Vicky got on much better with my mum, you know.
Well, if I started listing all the ways my ex was better than you, wed both be embarrassed. Though Im not so sure about myself, Lucy snapped, scrubbing the kitchen table with unnecessary force. If you two were so perfect with Vicky, why did you even break up?
James turned away, sulking, and glared out the window.
You already know how that went…
Exactly. So stop bringing up your precious Vicky, then, Lucy cut in sharply. Unless you want me to be your next ex.
She wasnt joking. She was ready to take drastic steps.
Shed met James almost a year ago, introduced through mutual friends. Shed even known Vicky, though not well. Vicky had brought James along to gatherings, then vanished off the radar a few months later.
One night, after one too many drinks, James confessed hed caught Vicky cheating. Hed even shed a tear. At the time, Lucy found it sweeta man unafraid to show emotion, who valued love. Something in her had clicked, a need to comfort him.
Now, she realised that *something* had probably been maternal instinct, not romantic interest. But it had been enough to spark a relationship between them.
It had started beautifully. Hed meet her after work, drive her home, send sweet messages every day, checking if shed dressed warmly enough. Shed felt cared for.
The first warning came when Vicky messaged her out of the blue.
Hey. Just heard youre seeing James. Not my business, but be careful. He and his mum are a package dealthick as thieves.
Lucy noted it but brushed it off. Love could overcome worse obstacles. Just because things had gone badly with one woman didnt mean they would with her.
Thanks for the heads-up, but well figure it out, she replied, eager to end the conversation. It felt disloyal to James to even entertain it.
James, of course, had no such qualms about *her* comfort.
When his mother, Margaret, first turned up unannounced, Lucy stayed calm. Maybe neither of them realised how inconvenient it was. Maybe Margaret just wanted to check on her son, see who he was living with.
Lucy sent James to answer the door while she scrambled to get dressed, tying her hair into a messy ponytail, still bleary-eyed, to greet her potential future mother-in-law. By then, Margaret was already rifling through the drawers in the living room.
Goodness, what a mess, Margaret sighed with a condescending smile. Youll never find matching socks like this. Lucy, darling, after breakfast, Ill show you how to fold clothes properlyno wrinkles, no lost items.
No *hello*. Lucy was stunned. A stranger digging through her underwear in *her* home felt beyond rude. But retaliating with rudeness so early on seemed wrong, so she bit her tongue.
Oh, sweetheart, those dark circles! Margaret tutted sympathetically. You need cucumber masks. Or better yet, get your kidneys checked. My friends cousin had the same
Lucy smiled, nodded, and pretended to care about the ailments of strangers while longing to crawl back into bed. It was *eight* on a Saturday. Shed stayed up late, planning to sleep in.
Fat chance.
Margarets visit dragged on till evening. Lucy endured a barrage of *helpful* advicehow to water plants, scrub the bath, polish cutleryeven got some hands-on practice. She was exhausted. And not once did James step in or hint that they might want privacy.
Does your mum always *drop by* like this? Lucy asked carefully that night.
She wasnt against close family ties, but some boundaries wouldve been nice.
Yeah. Shes just trying to be friendly, James shrugged. Vicky and I used to live with herproper lively, it was. Now shes lonely.
Please tell me were not moving in with her, Lucy sighed.
Whats the problem? You dont like my mum? James tensed. She and Vicky got on brilliantly.
Lucy stayed silent. Vicky had been eight years younger, the type to butter people up. Of *course* they got on. She probably knew all Margarets friends by name, ironed sheets *just so*, and baked pies to her exact recipes.
But Lucy hadnt signed up for that. She had enough life experience to know: the fewer outsiders meddling in a relationship, the better. James disagreed.
Mums sociable. Gets on with anyone.
*”Yeah, but not everyone wants her to,”* Lucy nearly said. She held her tongue.
It got worse. Margaret returned the next morning*again*this time inspecting the fridge.
*Chicken* eggs? I only ever used quail eggs for James. Much better for men, she declared. These shelves could do with a wipe You *eat* off these, Lucy.
*Not directly off the shelves*, Lucy thought.
Ill clean them later, Margaret, she said. We were planning to relax today. It *is* the weekend
James, notably, was still fast asleep.
*Exactly*! Weekends are for cooking and cleaning, Margaret said firmly. Fetch a sponge. Next weekend, Ill teach you Jamess favourite meat pie. Youll *love* it!
Lucy froze. Arms crossed. She wasnt about to spend *another* day taking orders in her own home.
Margaret, maybe text before coming over? So we can plan around it.
*Text*? Can I not visit my own son? Margarets eyes narrowed.
You can. But your son lives with someone now. We should *all* respect each others space.
Vicky never minded, Margaret sniffed.
Well, *my* exs mum didnt barge in at dawn either, Lucy shot back. She brought cherry pies. Delicious ones. Want the recipe?
Margarets face darkened. Wrinkles deepened. A flash of anger.
Think carefully, dear. In this family, the nightingale doesnt outsing the lark.
She left, but the tension lingered. Lucy didnt know what to do. James wouldnt listen. His mum treated their place like her own. And always, *always*, the ghost of Vicky hovered.
Vickys stuffed cabbage was better Her mum taught her, James would muse over dinner.
Great. Get *her* to teach you, then.
She suspected Margaret was whispering in his ear but refused to discuss it. She just wanted the topic *gone*.
A quiet month passed. Then*bang*the doorbell rang at dawn. This time, Lucy *refused* to answer. Rude? Maybe. But was it *polite* to ignore her hint and keep invading her home?
Five minutes later, a groggy, furious James stormed out.
Why wont you open the door?
Because I dont *want* to. Guests warn people before turning up. And they dont *rummage* through things.
Shes my *mum*!
Then *you* greet her. Not in *my* flat.
The row that followed probably woke the neighbours. James accused her of rejecting his motherand by extension, *him*. Margaret yelled through the door, demanding entry, blowing up his phone.
Enough. Lucy issued an ultimatum.
Right. Either you explain what *”guest”* means and send her home, or were done.
James chose *done*.
Lucy wasnt heartbroken. They hadnt even married. Maybe it was for the best. A life tethered to his exs shadow and his overbearing mum? No thanks.
Months later, gossip reached her: James had a new girlfriend. A mutual friend filled her in.
She moved in with him *and* his mum. Already wants out. Asks about you.
*Why*?
According to Margaret, youre *perfect*. Gorgeous, strong-willed, a great cook.
We *are* talking about *Margaret*, right?
Seems you only earn her praise *after* leaving James, the friend laughed.
From then on, Lucy trusted her instincts. She listened to warnings but kept her own judgement. And she *avoided* men who couldnt stop comparing her to their exesor whose mothers never let go.
