I thought my daughter had a happy family until I visited them.
When our Emily told us she was marrying a man eight years her senior, we didnt object. He made an excellent first impressionrefined, polite, attentive. Gregory knew how to charm. He doted on our daughter with tender gestures: bouquets of roses, lavish holidays, thoughtful gifts. When he insisted on covering the entire weddingthe reception venue, her gown, the videographers, even the floral arrangementsI nearly wept with gratitude. We were certain: our little girl was in good hands.
*He runs his own business, Mum, dont worry,* Emily assured me. *Were comfortable. Hes got everything under control.*
Six months after the wedding, Gregory visited us with Emily. He surveyed our flat in silence. The next day, contractors arrived to take measurements. A week later, workmen. Soon, our old Manchester terrace was fitted with triple-glazed, soundproof windows. Then came the refurbished balcony, central heating, even the tiles were replaced.
My husband and I thanked him, baffled, but he waved us off. *Trifles. For my wifes parents, nothing but the best.* Of course, it pleased us. And how could we not rejoice, seeing our daughter so well cared for, so loved?
Then their first child was born. It was like something from a filmthe maternity ward exit with balloons, a handmade christening gown, lace blankets, a photographer capturing every moment. My husband and I smiled, hearts full. *Look at thema perfect family.*
Two years later, another child arrived. More gifts, more guests. But Emily seemed hollow. Exhausted eyes, a smile stitched in place. I told myself it was just the toll of motherhoodtwo children is no small thing. Yet with every phone call, I sensed she was hiding something.
I decided to visit unannounced. I arrived one evening. Gregory wasnt home. Emily greeted me without warmth; the children played in their room. I kissed them, held them closegrandchildren, after all, are joy itself. Later, when the little ones were lost in cartoons, I asked softly:
*Emily, love, whats wrong?*
She flinched, gaze drifting, then forced a smile.
*Im just tired, Mum.*
*Its more than that. Youre dimmed. You dont laugh anymore. I know you. Tell me the truth.*
She hesitated. Then the front door slammedGregory was home. Seeing me, his expression flickered, just for a second. He smiled, kissed my cheek, but his stare was winter-cold. Thats when I caught itthe scent. Too sweet, too floral, unmistakably feminine. A perfume no man would wear.
When he removed his coat, I saw it: lipstick, pale pink, smudged on his collar. Before I could stop myself, I whispered:
*Gregory were you really at the office?*
He went utterly still. Then straightened, looked at me with icy calm.
*Jackiewith all due respectdont meddle. Yes, theres another woman. It means nothing. For a man in my position, its expected. Emily knows. It doesnt change anything. We wont divorce. The children, my wifeall under control. I provide. Im present. So dont fuss over a bit of lipstick.*
My fists clenched. Emily stood, drifting toward the childrens room, eyes down. Gregory strode off to shower, as if nothing had happened.
I found her, pulled her close, whispered:
*Emily you think this is normal? That he fools around and you endure? Is this what love is?*
She shrugged and wept. Silently, helplessly. I held her, stroked her back, said nothing. There was too much to say, and none of it mattered. The choice was hers.
To stay in this gilded cage, where everything gleamedexcept respect. Except love, the real kind, where you dont lie, dont scorn.
I left in the dark. At home, sleep refused me. My heart ached to bundle her and the children away. But I knew: until she chose herself, nothing would change.
All I could do was wait. Hope. And pray that one day, Emily would find her way out.
