**Diary Entry**
I still cant believe what happened this morning. The doorbell rang at some ungodly hour, and of course, it was *her*Margaret, Victors mum. Again. No warning, no courtesy call. Just barging in like she owns the place.
*”Arent you going to answer the door?”* Victor grumbled from under the covers.
*”No. And I wont,”* I snapped. *”Guests should announce themselves before turning up. And maybe avoid rifling through my drawers and fridge while theyre at it.”*
*”Youre serious? Thats my mother!”* he hissed, finally sitting up. *”She came to see* me*!”*
*”Then go greet her. But not in my house.”*
I swear, if I had a quid for every time he mentioned how much *better* Emily got on with his mum
*”You know, if I started listing all the ways my ex was better than you, wed both be embarrassed,”* I muttered, scrubbing at the kitchen counter harder than necessary.
*”Though, honestly, I wouldnt bet on myself either,”* I added under my breath. *”If you and Emily were so perfect, whyd you break up?”*
Victor turned away, sulkinghis usual move. *”You already know what happened”*
*”I do. So maybe stop bringing up your precious* Emily *then,”* I shot back. *”Unless you want me to be your next ex.”*
I meant it. I was ready to walk.
We met nearly a year ago at a mutual friends gathering. I even knew Emilynot well, but enough. She was the one who brought Victor along in the first place. Then, a few months later, she vanished. Victor, drunk one night, confessed hed caught her cheating. Even cried about it.
At the time, I thought it was sweeta man unafraid to show emotion, who valued love. Something in me *clicked*. I wanted to comfort him.
Now, I realise that *something* was my maternal instinct, not attraction. But it was enough to start a relationship.
At first, it was lovelyhim picking me up after work, sweet texts, asking if Id dressed warmly. I felt cared for.
Then Emily messaged me.
*”Hey. Heard youre seeing Victor. Not my business, but be careful. Him and his mum? Package deal.”*
I noted it but brushed it off. Love conquers all, right? Just because things went south with one woman didnt mean they would with me.
*”Well figure it out. But thanks,”* I replied, ending the conversation. It felt wrong discussing him behind his back.
Too bad Victor had no such concerns about *my* comfort.
When Margaret first showed up unannounced, I tried to be understanding. Maybe they just didnt realise how rude it was. Maybe she was just worried about her son.
I sent Victor to greet her, threw on clothes, and stumbled outhair in a messy ponytail, dark circles under my eyesto meet my potential mother-in-law. Who was already rummaging through our dresser.
*”Ah, everythings a mess,”* Margaret sighed, smiling like she was doing me a favour. *”Socks wont match themselves. After breakfast, Ill teach you how to fold clothes properly.”*
No *hello*. Just criticism.
And *then*: *”Goodness, look at those eye bags! You should try cucumber masks. Or get your kidneys checked. My friend Margaret”*
I nodded, smiled, and pretended to care about strangers ailments. All I wanted was to crawl back into bedit was *8 AM* on a *Saturday*.
Margaret stayed until evening, critiquing my flower-watering, bathroom-scrubbing, and cutlery-polishing skills. By the end, I was drained. And Victor? Didnt lift a finger.
*”Is your mum always this involved?”* I asked later.
*”Yeah. So?”* He shrugged. *”Shes just being friendly. Emily and I used to live with herit was lively. Now shes lonely.”*
*”Were not moving in with her, though”*
*”Whats your problem with my mum?”* he snapped. *”Emily got on with her just fine.”*
I didnt reply. Emily was eight years younger than me, a people-pleaser. Of *course* shed memorised Margarets friends medical histories and ironed sheets to perfection.
But that wasnt the life I wanted.
Things escalated. Margaret returned the next weekendearly againto inspect the fridge. *”Chicken eggs? I only ever cooked Victor quail eggs. Much better for men.”* She frowned. *”And these shelves You* eat *off these?”*
*”Ill clean them later,”* I said tightly. *”We were hoping to relax. Its our day off.”*
Victor, of course, was still asleep.
*”Days off are for cooking and cleaning!”* Margaret declared. *”Next weekend, Ill teach you his favourite meat pie. Youll love it!”*
I crossed my arms. *”Margaret, maybe take my number? Call before you visit. We might have plans.”*
*”Call? I cant just visit my own son?”*
*”You can. But he lives with me now. Maybe we could all respect each others time?”*
*”Emily never minded,”* she sniffed.
*”Well, my exs mum never showed up at dawn. She* did *bring cherry pies, though. Want the recipe?”*
Margarets face darkened. *”Think carefully, dear. The nights cuckoo wont outlast the days.”*
She left, but the tension didnt. Victor kept comparing me to Emily. *”Her cabbage rolls were better Her mum taught her.”*
*”Maybe yours can teach you, then.”*
A month passed peacefullyuntil the doorbell rang again. This time, I didnt answer.
Victor stormed out, furious. *”Why wont you open the door?”*
*”Because I dont want to. Guests should warn you. And keep their hands off my things.”*
*”Shes my* mother*!”*
*”Then go greet her. Not in* my *house.”*
The fight that followed probably woke the neighbours. He accused me of rejecting him by rejecting her. Margaret screamed outside, demanding entry.
Finally, I snapped. *”Enough. Either you explain what* guest *means and send her home, or were done.”*
He chose done.
I wasnt even sad. We werent marriedprobably for the best. A man still hung up on his ex, tethered to his mum? No, thanks.
Months later, a mutual friend told me Victor had a new girlfriend. *”She moved in with him and Margaret. Now she wants out. Asked to meet you.”*
*”Why?”*
*”According to Margaret, youre* perfect *pretty, strong-willed, a great cook.”*
*”Were talking about the same Margaret, right?”*
My friend laughed. *”Guess she only likes you once youre gone.”*
Lesson learned: steer clear of men who idolise their exesand whose mums still treat them like little boys.
A *bit* of family closeness? Fine. But theres a line. And some men? Theyll never see it.
