**She Knows Best**
There was another girl once. Emily.
The daughter of a family friend. The one Margaret had already imagined building a future with her son, Michael. Quiet, obedient, sensiblean accountant at a respectable firm. Most importantly, she understood the bond between mother and son. Emily even said once, *”Margaret, Ill always ask for your adviceyou know him best.”* The right words, the right girl.
Then there was Lucy. Impossible to reason with. Every offer of helphow to make Michaels favourite shepherds pie, how to iron his shirtswas met with a polite but firm, *”Thank you, but well manage.”* That *”we”* cut Margaret to the quick. She was his *mother*. She *knew* better!
***
At home, Lucy wasnt exactly living a fairy tale either. Nearly thirty, still with her parents, raising her daughter, and longing for love. Michael proposed moving in together within a month, though without the child at first. Then, two months latermarriage. *”Found my match at last,”* he said, *”ready to build a life together.”*
Lucy was over the moon. This was the blinding, breathless love shed dreamed of. When anyone dared suggest she slow downthat infatuation was blind, that Michael wasnt readyshe bristled. She loved him fiercely, certain she could warm him, make him happy, help him *”spread his wings.”*
A month before the wedding, she sat at her mothers kitchen table. Her mum sipped tea, watching her with quiet sadness.
*”Lucy, love you know Michaels temperament is difficult?”*
*”Hes just sensitive!”* Lucy shot back. *”No ones ever understood him. But I do.”*
*”Its not about understanding, darling. Hes used to being coddled, living under his mums wing, no responsibilities. Are you ready to carry everything? Him, his mother, your daughter?”*
*”Hell detach once were married! He just needs love.”*
Her sister, Charlotte, was blunter. After an evening where Michael monopolised the conversation, ranting about a former boss, she pulled Lucy aside.
*”Chris, your Michaels a full-blown narcissist. You *see* that, right?”*
*”He was just upset! Youve never seen him tender!”*
*”Youre idolising him,”* Charlotte sighed. *”Marriage isnt tendernessits who takes the bins out.”*
Lucy ignored them. Surely, they were just jealous of her whirlwind romance. She and Michael barely argued those first months. She adored nesting in their home, cooking for him*joyful*, she thought. And with his frequent business trips, absence made the heart grow fonder. Outside opinions? Irrelevant. As for her mother-in-laws meddling? Easily dismissed. At least Michael had his own flatthat was promising.
***
If Margaret couldve stopped the wedding, she wouldve. But it all happened too fasther boy was nearly thirty-four, after all. Hopes that hed toss Lucy aside like the others faded when the brides family took over the arrangements. Margaret refused to help, attended as the grooms only guest, and watched, tight-lipped, as Lucy gazed adoringly at Michael. *”It wont last,”* she thought. *”Shell leave. He could never live with her.”*
After the registry office, Lucy brought her daughter home, determined to build their life. Margaret lived across London but called and visited so often it grated. She criticised everything. Michael never contradicted hermaybe couldnt. And seeing Lucy try to *reform* him? Unbearable.
When Michael lost his job, Margaret doubled down. Daily calls. Uninvited visits with scones, inspecting the fridge and cupboards.
*”Oh, Michael, you prefer white socks. Lucy, why havent you bought these?”*
*”Mum, enough,”* hed grumblebut wore the socks she brought.
Lucys disillusionment came slowly, painfully. First, she couldnt compete with Margarets cooking or cleaning. Second, she worked longer hours as Michaels “temporary” unemployment stretched to six months. He waited for severance from his bankrupt firm, refused to “lower himself,” and expected the world to hand him something “worthy.” They lived on Lucys salary and dwindling savings.
Once, when money ran too low for groceries, he said breezily, *”Just borrow from Mum till payday.”*
She froze. *”Michael, were adults. Maybe start job hunting?”*
His face twisted. *”You dont believe in me? I wont take *any* job! Should I stack shelves?”*
Margaret seized every complaint, every sigh about Lucy, and fanned the flames: *”She doesnt understand you, son. I *told* you. Emily never wouldve done this.”* She painted a fantasy where Michael was cherishedunlike Lucys world of *nagging*. He nodded silently when Margaret nitpicked unwashed dishes or muddy floors, then snapped at Lucy later: *”Why cant you just *clean* so she doesnt complain?”*
Lucy fought back, argued, pleadedbut hit a wall. Michael obeyed Margaret. He *wanted* to lead his new family but had been raised to defer to her. Her word was law. *She knew best.* In crisesbroke, fightinghe fled to her. She *fixed* things. She *provided*. Safe, familiar. His father, guilt-ridden, had always bought his way out: bikes, cars, even a flat by thirty.
Before the affair came to light, Lucy realised shed married a man-child, doomed to compete with his mother forever. So when someone sent her *that* video, she didnt confront him. She called her parents, packed, and left.
Margaret, hearing the news, sighed in relief. *Finally*, that foolish marriage was over. Her boy was hers again.
She soothed him: *”Men stray, son. *She* drove you to itno warmth at home. But dont worry. Mums here. Well manage. Emily might visit she always liked you.”*
***
Lucy left decisively but was shattered. In her family, marriages *endured*divorce after two years felt like failure. She expected pleas to *”work it out,”* but they never came.
Then came the surprise.
When she called her mum, sobbing, *”I cant do this. Im divorcing him,”* the reply was simple: *”Alright, love. Come home.”*
That evening, spilling every detail, Lucy waited for interruptionbut her mother just listened.
*”Divorce him, darling,”* she said softly. *”Did he ever once put you first?”*
*”No, but youre not going to talk me out of it?”*
*”No. That man wont change. Do you want to mother him forever?”*
Charlotte was blunter: *”Thank God! Took you long enough.”* Even her grandmother, married fifty-five years, blessed the decision. Her traditionalist father slammed the table: *”Good on you! No one should tolerate that.”*
Then, Lucys anger turned inward. She confronted her mother, tearful.
*”Why didnt you *stop* me?! You *saw* him! At the wedding, beforewhy didnt you *drag* me away?”*
Her mother met her gaze, weary but loving.
*”Lucy, my love would it have helped? If Id begged at the registry, would you have listened? Or resented me forever?”*
Lucy had no answer. Of course she wouldnt have listened.
*”Sometimes the only way to see clearly is to make the mistake yourself,”* her mum said gently. *”We couldve forced you, but youd have spent your life pining for the *might-have-been*. This way, you *know*. That lesson stays with you.”*
Lucy weptnot just for the failed marriage, but for the truth. They *hadnt* been indifferent. Theyd been wise. Theyd let her fall so shed learn to see the *man*, not the fantasy. And that was priceless.
***
What do *you* think?
Every family faces this. Is it better to stop a doomed marriage, risking permanent estrangement? Or let the mistake happen, offering support when it crumbles? Where does care end and interference begin?
