The Late Awakening of a MotherinLaw
When everyone else had gone, my motherinlaw finally remembered usonly when it was too late.
Ive been with Louis for more than a decade. We married when I was twentyfive. He isnt an only child; he has two older brothers, both long settled with careers, homes and families. The pictureperfect family, as they say. Their mother, Geneviève Lefèvre, is a steelytempered woman who never hides behind anyone. She raised her three sons on her own and never bowed her head.
From the moment we got engaged, I sensed a particular dislike from her toward me. Nothing outright, but her silences at dinner, the sideways glances, the calculated oversights all spoke volumes. I pretended not to notice. Perhaps I hadnt lived up to her expectations, or perhaps she refused to let go of her youngest.
Louis was her anchor. After the older boys left the nest, he stayed to help with groceries, medical appointments, paperwork. Then I arrived, and everything changed.
I tried everything to win her over: homecooked meals, invitations to celebrations, carefully chosen gifts. I even attempted to call her mom, but the word stuck in my throat. She kept a cold distance, and I felt like an outsider in the family.
When our son Gabriel was born, Geneviève showed up more oftena brief respite. When the older siblings gave her more grandchildren, our child became invisible. She spent Christmas with them, called them weekly, and left us to the shadows. The worst part was her systematic forgetting of my birthday unless Louis reminded her. No card, no message. I suffered, then accepted the fact that not everyone gets two mothers.
Years slipped by. A modest but respectable life. Our daughter Élodie arrived. Louis worked, I cared for the children. My motherinlaw lingered on the edge of our existencestill distant, still visiting only rarely. We never forced anything.
Last year her husband passed away. The shock shattered her. Doctors, antidepressants, a diagnosis of senile depression. The older brothers visited once, dropped off groceries then nothing more. Louis and I made the occasional trip to her Paris apartmentmore often than they did.
In midDecember she invited us for New Years Eve. I need you, she whispered. I agreed, despite everything. You dont abandon a vulnerable person.
I was preparing foie gras and arranging the Yule log while she sighed on the couch. Will François and Mathieu come? I asked. She shrugged. Whats the point?
Midnight approached. Suddenly she sat up. Sit down. I have a proposal. Her voice trembled. I asked my other daughtersinlaw to take me in. They refused. So move in here. In return, Ill leave you the apartment.
The shock hit hard. All those years of indifference, and now, because the others turned her away, she turns to me? As if a threeroom Paris flat could erase two decades of coldness.
Louis said hed think about it. In the car, I broke downnot with screams, but with a tight voice.
Listen, Im not a saint. I wont live with the woman who treated me like a ghost, who never attended her grandchildrens school plays. This sudden affection is just fear of dying alone. Why should we pay with our lives for what she denied us?
Its my mother he murmured.
A mother is supposed to console, not choose favorites. Shes excluded us from her family story and now leans on the ones she prefers.
He fell silent. I could hear his inner conflict, but he understood me.
We never returned to Rue de Rivoli. A few cold calls later, she accused us of disappointment. I think: what right does she have to expect a smile bought with square meters?
No. Dignity isnt for sale. If youre nothing in the bright days, dont become a shield against the darkness.
It isnt revengejust the painful lesson of choosing those who truly choose you.
The Late Awakening of a Mother-in-Law
