“You’re not family,” said the daughter-in-law when I brought flowers on the day they filed their marriage notice.
“Margaret Elizabeth, you left work early today,” remarked my neighbour, Mrs. Clarkson, surprised to see me at the doorstep. “Feeling poorly?”
“No, Mrs. Clarkson, I’m quite well. Just had some urgent matters,” I replied, adjusting my handbag on my shoulder.
“Good to hear. At our age, you never know. My blood pressure spiked yesterdaythought Id have to call an ambulance.”
I nodded absently, barely listening to her complaints. My mind was fixed on one thinggetting to the city centre in time. My son Oliver hadnt given an exact hour, but I knew young couples usually did these things early.
The bus crawled through traffic, and I fidgeted, checking my watch and rifling through my bagpassport, payslips, proof of addresseverything they might need if they decided to sort out her residency straightaway.
I imagined Olivers delight at seeing me. How Emily might blush and thank me for caring. How could they go through such an important day without family?
The registry office stood in an old building at the heart of London. Climbing the steps, my nerves fluttered just as they had forty years ago when Id married my late husband, with my own parents beside me.
The lobby bustled with couples clutching documents, new parents registering babies, clerks shuffling papers. I scanned the room but didnt spot Oliver.
“Excuse me,” I asked the receptionist, “where do we file marriage notices?”
“Second floor, room two-oh-seven,” she said without glancing up.
Upstairs, the corridor stretched long and creaky underfoot. I found the room and peered inside.
“Mum? What are you doing here?” Oliver looked up, startled.
He and Emily sat across from a stern woman in a suit, their passports and forms spread on the desk. Emily wore a pretty blue dress.
“Ollie, darling!” I beamed, stepping in. “How could I miss such a big day? I wanted to support you.”
Emily shot Oliver a glance before turning a cool gaze on me.
“Hello, Margaret,” she said stiffly.
“Emily, love, congratulations!” I moved to hug her, but she leaned away.
“Excuse me,” the registrar cut in, “were in session. If you wish to observe, please take a seat.”
I settled near the wall and pulled out a small bouquet Id bought on the way.
“Emily, these are for you. I know you like chrysanthemums.”
She took them without warmth. “Thanks.”
“Now,” said the registrar, “preferred wedding date?”
“October fifteenth,” said Oliver.
“Eleven a.m. is available. Suits you?”
They nodded.
“Oliver, what about a Saturday?” I suggested. “Weekdays are tricky for relatives.”
“Mum, weve decided,” he said flatly.
“Of course, of course. Youre adultsyou know best.”
Emilys irritation flashed again. Probably just nerves, I told myself.
“Will you have witnesses?” asked the registrar.
“My brother and her friend,” said Emily.
“Or perhaps the parents could sign too?” I offered. “For tradition.”
“Mum, its only two witnesses by law,” Oliver explained patiently.
“Oh, of course. Im just so excited for you.”
The paperwork dragged on. I watched them fondlyso serious, so grown-up. When it was done, I stood first.
“Right! Time to celebrate! Ive booked us a table at that lovely café near Baker Streettheir cakes are divine.”
They exchanged a look.
“Mum, we werent planning anything today,” Oliver said carefully.
“Not planning? But its a milestone! It calls for a proper toast.”
“Margaret,” Emily cut in, icy, “wed rather spend the day alone.”
I stiffened but held my tongue. After stiff goodbyesEmily dodging my hug againthey left me on the registry steps, sunlight glinting off happy couples in the square. I trailed behind, feeling like an intruder.
“Oliver, just one photo?” I pleaded. “For the memories?”
He relented. I fumbled with my phone. “Stand closer! Emily, smile!”
Her grin was wooden. I took a few shots.
“Lovely! Ill frame these straightaway.”
“Mum, we need to go,” Oliver said, checking his watch.
“Where to? Ill walk with”
“We want privacy,” Emily snapped.
Hurt, I bit back a retort. I hugged Oliver, but Emily stepped aside.
“Goodbye,” she said curtly.
“Ill ring tomorrow,” Oliver promised.
I watched them leave, then trudged to the bus stop, my excitement deflated. Id dreamed of café chats, wedding plans, shared joyinstead, Id been tolerated out of politeness.
On the bus, I scrolled through the photos. Oliver looked happy. Emily? Tense, even in pictures.
At home, I cooked his favourite shepherds pie, though Id eat it alone. My thoughts kept circlingwhy had Emily been so cold? Wed met several times before, and shed always been pleasant. Never visited, but Id chalked that up to shyness.
The phone rang as I served myself.
“Margaret, hello!” chirped Mrs. Clarkson. “How did it go?”
“Its done. They filed the notice.”
“Splendid! Did they invite you to celebrate?”
“No. They wanted time alone.”
“How odd! In my day, parents were always included.”
“They say theyre grown-ups now.”
“Grown or not, a mothers a mother. You raised that boy single-handed after your husband passed. And this is the thanks you get?”
I sighed. She wasnt wrong.
Later, my friend Patricia called. “Well? Did they file?”
“They did.”
“Why the glum tone? You should be over the moon!”
“I am. Just tired.”
She pried the story out of me.
“The nerve of that girl!” Patricia exploded. “Who does she think she is? A future daughter-in-law ought to show respect!”
“Pat, maybe shes just nervous.”
“Nervous? Shes marking her territory! That boys too softshes wrapped him round her finger already.”
A knot twisted in my chest. Id feared the same but hadnt dared admit it.
“Listen,” Patricia said firmly, “give them space. Once reality hitsbills, chorestheyll come crawling back.”
I hung up, doubting. Oliver called the next morning.
“Mum, listen Emily was upset yesterday. She felt you werent exactly warm.”
“Not warm? I brought flowers! Planned a celebration!”
“Yeah, but She said you stared at her like you disapproved.”
I was stunned. “Oliver, am I not allowed to care about my son?”
“Of course. But Emily thinks youre overbearing.”
“Overbearing?” My voice cracked. “I just wanted to share your joy!”
“Mum, we need space. Were not kids.”
“So Im surplus now? After raising you alone, sacrificing”
“Dont be daft. But Im a husband now. That changes things.”
Then the blow: “Emily says if you keep this up, she wont engage with you.”
I went cold. “I see. Tell Emily I know my place now.”
“Mum, dont”
I hung up and wept. Forty years devoted to him. Worked two jobs after Charles died, scrimped to give him the best. And now some girl dictated terms?
Patricia rang again, livid. “That little witch! Shes isolating him! Dont you dare grovellet them flounder without you!”
I wavered. That evening, I called Oliver.
“Im sorry about earlier. Maybe I pushed too hard.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
“But know Im here if you need me.”
“Course.”
“And tell Emily I respect your choices. Im not against her.”
A pause. “I will.”
“Ollie whens the wedding?”
“Not sure. Maybe spring.”
“Will I be invited?”
“Mum, youre my mother. Of course.”
That soothed me slightly. Later, I flipped through the photos again. There they wereyoung, in love, smiling.
And beside them, an empty space where the grooms mother shouldve stood.
Only my ghostly reflection in the registry doors filled the gap. Fading. Unneeded.
I shut the laptop. Tomorrow was another day. Maybe hed call. Invite me over. Maybe Emily would see I wasnt the enemy.
For now, I waited. Hoped pride wouldnt fracture us for good.
Outside, dusk settled. The flat grew quieter.
And lonelier.
