I thought my daughter had a happy family until I visited them.
When our Emily told us she was marrying a man eight years older, we didnt object. He made a good impression at oncerefined, polite, attentive. Gregory knew how to make himself loved. He showered our daughter with tender gestures: flowers, holidays, gifts. And when he declared hed cover all the wedding coststhe restaurant, the dress, the videographers, the decorationsI nearly cried. We were certain: our little girl was in safe hands.
*”He owns his own business, Mum, dont worry,”* Emily told me. *”Hes well-off, hes got everything under control.”*
Six months after the wedding, Gregory visited us with Emily. He walked through our flat without a word. The next day, technicians arrived to take measurements. A week later, workmen. And just like that, our old York flat now boasted triple-glazed, soundproof windows. Then came the refurbished balcony, air conditioning, even the tiles were replaced.
My husband and I thanked him, bewildered, but he waved it off. *”Small things. For my wifes parents, nothing is too good.”* Of course, it pleased us. And how could we not be glad to see our daughter so comfortable, so loved, with such a devoted husband?
Then their first child was born. It was like something from a filmleaving the hospital with balloons, a pretty babygrow, lace swaddles, a photographer. Everything was lavish. My husband and I smiled, touched. *”Look at them, a happy family.”*
Two years later, a second child arrived. More gifts, more guests. But Emily seemed hollow. Tired eyes, a strained smile. At first, I thought it was postnatal fatigue. Two children isnt easy. But with every phone call, I felt she was hiding something.
I decided to visit. I warned them. I arrived one evening. Gregory wasnt there. Emily greeted me without warmth. The children played in their roomI kissed them, held them tight. My heart swelledgrandchildren, after all. Then, when they were lost in cartoons, I asked my daughter softly:
“Emily, my love, whats wrong?”
She flinched, looked past me, then smiled stiffly.
“Everythings fine, Mum. Just tired.”
“This isnt just tiredness. Youre empty. You dont laugh anymore. Your eyes are sad. I know you, Emily. Tell me the truth.”
She hesitated. Then the front door slammedGregory was home. Seeing me, his face flickered, almost imperceptibly. He smiled, greeted me, but his eyes were cold, as if I were an inconvenience. And thats when I smelled ita perfume too sweet, too feminine, nothing like him. A French perfume, unmistakably a womans.
When he took off his jacket, I saw lipstick on his collar. Pink. I couldnt stop myself.
“Gregory were you really at the office?”
He froze for a second. Then straightened, looked at me with icy calm, almost brutal, before answering:
“Margaret, with all due respect, dont interfere in our marriage. Yes, theres another woman. But it means nothing. For a man in my position, its common. Emily knows. It doesnt change our family. We wont divorce. The children, my wifeeverythings under control. I provide, Im here. So dont dwell on details like lipstick.”
I clenched my teeth. Emily stood and left for the childrens room, head down. He went to shower as if nothing had happened. My heart ached with helplessness. I went to my daughter, held her tight, and whispered:
“Emily do you think this is normal? That he sleeps with another woman and you endure it? Is this what a family is?”
She shrugged and began to cry. Silently, as if the tears fell on their own. I stroked her back, saying nothing. There was so much to say, but it was useless. The choice was hers. To stay with a man who thought money excused betrayal. Or to choose herself.
She was trapped in this *”gilded cage,”* where, on the surface, everything was perfect. Everythingexcept respect. And love, the real kind, where there are no lies, no contempt.
I left in the night. At home, sleep was impossible. My heart was breaking. I wanted to take her and the children and run. But I knewuntil she decided, nothing would change. All I could do was be there. Wait. And hope that one day, Emily would choose herself.
