For Margaret Thompson, that October when Michael married Christine was a dark time. She barely noticed the golden beauty of autumn. All she saw was her boyher purpose, her greatest projectslipping away into the grasp of that Christine.
She had taken an instant dislike to her future daughter-in-law. Too self-assured, too independent. Looked her straight in the eye, had her own opinions. Worst of allshe had a child on her hip, born out of wedlock. What sort of woman did that make her? “Shes trapped my Michael,” Margaret thought bitterly. “Now hell have to provide for her daughter too.”
There had been another girl, once. Emma. The daughter of her friend. The one Margaret had silently planned a future forquiet, obedient, working as an accountant for a respectable firm. Most importantly, Emma understood the bond between mother and son. She had even said once, “Margaret, Ill always seek your adviceyou know him best.” The right words, the right kind of girl.
But this Christine! Impossible to reason with. Every offer of helphow to make Michaels favourite meat pies, how to press his shirtswas met with a polite but firm, “Thank you, well manage.” That word”we”cut Margaret to the quick. She was his mother! She knew best!
***
At Christines home, no one was overjoyed either. At nearly thirty, she still lived with her parents, raising her daughter, longing for love. Michael had proposed swiftlybarely a month after they metthough at first, he hadnt wanted the child. Then, a few months later, he insisted on a registry office wedding. “Ive found my match,” he declared. “Time to build a nest.”
Christine was over the moon. This was the blinding, all-consuming love shed dreamed of. When anyone cautioned herreminded her 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 mother sipped her tea, watching her with quiet sorrow.
“Christine, you do realise Michaels difficult, dont you?” she ventured.
“Mum, hes just sensitive!” Christine shot back. “No ones ever understood him. But I do.”
“Its not about understanding, love. Hes used to being coddled, living under his mothers wing with no responsibilities. Are you ready to carry everything? Him, his mother, your daughter?”
“Hell outgrow her once were a family! Michael just needs love and support. I can give him that.”
Her sister Victoria was blunter. After an evening where Michael monopolised the conversation, ranting about a past employer without letting anyone else speak, she pulled Christine aside.
“Chris, your Michael is a proper narcissist. Cant you see it? He doesnt notice anyone but himself.”
“Hes just upset. You havent seen how tender he can be!”
“Youre romanticising him,” Victoria sighed. “Marriage isnt about tendernessits about who takes the bins out and brings you tea when youre ill.”
Christine didnt listen. She thought her family envied her whirlwind romance. Didnt believe in true love. She and Michael barely argued in those early months. She adored setting up their home, trying new recipescooking for him was a joy. And with his frequent business trips, they missed each other terribly. She ignored outsiders warnings, and when her future mother-in-law tried to dictate her life, she shrugged it offthankfully, Michael had his own flat. That gave her hope.
***
If she could have, Margaret would have forbidden the marriage. But it happened too fasther boy was nearly thirty-four, after all. Hopes that hed toss Christine aside like the others faded when the brides family took charge of the wedding. Margaret refused to help. She was the only guest on the grooms side, silently fuming as the brides parents footed the bill. At the ceremony, she watched Christines adoring gaze and thought, “This wont last. Shell tire of him soon.”
After the wedding, Christine moved her daughter in and threw herself into married life. Margaret lived across London but called and visited so often it grated. She criticised everything. Michael never contradicted herperhaps never learned how. And when Christine tried to reform him, Margaret seethed.
When Michael lost his job, Margaret doubled down. Daily calls. Uninvited visits with pies, inspecting the fridge and cupboards.
“Michael, you prefer white socks. Christine, why havent you bought any?”
“Mum, enough,” hed grumblebut he wore the socks she brought.
Christines 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, refusing to “lower himself” with ordinary work. They lived on Christines wages and dwindling savings.
Once, when money ran short, he said breezily, “Just borrow from Mum till payday.”
She stared. “Michael, were adults. Maybe you could actually look for a job?”
“You dont believe in me?” His face twisted. “I wont take just any work! Should I stack shelves, then?”
Margaret seized every complaint, every gripe about Christine, fanning the flames:
“She doesnt understand you, son. Never appreciated you. I always said. Emma would never have treated you this way.”
She painted a world where Michael was cherishedunlike Christines world of nagging and demands to grow up. Michael nodded silently whenever Margaret scolded about dishes in the sink or mud in the hall. Then, after she left, hed snap at Christine: “Why cant you just clean properly so she has nothing to say?”
Christine fought back, of course. Argued, pleaded. But she hit a wall. Michael obeyed his mother. He wanted to lead his own home but had been raised to defer to her. Her word was law. She knew best. In a crisisno money, a row with Christinehe ran to her. She fixed things. She provided. With her, he was safe. His father, burdened by guilt, had always bought his way outfancy bicycles, a motorbike, a car, even a flat by thirty.
Before the affair came to light, Christine realised shed married a perpetual child, doomed to compete with his mother. So when someone sent her damning evidence, she didnt confront him. She called her parents, packed her things, and left.
Margaret, hearing the news, felt only relief. At last, that foolish marriage had crumbled. Her boy was hers again.
First, she soothed him:
“Youre a man, these things happen. She drove you to itnever made a proper home. A man strays when hes unhappy. Dont fret, son. Im here. Well go back to how things were. Ill cook, Ill clean. And who knows? Emma might visit. She always liked you.”
***
Christine, though resolute, was shattered. In her family, marriages lasteddivorce after two years felt like failure. She expected pleas to reconcile, to endure, to forgive. But none came.
Then came the real surprise.
When she called her mother, sobbing, “I cant do this. Im filing for divorce,” the reply was simply, “Alright, love. Come homeyour rooms waiting.”
That evening, as Christine poured out her misery, her mother listened without interruption.
“Divorce him, darling,” she said softly when Christine finally fell silent. “Did Michael ever once put you first?”
“Never, but youre not going to talk me out of it?”
“No. That man will never change. Youd be mothering him forever. Is that what you want?”
Her sister agreed: “Thank goodness! Im glad youve woken up.” Even her grandmother, married fifty-five years, blessed the decision. Her stern father slapped the table: “Good for youno one should tolerate that nonsense!”
Then, a different anger flared in Christine. She stormed to her mother, tears burning.
“Why didnt any of you stop me?!” she cried. “You all saw what he was like! At the wedding, before the wedding! Why didnt you drag me away? Didnt you care?!”
Her mother looked at her with infinite weariness and love.
“Christine, my girl. Would it have changed anything? If Id knelt outside the registry office begging you not to marry himwould you have listened? Or would you have hated me forever, convinced Id ruined your happiness?”
Christine had no answer. Of course she wouldnt have listened. They had tried to warn hershed thought them jealous.
“Sometimes,” her mother said gently, “the only way to learn is through your own bitter mistakes. We couldve forced you away. But youd have resented us, pined for the fairy tale. Now you know. For yourself. And that knowledge will stay with you forever. It hurtsbut its yours.”
Christine weptnot just for the broken marriage, but for the clarity. They hadnt been indifferent. Theyd been wise. Theyd let her stumble so shed learn to see the man, not the fantasy. And that was a lesson beyond price.
***
What do you think?
Its a painful dilemma for any family. Whats rightto prevent a doomed marriage, risking a permanent rift? Or to let a loved one err, offering support when the illusion shatters? Where does care end and interference begin?
