“You’re not family,” said the daughter-in-law when I brought flowers on their registry office day.
“Margaret, you left work early today,” remarked Mrs. Thompson, my neighbour, as she met me by the front steps. “Feeling poorly?”
“Oh no, Mrs. Thompson, Im quite well. Just had some urgent matters,” I replied, adjusting my handbag on my shoulder.
“Well, thats good. 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 town centre in time. My son Oliver hadnt given an exact time, but I knew young couples usually went early to submit their marriage notice.
The bus crawled through traffic, and I checked my watch nervously, rifling through my bagpassport, payslips, council tax statementeverything they might need if they decided to sort out the paperwork straight away.
I imagined Olivers delight at seeing me there. How Emily might blush and thank me for caring. How could they go through such an important day without their parents?
The registry office was in an old brick building in the heart of the city. Climbing the steps, my heart raced just as it had forty years ago when Id registered my own marriage with my late husband. Back then, my parents had been by my side.
The lobby was crowdedcouples clutching documents, parents with newborns for registration. I scanned the room but didnt see Oliver anywhere.
“Excuse me,” I asked the receptionist, “where do couples submit marriage notices?”
“Second floor, room 207,” she replied without looking up.
The corridor upstairs was long, the wooden floors creaking underfoot. I found the door ajar and peeked inside.
“Mum? What are you doing here?” Oliver asked, startled.
He sat across from a woman in a sharp suit, Emily beside him in a lovely blue dress. Their passports and forms lay on the desk.
“Oliver, darling!” I stepped in, beaming. “How could I miss such a big day? I wanted to support you.”
Emily shot Oliver a glance, then gave me a cool look.
“Hello, Margaret,” she said stiffly.
“Emily, love, congratulations!” I moved to hug her, but she leaned away.
“Excuse me,” the registrar cut in, “but were in the middle of an appointment. If youd like to stay, please take a seat.”
I sat and pulled out the bouquet Id bought on the way.
“Emily, these are for you. I know you like chrysanthemums.”
She took them, her expression unchanged.
“Thanks.”
“Shall we continue?” the registrar asked. “Preferred wedding date?”
“October 15th,” Oliver said.
“Eleven a.m. is available. Does that suit?”
They nodded.
“Oliver, what about a Saturday?” I suggested. “Weekdays are hard for family.”
“Mum, weve decided,” he said, irritated.
“Of course, of course. Youre adultsyou know best.”
Emilys eyes flickered with annoyance, but I ignored it. Nerves, surely.
“Will you have witnesses?” the registrar asked.
“My brother and her best friend,” Emily said.
“Or perhaps parents could sign too?” I offered. “For tradition.”
“Mum, its only two witnesses by law,” Oliver said patiently.
“Right, sorry. I just want everything perfect for you.”
The paperwork dragged on. I watched them fondly, touched by their seriousness. When it was done, I stood eagerly.
“Shall we celebrate? Ive booked a table at that lovely café on High Streettheir cakes are divine.”
Oliver and Emily exchanged looks.
“Mum, we werent planning anything today,” he said carefully.
“But its such a special occasion! It should be marked properly.”
“Margaret,” Emily cut in, her voice icy, “wed like some time alone today.”
“Of course! Dinner, then? Ive already got ingredients for Olivers favourite roast.”
“Mum, we have plans tonight,” Oliver said firmly.
Something tightened in my chest. Id imagined us laughing over tea, discussing wedding details. Instead, Id been tolerated out of politeness.
“But Im your mother,” I said, bewildered. “How can you do this without me?”
“Were adults, Mum. Well manage.”
Outside, the sun shone, couples strolled the square, posing by the fountain. I walked beside them, feeling like an intruder.
“Oliver, at least lets take a photo?” I pleaded. “Ive got my phone.”
“Well take plenty later.”
“Just one? For memorys sake?”
He relented. I fumbled with my phone.
“Stand closer. Emily, smile, love!”
Her smile was forced. I snapped a few shots.
“Lovely! Ill frame these straight away.”
“Mum, we should go,” Oliver said, checking his watch.
“Where to? Ill walk with you.”
“We want to be alone,” Emily said sharply.
Her tone stung, but I bit my tongue. I hugged Oliver and reached for Emily, but she stepped back.
“Goodbye,” she said curtly.
“Ill call tomorrow,” Oliver promised.
I watched them leave, then trudged to the bus stop, my mood shattered. The photos on my phone showed Oliver happy, Emily stiff and distant.
At home, I cooked the roast anyway, though Id be eating alone. My thoughts kept circling backwhy had Emily been so cold? Wed met several times before; shed always been pleasant, if reserved.
The phone rang as I served my meal.
“Margaret, how did it go?” chirped Mrs. Thompson.
“Its done. Theyve submitted the notice.”
“And they didnt invite you to celebrate?”
“No. They wanted time alone.”
“How odd. In my day, parents were always included.”
“They say theyre grown now.”
“Grown or not, a mothers a mother. You raised that boy single-handed after your John passed. And this is the thanks you get?”
I sighed. She wasnt wrong.
Later, my friend Janet called.
“Well? Did they register?”
“Yes,” I said flatly.
“Why so glum? You should be thrilled!”
I told her everythingEmilys coldness, Olivers distance.
“That little madam!” Janet fumed. “Who does she think she is? A sons mother is sacred!”
“Janet, dont be harsh. Maybe shes just nervous.”
“Nervous? Shes marking her territory! That boys too softshes got him wrapped around her finger.”
I didnt argue. The same fear gnawed at me.
The next morning, Oliver called.
“Mum, about yesterday… Emily was upset. She felt you werent warm toward her.”
“Not warm? I brought flowers, tried to celebrate!”
“She said you looked at her like you disapproved.”
I was stunned.
“Oliver, am I not allowed to care about my son?”
“Of course. But Emily said you were… overbearing.”
“Overbearing?” My voice shook. “I just wanted to share your joy!”
“Mum, we need space. Were not kids anymore.”
“After everything Ive doneraised you alone, worked two jobsnow Im just to step aside?”
“Its not like that. But Emily said if this continues, she wont engage with you.”
The words hit like a slap.
“I see,” I said coldly. “Tell Emily I know my place now.”
I hung up and wept. Forty years of sacrifice, and now some girl dictated my role in my sons life.
Later, I called Oliver back.
“Im sorry for earlier. Maybe I was wrong. But know Im here if you need me.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
“And tell Emily… I respect your choices. Im not against her.”
He agreed, though hesitantly.
“Whens the wedding?” I asked.
“Spring, likely.”
“Will I be invited?”
“Mum, youre my mother. Of course.”
That soothed me slightly. Perhaps this would pass.
That evening, I looked at the photos againOliver and Emily, smiling. And beside them, an empty space where the grooms mother should have stood.
But there was only my faint reflection in the glass doors.
Tomorrow was another day. Maybe hed call, invite me over. Maybe Emily would realise a mother-in-law neednt be a foe.
For now, all I could do was waitand hope pride and stubbornness wouldnt tear this family apart.
Outside, the dusk settled, and the quiet of the house grew heavier.
*Sometimes love means stepping backnot because youre unwanted, but because holding on too tight can push away the very ones you cherish.*
