Take off your wedding band, my dear, my daughter needs it more demanded the mother-inlaw over the family dinner.
We cant keep putting it off, Emma! Either you see a doctor, or Ill book it for you myself James thumped his fingers on the table, his eyes flicking to his wife with a thin veil of irritation.
Dont start again, Emma sighed, running a hand through her hair. Its only been three months. The doctor said we should wait six before sounding any alarms.
Three months? James scoffed. Weve been married two years. Two! And still nothing. My mother asks every day when shell be holding grandchildren.
Emma turned to the cupboard, pretending to look for something. Talk of children always ended in a clash. She wanted a baby too, but nothing seemed to happen, and the constant pressure from the motherinlaw only made the ache sharper.
Speaking of your mother, she switched the subject. Dont forget theyre coming for dinner tomorrow. We need groceries.
Already bought them, James muttered, cooling down. Mum wants duck with apples, like at Christmas. She says your cooking is what she misses most.
Emma managed a faint smile. At least the fatherinlaw appreciated her culinary skill, unlike his wife who found fault in everything Emma touched.
Is Lucy coming too? Emma asked, meaning Jamess younger sister.
Of course. And not alone, James brightened. Mum says shes got a new beau. A serious chap, a doctor.
Emma felt a twinge of envy. Lucy, twentytwo, already had three serious boyfriends in the past year. The motherinlaw constantly set her up as the perfect daughterinlaw: pretty, clever, careerdriven. And Emma, at thirty, was still childless and without any remarkable promotion.
James slipped behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Im sorry, love. I didnt mean to pressure you. Im just worried.
I know, she placed her hand over his. All will be fine. Ill make your favourite duck tomorrow and everyone will be happy.
He kissed her cheek and drifted to the living room to watch the football, while Emma stayed in the kitchen, mentally ticking off the tasks for the next day: washing the celebratory china, ironing the tablecloth, polishing the silver until it shone any slip would be spotted by her motherinlaw. She also had to decide what to wear: elegant but not gaudy. No matter how hard she tried, Margaret Clarke always found something to nitpick.
At dawn Emma rose earlier than usual. James was still asleep, so she slipped out of bed silently, careful not to wake him. The day ahead loomed long and demanding.
By three oclock the flat glittered with cleanliness, the duck rotted gently in the oven, filling the rooms with a sweet, autumnal scent. The table was set as if awaiting not just relatives but distinguished guests. Emma examined her reflection in the mirror. A darkblue sheath dress with a high collar elongated her figure, and a light wash of makeup freshened her look. On her finger sparkled a platinum wedding band, modestly set with a tiny diamond a wedding gift from her parents.
You look stunning, James said, wrapping his arms around her from behind. As always.
Thanks, she replied, smoothing her nerves. Every encounter with Margaret felt like a trial. I hope your mum enjoys the dinner.
She will, he winked. No one can turn down your duck.
The doorbell rang precisely at five. Margaret was never late.
My dears! she exclaimed, entering and planting a kiss on Jamess cheek. Emma received only a dry handshake. Ive missed you terribly!
Behind her trudged Peter Clarke, Jamess father a tall, silverhaired gentleman with a kindly face. He embraced Emma and whispered:
Smells marvelous, love. My mouth is watering.
Emma returned his smile gratefully; with him conversation always flowed.
And wheres Lucy? James asked, helping the elders remove their coats.
Shell be here shortly, Margaret replied, eyeing the hallway. With Andrew. Theyre delayed at the clinic.
Andrew? Emma asked.
Her fiancé, Margaret announced proudly. A neurosurgeon. Very promising!
Fiancé? James seemed surprised. Mum, you never mentioned they were?
Not officially yet, Margaret waved it off. But its only a matter of time. Hes hinted at proposing.
Emma caught her fatherinlaws eye; he rolled his pupils subtly, signalling that his wife was once again turning fancy talk into fact.
Please, come into the sitting room, Emma offered. Ill finish setting the table. James, could you lend a hand?
In the kitchen she exhaled and began arranging the appetizers. James uncorked a bottle of red.
Ignore Mums exaggerations, he said. You know she always blows things out of proportion when Lucy is mentioned.
I know, Emma forced a smile. All right, help me carry the salads.
Half an hour later Lucy arrived a brightblond woman with a stylish bob and immaculate manicure. At her side stood a tall, darkhaired man in his midthirties, dressed in a crisp suit.
Hello everyone! Lucy chirped, hugging her brother. Meet Andrew. Andrew, this is my brother James, his wife Emma, and you already know the parents.
Pleasure, Andrew shook Jamess hand and nodded at Emma. Thanks for having us.
Its a family dinner tradition, Emma said. Once a month.
Lovely tradition, Andrew replied. Family is what matters most.
Margaret beamed at Lucy and her companion:
See, James, even Lucy, though younger, has found a fine match. Andrew runs the neurosurgery department, mind you.
Mum, Lucy rolled her eyes, were just dating. Dont embarrass Andrew.
No fuss, Margaret patted her hand. I can see the way you look at each other. Meanwhile, Emma and James have been married two years with no nest, no children.
Mum! James snapped. Weve already talked about this.
What did I say? Margaret feigned innocence. Just stating the facts.
Conversation drifted to the news, politics, recent family happenings. The duck with apples was a hit; even Margaret praised it. Emma relaxed a little, hoping the evening would pass without incident. But the calm shattered when the dessert a homemade tiramisu was brought out.
Lucy suddenly clutched her finger and let out a gasp.
Whats wrong? Andrew asked, alarmed.
The ring is rubbing, she complained, pulling off a thin gold band with a tiny stone. My finger must be swollen from the heat.
Margaret snatched the ring, turning it over. This is cheap costume jewellery! Lucy, you deserve something better.
Mum, its a gift, Lucy tried to take it back, but Margaret held firm.
From whom? Margaret demanded.
From a colleague, Lucy replied reluctantly. For my birthday.
From Kyle? Margaret narrowed her eyes. I knew it! Youre still seeing that scoundrel?
Mum! Lucy protested. Hes a good friend, not a scoundrel.
Margaret huffed and turned to Andrew:
Ignore it, dear. Lucy had a bad fling with a coworker, but she quickly realised he wasnt right for her.
Andrews face tightened; he clearly didnt know about the good friend. Margaret, noticing his discomfort, moved to mend the situation.
See, Emma does the right thing by not wearing cheap baubles, she said, gesturing at Emmas hand. A proper ring is what a married woman should have.
Emma instinctively shielded her left hand with her right, as if protecting her ring. She disliked where Margarets gaze lingered.
James put a lot of thought into picking it, Margaret continued, nostalgic. I remember him showing us catalogues
Actually, it was a gift from my parents, Emma whispered. A family heirloom.
A heavy silence fell. Margarets lips tightened.
Really? she finally said. I thought James bought it.
Emmas right, Mum, James interjected. Its from her parents. They wanted her to wear that specific ring. It means a lot to them.
How sweet of them, Margaret replied, though displeasure lingered. In our family we have traditions too. I, for instance, wore my motherinlaws ring and hoped one day to pass it to my daughterinlaw.
First time Ive heard that, Nicholas Clarke, Peters soninlaw, muttered, ignored by his wife.
Lucy could certainly use a decent ring, Margaret went on, shifting her stare between her daughterinlaw and Emma. Especially now that she has such a serious relationship.
Emma froze, understanding where Margaret was heading. It was too much.
You want me to give my wedding band to Lucy? she asked directly.
Why not hand it over now? Margaret feigned hurt. Just loan it temporarily. Soon she might be engaged and needs to look presentable. Youre already married; you dont need to wear an expensive piece every day.
The room held a tense hush. Emma felt heat rise to her cheeks, Lucys shame, Andrews awkwardness. Only Margaret remained composed, as if the boundaries she crossed were invisible.
Im sorry, Emma said slowly, standing. I need to check the dessert.
She slipped into the kitchen, leaning against the fridge, trying to steady her trembling hands. Six years with James had taught her to endure Margarets outbursts, but tonight had shattered every record. Demanding she surrender a family heirloom to a sisterinlaw who might never even marry? It was beyond the pale.
The kitchen door opened and Jamess father entered.
Forgive her, Emma, he said quietly. Margaret can be a bit particular, especially when Lucys involved.
This isnt just peculiar, Peter, Emma replied, shaking her head. Its disrespectful to me, to my parents, to our marriage.
I know, he said, guilty. Ill speak to her. And you, dont take it to heart, alright?
Emma gave a faint nod, though she knew no conversation would change Margaret. She retrieved the tiramisu and began plating it.
James entered the kitchen then.
Emma, how are you? he asked without meeting her eyes.
How do you think? she replied softly. Your mother just demanded I hand over my wedding ring to your sister, and you said nothing.
I understand, he ran a hand through his hair. You know how she is. Its easier to let it slide.
Let it slide? Emma stared at him, disbelief flashing. This isnt a casual comment. Its a direct demand to give away something I cherish. And you suggest we pretend it never happened?
No, of course not, he moved closer, attempting an embrace, but Emma stepped back. I just dont want a scene. Lets finish the night, then Ill have a serious talk with her.
Like you did the night before? And the one before that? Emma sneered. Every time you promise to talk, nothing changes.
Emma
You know what, she placed the dessert trays on a trolley, carry the sweets yourself. I think Ill lie down. My head is pounding.
She left the kitchen, keeping her posture straight. Passing the living room she nodded to the guests:
Excuse me, Im not feeling well. James will bring the dessert. Enjoy.
She closed her bedroom door firmly.
An hour later the guests departed, their muffled goodbyes hinting at the tension that had hung over the evening. When the final click echoed, silence settled over the flat.
James knocked softly on the bedroom door.
Emma, may I come in?
She did not answer; he peered inside. Emma sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the window.
Theyre gone? she asked, not turning.
Yes, James sat beside her. Lucy apologised for her mum, and Andrew did too. They were both mortified.
And you? Emma asked, turning to face him. Were you mortified?
Absolutely, he lowered his head. I should have stopped her. Said something.
But you didnt, Emma said flatly. As always.
I didnt know what to do, he admitted. You know how she is. If I argue, it only makes things worse.
Worse? Emma laughed weakly. How could it be any worse, James? Your mother publicly humiliated me, demanded a family relic, and you stayed silent. As usual.
She rose and walked to the window.
Ive been thinking, she said, gazing at the city lights. What happens next? Suppose we have a child, and your mother decides she knows better how to raise them. What will you do? Stay quiet?
Emma, dont dramatise, James said, moving behind her. She just loves Lucy a bit too much, wants the best for her.
At our expense? Emma turned to him. That isnt love, James. Its selfishness. And you enable it with your silence.
They stood facing each other, and Emma finally saw the unchanging pattern: James would always find excuses for his mother, always avoid conflict, always put her comfort above his wifes feelings.
Im tired, James, she whispered. Im exhausted fighting windmills. Six years Ive tried to belong to your family, and your mother will never let me in. Never.
What are you saying? fear flickered in his eyes.
She looked at her wedding band. The tiny diamond caught the streetlamps glow, glinting like a solitary tear.
Im saying we need to think seriously about our future she said. About whether there is a future for us together.
James paled.
Emma, you cant
I dont know, she admitted honestly. I truly dont know. But tonight I realised one thing you will never stand up to your mother. I cant live like that.
She slipped the ring off and placed it on the nightstand.
Im going to my parents house for a few days. I need to think.
Emma, please, James grabbed her hand. Lets talk. I promise Ill change. Ill talk to Mum, explain everything
Youve promised that so many times, Emma smiled sadly. Nothing changed. Nothing will.
She gently freed her hand and began packing. James remained by the window, unsure what to say, unsure how to stop her. Deep down he knew she was right. His mother had crossed every line, and he had let her.
When Emma shut the door behind her, James sank onto the bed. The wedding band lay on the nightstand, a silent accusation of promises broken, of a love he could not protect. He pressed the ring in his fist, feeling that it might still be possible to mend things, to convince Emma to return. But that would require him finally saying no even to his own mother.
