When my fiancé introduced me to his mother, she handed me a stack of thirty demands.
Emma Clarke, have you lost your mind? I blurted. This is absurd!
Nothing absurd, love. Im just saying what I think, she replied.
But you cant tell the boss outright that his decisions are idiotic!
Emma leaned back in her swivel chair, a wry smile on her face. At thirtyfive shed learned not to keep quiet when something was wrong. Her colleague and friend, Lucy, twisted a pen nervously, glancing at the office door.
Emma, if we stay quiet no one will ever think were anyone at all, Lucy whispered. The new project is a disaster and Ive said it.
And now?
Now we let them think what they will. My conscience is clear.
Lucy shook her head and returned to her computer. Emma checked her phonethree missed calls from James. She smiled. James had entered her life six months earlier and everything had shifted. After a failed marriage that ended five years ago, she never expected love again. James, however, was differentattentive, caring, reliable.
She called him back.
Hey, sunshine. Hows it going?
Fine. Had another row with the boss.
Youre hopeless, his voice carried a grin. Listen, I need a serious chat.
Whats up?
Nothing bad. Just my mum wants to meet you. Were heading to her place this weekend.
Emma froze. Meeting the mother was a serious step. James had spoken a lot about her. Margaret Clarke, sixtyeight, a widow, lived alone in a countryside cottage outside London. According to James, she was strict but fair.
Are you sure? Isnt it a bit early?
Emma, weve been together half a year. Its time. Mum keeps asking when Ill introduce her to the woman I keep talking about.
Alright, Emma sighed. Saturday then?
Yes. Ill pick you up at ten. Dont worry, itll be fine.
The rest of the week was spent preparing. Emma bought a modest darkblue kneelength dress, chose a box of quality chocolates and a bunch of chrysanthemumsJames said his mum loved those flowers.
On Friday evening she rang Lucy.
Can you believe Im meeting his mum tomorrow?
Oh, thats serious! Nervous?
Terrified. What if she doesnt like me?
Stop it, youre wonderful. What could she possibly dislike?
James says shes strict. What if she decides Im not good enough for her son?
Dont overthink it. Everything will be fine.
Still, Emma lay awake, drinking water several times through the night. In the morning she wrestled with her hair, finally settling on a neat bun.
James arrived right at ten, looking sharp in dark trousers, a white shirt and a blazerEmma rarely saw him so formal.
You look lovely, he said, planting a kiss on her cheek.
Thank you. You look dashing toopractically a groom.
He smiled oddly, saying nothing more.
The drive took about an hour. James chatted about work, holiday plans, but Emma only halflistened. The closer they got to his mothers cottage, the tighter her stomach clenched.
The house was a large twostorey building with a welltended garden. At the gate, Margaret waited, tall and imposing in a crisp suit, her silver hair neatly styled, face unreadable.
Hello, mum, James kissed her cheek. This is Emma.
Good afternoon, Mrs. Clarke, Emma offered the flowers and chocolates. Pleasure to meet you.
Margaret surveyed her from head to toe, accepted the gifts and nodded.
Please, come in.
Inside the foyer was spotless, everything in its place, the living room furnished with heavy wooden pieces and family photographs in matching frames.
Have a seat, Margaret gestured to the sofa. Would you like some tea?
Yes, thank you.
While Margaret disappeared to the kitchen, Emma examined the photosJames as a child in school uniform, in military attire, at his university graduation, always with his mother beside him; his father appeared only in faded older pictures.
My dad died when I was fifteen, James murmured, noticing her stare.
Margaret returned with a teapot, cups, a sugar bowl, all from a matching set, and sat opposite Emma.
So, Emma. James has told me a lot about you.
I hope only good things.
A mixture, Margaret sipped. You work as an accountant?
Yes, for a construction firm.
Were you married before?
Emma braced herself; the question was expected but still uncomfortable.
I was. Divorced five years ago.
Any children?
No.
Why the divorce?
James shifted uneasily on the sofa.
Mom, maybe we shouldnt
James, I have the right to know who my son is involved with, Margaret said sharply, then turned to Emma. Explain, then.
Emma took a deep breath.
He was unfaithful. I found out and filed for divorce.
I see, Margaret nodded. And no children?
We tried, it just didnt happen.
Health issues?
Mum! James raised his voice. What? If she has fertility problems, I should knowI need grandchildren.
Emma felt her cheeks flush. The conversation was far from what she had imagined.
Im perfectly healthy. Its just that the marriage fell apart.
Very well, Margaret placed her cup down. Now to business. James may not have mentioned this, but our family has certain traditions. If you intend to join us, you must know and follow them.
She rose, fetched a folder from a side table, and handed Emma several stapled sheets.
Whats this? Emma asked, bewildered.
A list of requirements for the future daughterinlaw. Thirty points. Read carefully.
Emma glanced at James, who stared at the floor. She unfolded the paper.
First point: the daughterinlaw must visit her motherinlaw at least twice a week.
Second: she must be able to prepare every dish from the family cookbook.
Third: she must bear at least two children within the first three years of marriage.
Fourth: she may not work after the first child is born.
Fifth: all major purchases must be approved by the motherinlaw
The list continued with stipulations about dress, housekeeping, childrearing, even the hairstyle she was allowed to wear.
Is this a joke? Emma asked, looking up.
Im not joking, Margaret replied coldly. My late daughterinlaw adhered to these rules without fail.
You had a elder son?
There was one. He died in a car crash with his wife three years ago. James is now my only child, and I wont let him marry an unsuitable woman.
Emma turned to James.
You knew about this list?
He nodded, eyes still fixed on the floor.
And you said nothing?
I hoped Mum would change her mind, or that youd agree.
Agree to this? Emma stood, throwing the papers onto the table. James, this is medieval!
Dont dramatise, Margaret said, pursing her lips. These are reasonable expectations for a respectable woman.
Reasonable? Point fifteen says I must hand over my salary!
For the family budget. Ill allocate the money appropriately.
Point twentytwo says I cant see friends without your permission!
A married woman has no need to gallivant with friends.
And point twentyeight? I must live with you for the first year after the wedding?
So I can teach you proper household management.
Emma shook her head.
This is madness. James, how could you bring me here knowing all this?
Emma, lets talk calmly
Whats there to talk about? That your mother wants to turn me into a slave?
How dare you! Margaret rose, her face flushing. Im offering you honest terms. In return youll get a fine husband, a comfortable life, a family.
Im not a commodity to be bought!
All women are for sale; the price just varies, Margaret said icily.
Emma snatched her bag.
James, drive me home. Now.
Emma, wait
If she leaves now without accepting my terms, its over between you two, Margaret cut in.
James stood, glanced at his mother, then at Emma. Pleading edged his eyes.
Emma, maybe youll reconsider? Not all points are set in stone; we can discuss.
All points are absolute, Margaret interjected. No exceptions.
Emma looked at James, torn between the man she loved and his domineering mother.
Take me home, she whispered.
The drive back was silent. James tried several times to speak, but Emma stared out the window. He stopped in front of her flat, turned to her.
Emma, lets talk.
About what? That youve been lying to me for six months?
I wasnt lying! I just didnt know how to say it.
You took me to restaurants, gave me flowers, spoke of love, yet your mother prepared this list for me.
I hoped shed change her mind once she got to know you better.
She doesnt even want to know me. She wants a robot to obey her commands.
Mum is just lonely. After her husband and brother died shes alone. Im all she has.
What else do you have, James? Besides Mum?
He was silent.
Youre thirtyseven, a grown man. Yet you cant decide without your mothers approval.
Thats not true
It is, James. And you know what? Im not angry. I pity you.
Emma stepped out of the car, James followed her.
Emma, wait! I love you!
She halted at the doorway, turned.
If you loved me, you wouldnt have subjected me to this humiliation. Goodbye, James.
She slammed the door, dropped her shoes and flopped onto the sofa. Tears rose, but she swallowed them. Enough. No more crying over men unworthy of her tears.
Her phone rang. It was Lucy.
So? Did his mum like you?
Lucy, it was a nightmare.
What happened?
Emma recounted everything. Lucy gasped intermittently.
Shes insane! And James brought you there like a lamb to the slaughter.
He says he loves me.
He loves his mum. To you, he was just a pastime.
Dont say that.
Its the truth. A decent man would never allow that.
Emma knew Lucy was right, but the heart doesnt obey logic. She still loved James, and that love didnt flick off with a snap.
That evening James texted: Emma, lets meet, Ill explain everything. She didnt reply. Later he sent: Ill talk to Mum, get her to soften the list. Again silence.
Late night: I cant live without you. Please answer.
Emma switched the phone off.
The next morning at work she forced herself to focus on numbers, but the thirtypoint list kept flashing in her mind. How could anyone in the twentyfirst century demand such things?
Miss Clarke, you have a visitor, the secretary announced.
Who?
An elderly lady, says its a personal matter.
Emma frowned. Could it be?
In the reception area sat Margaret, still in her austere suit, handbag on her knees.
What are you doing here?
We need to talk.
We have nothing to discuss.
There is something. Five minutes of your time.
Emma wanted to decline, but curiosity won. She escorted the woman to a meeting room.
Im listening, Margaret said, smoothing her skirt.
You left yesterday without hearing the end.
I heard enough.
No. You dont know the whole story.
I dont want to know.
My elder son Andrew married against my wishes, Margaret began, looking out the window. I opposed his bride; she was frivolous, carefree. I knew it wouldnt end well.
And?
They married. A year later she cheated. He forgave, then she cheated again. They both died in a crash. She was with a lover.
Emma stayed silent.
I found their letters after they died. She mocked my son, called him a rag, spent his money, loved someone else.
Im sorry, but
I dont want history to repeat. James is my only son. I must protect him.
Protect? Youre suffocating him!
Im caring for him.
Youve turned him into a man who cant step out without your blessing.
Margaret pursed her lips.
Ive made him a respectable man.
A man who, at thirtyseven, still lives with his mother and fears contradicting her.
He doesnt live with me. He has his own flat.
But you make the decisions.
Margaret stood.
I see this conversation is futile. Rememberif you dont accept my conditions, James will find someone else. Someone who will.
Let him look. Hell probably find someone as spineless as he is.
She left, leaving Emma alone in the room. The story of Andrew explained a lot, but it didnt excuse turning another sons life into a prison.
The day dragged on. James called several times; she ignored him. That evening, as she left the office, she spotted his car in the lot. He waited.
Emma, please hear me out.
Your mother already came. I know everything about your brother.
She did? he asked, surprised.
Yes. She tried to justify herself.
What now?
What do you think?
He lowered his head.
James, I truly love you. But your mum shes all I have left of my family.
You could have a family of your own. A wife, children. Yet your mother wont let you.
Shell if the woman accepts her terms.
You dont understand. No normal woman would accept that. If she did, itd be for money, not love.
Youre wrong
Right, James. Deep down you know it.
He stared at his shoes.
You know what? I wish you happiness, truly. But youre a puppet in your mothers hands. Until you realise that, nothing will change.
She walked past him to the bus stop. He shouted, Emma! Ill wait! Maybe youll change your mind! She didnt look back.
A week later Lucy dragged her to a café after work.
Stop sulking. Forget the mumboy.
Im not sulking. Just thinking.
Whats there to think about? He showed his true colours.
Lucy, he isnt a bad person. Hes just weak.
Do you need a weak man?
No, I dont.
Thats it. Move on and live.
Easy to say, hard to do. Emma couldnt simply erase six months of love. Yes, James had been caring, but all that care was filtered through his mothers control.
On Saturday she visited her own mother in the suburbs, a tiny cosy house full of paintsplattered canvasesher mums retirement hobby.
Emma, you look downcast, her mum said, pulling her into a hug.
Its fine, mum.
Dont lie me. Whats wrong?
Over tea Emma spilled the whole saga.
Good thing it turned out this way, her mum said.
Why good?
Imagine marryingWith her mothers wise words echoing in her heart, Emma finally sealed the chapter of that suffocating past and stepped confidently toward a future she would build on her own terms.
