The Late Awakening of a MotherinLaw
When everyone else had left, my motherinlaw finally remembered us. But it was too late
I have been with Louis for over ten years. We married when I was twentyfive. He isnt an only child; he has two older brothers, both wellestablished with careers, homes and familiesa pictureperfect trio. Their mother, Geneviève Lefèvre, is a strongwilled woman who never hides behind anyone. She raised her three sons alone, never bending her back.
From the moment we got engaged, I sensed a particular hostility from her toward me. Nothing overt, but her silences at dinner, her sideways glances, her calculated oversights 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 pillar. When the older brothers moved out, he stayed to help with groceries, medical appointments and paperwork. Then I arrived, and his world shifted.
I tried everything to win her over: simmering stews, invitations to celebrations, carefully chosen gifts. I even attempted to call her mom, but the word got stuck in my throat. She kept a cold distance, and I felt like an outsider in that family.
When our son Gabriel was born, Geneviève became more presentfor a brief respite. When the older siblings gave her more grandchildren, our child faded into the background. She spent Christmas at their homes, called them weekly, and left us forgotten. The worst part was that she routinely forgot my birthday unless Louis reminded her. No card, no message. I suffered, then accepted that not everyone gets two mothers.
Years passed. We led a modest yet respectable life. Our daughter Élodie was born. Louis worked, I cared for the children, and my motherinlaw hovered at the edge of our existencealways distant, visiting only rarely. We didnt force anything.
Last year her husband died. The shock shattered her. Doctors, antidepressants, a diagnosis of senile depression. The older brothers came once, dropped off groceries then nothing more. We visited her Paris apartment not often, but more than they did.
Then, 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 sofa. 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 bequeath the apartment to you.
A shock. Years of indifference and now, because the others abandoned her, she turns to me? As if a threeroom Parisian flat could erase two decades of coldness?
Louis said hed think it over. In the car, I broke downnot with screams, but with a tight voice:
Listen, Im no saint. I wont live with someone who treated me like a ghost, who never even attended her grandchildrens school shows. This sudden affection shes just terrified of dying alone. But why should we pay with our lives for what she denied us?
Its my mother he murmured.
A mother comforts; she doesnt sort her children. She excluded us from her family story, now she reaches for her favorites.
He fell silent. I saw his inner turmoil, but he understood me.
We never returned to Rue de Rivoli. A few cold calls later, she blamed us for her disappointment. I thought: what right does she have to expect a smile bought with a few square meters?
No. Dignity isnt for sale. If youre nothing in the bright days, dont become a shield against the shadows.
It isnt revengejust the painful lesson of choosing those who truly choose you.
The Late Awakening of a Mother-in-Law
