During the wedding ceremony, my mother-in-law stood up from her seat and told the vicar she objected to our marriagea response she certainly didnt expect from me.
I never imagined my wedding would turn into such a spectacle. It began even before the ceremony: my mother-in-law decided that since she was widowed and still “young and lovely,” she deserved to be my maid of honour. I tried to argue but gave in for my husbands sake. “Whats the worst that could happen?” I thought. “Its just tradition, after all.”
But the worst did happen.
She arrived in a long white dress. White! The kind meant for the bride herself. At one point, she snatched the bouquet from my hands and stood proudly beside me, as if all eyes should be on her. I fought back tears and flatly refused to take photos with her.
Yet the worst came later. As we stood at the altar exchanging vows, the vicar asked, “If anyone objects to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
And then my mother-in-law raised her hand.
“I object,” she declared loudly. “Hes my only son, and I wont hand him over to another woman. Come home, darlingwhy bother with this wedding?”
The guests gasped; some stifled laughter. My husband froze, speechless. Furious, I quickly devised a way to save the situation.
With perfect calm, I turned to her and said loudly, “Mum, have you forgotten your medication again? The doctor warned youskipping doses leads to confusion. Let me fetch you some water to settle down. Todays our wedding! Im your daughter-in-law, and this is your son. Dont you remember me?”
Then, addressing the guests, I added, “Please forgive hershes unwell and doesnt always grasp what shes saying. Vicar, lets carry on. Her words hold no weight. Shes not in her right mind.”
“But Im not ill!” she protested.
“Of course not,” I replied gently. “You just missed your pills. Itll pass, and Ill give them to you shortly.”
Flustered, she retreated to her seat, and the ceremony continued. We married that day, and in that moment, I learned something: sometimes, protecting your happiness demands a little cleverness.
