**Determined to Be Happy No Matter What**
In her fourth year at university, Emily fell head over heelsnot just for any bloke, but for the campus heartthrob, the one all the girls fancied. Because lets face it, Oliver came from *money*.
Emily wasnt exactly a slouch herselfpretty, sharp, and from a decent working-class family. Sure, she knew they were from different worlds, but love, as it tends to do, didnt care about silly things like *social strata*.
“Em, youre wasting your time with that Oliver,” her dorm mates warned. “Hes got an ego the size of Buckingham Palace. Acts like the rest of us are beneath him. Only mates with his own lot.”
“So what? I know my worth too,” Emily shot back. “Im not exactly troll-like, am I? Top grades, can hold my own in any conversation”
“Yeah, yeah. Just dont come crying to us later. Bet his mum and dad are proper poshthe type whod faint if you used the wrong fork.”
“Oh, stop scaring me!” Emily groaned. “Honestly, its his parents Im terrified of. Especially his mum”
When Oliver actually returned her feelingsshockingly without any grand effort on her partit felt too good to be true. He asked her out first, to the cinema, no less. They dated through most of fourth year, and just before summer break, he dropped the bomb:
“Em, were going to meet my parents on Saturday. Mums been naggingWho is she? Whats she like?you know how mums are.”
“Oh god, Oliver, thats so sudden! Im not ready!”
“Relax. Theyre just people. Dads a man of few words, but Mum? *She* could interview for MI5. Just dont let her rattle you.”
Emily was already envisioning wedding bellsshe just had to survive *this* first. She spent two days cramming etiquette guides, determined not to embarrass herself at the family lunch.
Saturday arrived. Oliver met her, and they walked to his parents flat. Emilys stomach was in knots.
“Hello,” she squeaked, stepping inside to see Olivers muma stylish woman with a warm smile. The smile helped. A bit.
“Hello, dear! Im Margaret. Oliver, take her coatoh, never mind, just come through.”
At the table sat Olivers dad, Richard. He gave a solemn nod but said nothing.
Emily sat ramrod straight, elbows off the table, cutlery wielded with precision. She barely atetoo busy rehearsing answers in her head. *Never speak with your mouth full.*
But tension breeds mishaps. Her fork clattered to the floorthankfully muffled by the plush carpet. She winced, bracing for judgment, while Oliver snorted.
“Sorry”
Margaret waved it off. “Oliver, stop laughing and fetch her a clean fork. Honestly, your manners.”
He obeyed, still smirking.
“Emily, love, relax. This isnt a state dinner,” Margaret said kindly. “Eat properly, or Ill think you hate my cooking.”
“Oh, no! Its lovely. I just Oliver said you had a housekeeper?”
“We do,” Margaret sighed. “But today, I wanted to cook myself.”
“Why?”
She grinned. “Because I had to impress my future daughter-in-law, didnt I?”
Emily blinked. “Waitso *Im* not the only one putting on a show today?”
“Exactly,” Margaret laughed. “But honestly, Oliver didnt disappoint. Right, Richard?”
Richard nodded. “Quite right, dear.”
The lunch went brilliantly. Two weeks later, Oliver and Emily filed for a marriage license. Two months after that, they wed.
“Ollie, where are we going to live?” Emily asked.
“Not sure. Mum and Dad have been whispering”
The answer came at the reception: Olivers parents gifted them a one-bed flattwo floors down in their own building.
Emily was overjoyed. Her family, visiting from up north, cheered. “See? There *is* a God,” her mum said. “Youve got your own roof now.”
Emily thought the future was bright. Then, in their final year, she discovered she was pregnant. Thrilled but nervous, she told Oliver.
“Ollie, Im so happy! Were having a baby! Ill just have to finish uni on time”
He froze. “*What?* Were not ready! Were students, living off my parents! I wanted at least *three years* just us!”
Emilys heart dropped. “So you want me to?”
“Yes. Were too young for nappies and tantrums.”
“No. *Never.*” She fled in tearsstraight into Margaret in the hallway.
“Emily! Oh, love, whats? Come upstairs.”
Over tea, the truth spilled. “He wants me to get rid of it! Because of *money* and *degrees* and”
“Right. Drink this. *Ill* handle my son.”
An hour later, Oliver shuffled in, contrite. “Sorry, Em. I was being a prat.”
She didnt thank *him*she thanked Margaret, who winked.
They reconciled. Emily graduated, had a son, and Oliver well, he became distant. Late nights. Beer breath. Then, the final straw: another womans perfume.
“Are you cheating?” she demanded.
He mumbled, then left.
That evening, she confided in Margaret.
“Dont rush, love. Maybe”
“No. Im taking my son to my mums.”
“*Absolutely not.* Youll stay *here.* Let *him* live alone. Were not losing our grandson to some tiny village. Our house is big enough. And youll workkeep busy, meet people. *Feel* like yourself again.”
Emily agreed.
Five years later, she married a colleague, James. Theyve a daughter now, and Olivers parents dote on their grandsonespecially during summers at their country cottage.
Through it all, Emily held fast to one truth: *She would be happy.* No matter what.
And Margaret? Still the worlds best mother-in-law.
