment special. But then I realisedit doesnt matter where or how. Only one thing doeswill you marry me?”
I looked at his faceflushed with emotion, that stubborn lock of hair falling over his forehead, his shy smileand my heart swelled with indescribable tenderness. “Yes,” I whispered. “Of course, I will.”
The ring slid onto my finger. I hugged Oliver, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne, and thought*this is happiness*. Simple and bright as a summers day. Yet, barely a week later, our peace was first disrupted.
“Youre organising it *yourselves*?” Margot, Olivers mother, asked indignantly, fussing with her already flawless updo. “Absolutely not! A wedding requires experience, feminine wisdom. Ive already found a marvellous venue”
“Mum,” Oliver interjected gently, “we appreciate your help, but we want to plan it ourselves.” *”Yourselves?”* Margot threw up her hands. “You dont have a clue! Look at my niece, Charlotte”
I stayed silent as my future mother-in-law paced our flats living room, lecturing on traditions, customs, and the importance of “not embarrassing the family.” Between speeches, her sharp eyes darted around, scrutinising the décoras if deciding what needed replacing.
“Mum,” Oliver tried again, “weve already booked The White Willow. You know it?” Margot winced as if struck by a toothache. *”That* new place? No, noonly The Grand Imperial will do! The lighting, the service! And the managers an old friend of mine”
“Mum,” Olivers tone hardened, “were paying for this wedding. And well celebrate where we choose.” Margot pursed her lips, lifted her chin. “Fine. Have it your way. Dont say I didnt warn you.”
She left, trailing expensive perfume and the unmistakable air of an impending storm. “Sorry,” Oliver sighed, pulling me close. “Shes just passionate.” I stayed quiet. A voice inside whispered*this is only the beginning.*
And it was. Over the following weeks, an endless stream of arguments, hints, and veiled complaints began. Margot found fault with everythingthe flowers, the table arrangement. *”Pink peonies?”* She shook her head. “In September? No, white lilies only! And the arch must be grander. And the musiciansgoodness, youre seriously considering *them*? I know a brilliant quartet from the Royal Academy”
I bore it as best I could, leaning on my mothers calm wisdom. “Dont take it to heart,” shed say whenever I came to her, exhausted from another “wedding battle.” “Youre the bride; its your choice. She just wont admit her sons grown up.”
But the real storm came over the cake. *”Three tiers?”* Margot scoffed, flipping through the bakery catalogue. “Where are the sugar flowers? The figurines?” “Mum,” Oliver sighed, “we want something elegant. Simple.”
*”Simple?”* Her voice cracked. “Youd humiliate me in front of everyone? Let people whisperArchitects son, but serving *school-hall cake?”*
I snapped. “Margot, lets be clear. This is *our* wedding. Not yours.” The room fell silent. Margot turned pale, then scarlet, then stood abruptly. “Fine,” she hissed. “I see Im *unwanted* here.”
The door slammed so hard the windows rattled. “Well,” Oliver exhaled, “that went well.” I said nothing. Dread coiled in my chest.
Two days later, the storm broke. At the bridal boutique, I overheard the manager on the phone: “Yes, Mrs. Harrington, your dress will be ready. Such a lovely shadenearly *identical* to the brides”
My vision darkened. I fled without finishing the fitting and called my mother, hands shaking. “Mum,” my voice wavered, “shes *ruining* everythingshe bought the same dress”
“Calm down,” Mum said firmly. “Trust me. Ill handle it.” *”How?”* I choked out. “Just wait. Dont worry.”
The morning of the wedding, rain pattered against the windows. I stared out, legs unsteady, while the hairstylist wrestled with a stubborn curl. All I could think was*what will Margot wear today? Would she really dare?*
Mum swept in. “Let me see you.” I turned. Her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh, Emilyyoure *radiant*.”
“Mum,” I searched her eyes, “did you?” She only smiled. “Its your day. No one will spoil it.”
At the registry office, everything blurredsolemn vows, Olivers beaming face, the ring stubbornly resisting my trembling finger. “I now pronounce you husband and wife!” Our first married kiss was distracted; my eyes darted through the crowd for a cream-coloured gown. But Margot was nowhere.
“Shes going straight to the venue,” Oliver whispered. “Said something about her hair” I nodded, stomach tight with dread.
The White Willow was breathtakingcrystal chandeliers, white linens, oceans of flowers. For a moment, I forgot my fears. Then a black Mercedes pulled up. I gripped Olivers hand. “Look.”
Margot emerged, resplendent in a cream gown, beaded and nearly *identical* to mine.
But before she could take three steps inside, a waiter “accidentally” collided with her, tipping a tray of dark red cranberry sauce down the pristine fabric.
“Oh, *dreadfully* sorry!” he fussed, dabbing at the stain. “What a *terrible* mess!”
Margot turned to stone. Her face cycled through shock, fury, and humiliation before she spun on her heel and fled to the car.
I glanced at Mumnow innocently adjusting a centrepiece, the ghost of a smile on her lips.
“You know,” Oliver murmured suddenly, “Im almost glad that happened.” I stared at him.
He sighed. “Ive watched her try to control everythingeven today, she wanted to overshadow you.” His grip tightened. “Im *done* with it.”
I rested my head on his shoulder. Outside, the rain fell softly, but inside, I felt oddly at peace.
Margot never returned. We danced, laughed, and celebratedtruly happy. As for her dress well, sometimes fate puts things right. Even if it takes cranberry sauce, a clumsy waiter, and a mothers quiet vengeance.
