There Was Another One. Emma.
The daughter of a friend. The one Margaret had already, in her mind, paired with her son Michael. A quiet, obedient girl. An accountant. Worked for a respectable firm. And most importantlyshe understood and accepted the special bond between mother and son. Emma had even said once, *”Margaret, Id always ask your adviceyou know him best.”* The right words, so perfectly chosen.
But this oneChristine! There was no reasoning with her. Every offer of help, every bit of advice on how to make Michaels favourite shepherds pie or iron his shirts properly was met with a polite but firm, *”Thanks, well manage.”* That *”we”* cut Margaret to the quick. She was his mother! She knew best!
***
At Christines house, no one was thrilled either. Nearing thirty, she still lived with her parents, raising her daughter and, of course, longing for love. Michael proposed moving in together almost immediatelyjust a month after they met, though without the daughter at first. Then, a couple of months later, he suggested marriageas if hed finally found *the one* and was ready to build a nest.
Christine was over the moon. This was the real thing, the blinding love shed dreamed of. When anyone tried to warn hersaying 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 an odd sadness.
*”Christine, love you know Michaels not the easiest sort, dont you?”* she ventured carefully.
*”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 responsibility. Are you ready to carry all of ithim, his mum, your daughter?”*
*”Hell pull away from her once were married! He just needs love and support. I can give him that.”*
Her sister Victoria was blunter. After one visit where Michael spent the entire evening ranting about his old boss without letting anyone else speak, she pulled Christine aside.
*”Chris, your Michaels a full-blown narcissist. Do you even see it? He doesnt notice peopleonly himself.”*
*”Hes just upset. You havent seen how tender and funny he can be!”*
*”Youre idealising him,”* Victoria sighed. *”Marriage isnt about tendernessits about wholl take out the bins and bring you tea when youre ill.”*
Christine didnt listen. She thought her family was just jealous of her whirlwind romance. Didnt believe in true love. And she and Michael hardly argued in those early months. She loved nesting in their new place, trying new recipescooking for him was a joy. Plus, he travelled often for work, so they missed each other. In short, she ignored outside opinions. And when her future mother-in-law tried to be her chief advisor, she calmly brushed it offthankfully, Michael had his own flat. That gave her hope.
***
If Margaret could have, shed have forbidden the marriage. But it all happened too fasther boy was nearly thirty-four, after all. Her hope that hed dump Christine in three months, like all the others, never materialised. Worse, the brides family got involved. Margaret refused to help with the wedding. She was the grooms only guest and figured if the brides parents wanted an expensive affair, that was their problem.
At the ceremony, she never took her eyes off the couple. Christine was clearly besotted, gazing at her son like he hung the moon. *”This wont last,”* Margaret thought. *”Shell tire of him. Michael could never live with her.”*
After the wedding, Christine brought her daughter home and threw herself into married life. Margaret lived across town but called and visited so often it grated on her daughter-in-laws nerves. She criticised everything. Michael never stood up to hermaybe didnt know how. And seeing Christine try to *reform* him, demand things of him, made Margaret boil with rage.
When Michael lost his job, she doubled down. Called daily. Dropped by unannounced with pies, checked their fridge and cupboards.
*”Oh, Michael, you prefer white socks. Christine, why havent you bought any?”*
*”Mum, enough,”* Michael mutteredbut he wore the socks she brought.
Christines disillusionment came slow and painful. First, she couldnt compete with Margarets cooking or cleaning. Second, she worked moreMichaels *”temporary”* unemployment stretched to six months. He waited for his bankrupt firms payout, refusing to job-hunt, convinced the world owed him something *”worthy.”* They lived on Christines salary and meagre savings.
Once, when money ran too low for groceries, he said breezily, *”Just call Mum, borrow till payday.”*
She froze.
*”Michael, were adults. Maybe you could start looking for work?”*
*”You dont believe in me?”* His face twisted. *”I wont take just any job! Or dyou want me stacking shelves?”*
Margaret seized every complaint, every gripe about his wife, fanning them into flames:
*”She doesnt understand you, son. Doesnt appreciate you. I always said. Emma would never treat you like this.”*
She painted an illusiona world where Michael was cherished, unlike Christines world of nagging and unreasonable demands to *grow up.* Michael stayed silent. Nodded when Margaret nitpicked about unwashed dishes or sand in the hall. Then, after she left, hed snap at Christine: *”Why cant you just clean properly so theres nothing to complain about?!”*
Christine fought back, of course. Tried to reason, argue, prove her point. But she hit a wall. Michael obeyed his mother. He wanted to lead his own family but had been raised to believe Mums word was law. *She* knew best. In a crisisbroke, fighting with his wifehe ran to her. Because she fixed things. Because she provided. Because with her, it was safe and familiar. Mum always had his back. And as for money? Michael had never strained for it. His guilt-ridden father had bought him a bike, then a scooter, then a car, even a flat by thirty.
Before the affair came to light, Christine realised shed married an eternal childdoomed to compete with his mother forever. So when someone sent her a rather *revealing* video, she didnt even confront him. She called her parents, packed her things, and left.
Margaret, hearing the news, felt only relief. At last, this foolish marriage had crumbled. Her boy was hers again.
First, she comforted Michael:
*”Youre a manthese things happen. Its her fault, pushing you away. If a mans happy at home, he doesnt stray. Dont worry, son. Itll all sort out. Mums here. Youll seeeverything will go back to how it was. Ill clean, Ill cook. Maybe Emma will visit. She always liked you.”*
***
Christine, though she left decisively, was shattered. In her family, nearly every couple stayed married for lifedivorce after two years felt like total failure. She expected pleas to *”work it out,”* to *”forgive.”* But they never came.
Then came the strangest part.
When she called her mum, sobbing, *”I cant do this. Im filing for divorce,”* the reply was simple: *”Alright, love. Come home. Your rooms waiting.”*
That evening, as Christine poured out every detail, her mother listened without interrupting.
*”Divorce him, love,”* she said softly when Christine finally stopped. *”Did Michael ever once meet you halfway?”*
*”Never. But youre not going to talk me out of it?”*
*”No. That man wont change. Youd be mothering him forever. Is that what you want?”*
Her sister said the same: *”Good for you! Glad youve finally woken up.”* Even her grandma, married fifty-five years, blessed the divorce. Her strict dad, usually all for tradition, slammed the table: *”Well done for not putting up with that nonsense!”*
Then, a different fury rose in Christine. She stormed to her mother, ready to fight.
*”Why didnt any of you say anything?!”* she cried, tears choking her. *”You all saw what he was like! At the wedding, before the wedding! Why didnt you stop me? Drag me away? Did you even care who I married?!”*
Her mother looked at her with infinite weariness and love.
*”Christine, my darling. What would have changed, tell me? If Id knelt outside the registry, begging you not to marry himwould you have listened? Would you have believed me? Or would you have hated me forever, convinced Id ruined your happiness?”*
Christine said nothing. There was no answer. Of course she wouldnt have listened. They *had* tried to warn hershed just called them jealous.
*”Sometimes the only way to learn is through your own mistakes,”* her mother said gently. *”We couldve forced you to avoid this one. But then youd have spent your life mourning a fairy tale, blaming us. Now you know. For yourself. And that knowledge will stay with you forever. It hurtsbut its yours.”*
Christine wept. Not just for the broken marriage, but for the awakening. They hadnt been indifferent. Theyd been wise. Theyd let her fall, so shed learn to see the mannot the fantasy. And that lesson was priceless.
***
What do you think?
A familys hardest choice. Whats righttrying to stop a doomed marriage, risking a permanent rift? Or letting a loved one learn the hard way, supporting them when it crumbles? Wheres the line between care and controlling someones fate?
