The Late Awakening of a MotherinLaw
When everyone else had gone, my motherinlaw finally remembered us. But it was too late
I have been with Louis for more than a decade. I married him at twentyfive. He isnt an only child; he has two older brothers, both long settled with careers, homes and familiesa pictureperfect family, as they say. Their mother, Geneviève Lefèvre, is a strongwilled woman who never hides behind anyone. She raised the three boys on her own and never bent her back.
From the moment we were engaged, I sensed a special hostility from her toward me. Nothing overt, but her silences at dinner, sideways glances and calculated oversights spoke volumes. I pretended not to notice. Perhaps I hadnt lived up to her expectations, or maybe she simply couldnt let go of her youngest.
Louis was her anchor. After the older brothers left the nest, he stayed to help with errands, medical appointments and paperwork. Then I arrived, and everything shifted.
I tried every way to win her over: slowcooked meals, invitations to celebrations, carefully chosen gifts. I even attempted to call her mom, but the word caught in my throat. She kept a cool distance, and I felt like an outsider in that clan.
When our son Gabriel was born, Geneviève became more presentfor a brief lull. The moment the older siblings brought more grandchildren into the picture, our child faded into the background. She spent Christmas with them, called them weekly, and left us on the back burner. The worst part was that she consistently forgot my birthday unless Louis reminded her. No card, no message. I suffered, then accepted it: not everyone gets to have two mothers.
Years passed in a modest but respectable life. Our daughter Élodie arrived. Louis worked, I tended to the children. My motherinlaw lingered on the edge of our worldrare visits, same distance. We made no effort to force anything.
Last year her husband died. The blow shattered her. Doctors, antidepressants and a diagnosis of senile depression followed. The older brothers visited once, dropped off groceries, and then disappeared. Louis and I made occasional trips to her Paris flatmore often than they did.
Then, in midDecember, she invited us to spend New Years Eve together. I need you, she whispered. I accepted; you dont abandon a vulnerable person.
I was preparing foie gras and plating the Yule log while she sighed on the sofa. Will François and Mathieu come? I asked. She shrugged. Whats the point?
Midnight was drawing near when she suddenly sat up. Sit down. I have a proposal. Her voice trembled. I asked my other daughtersinlaw to take me in. They said no. So move in here. In return, Ill bequeath the apartment to you.
The shock hit hard. All those years of indifference, and now, because the others turned away, she turns to me? As if a threeroom Parisian could erase two decades of coldness?
Louis promised to think it over. In the car, I broke downnot with screams, but with a tight voice.
Listen, Im no saint. I wont live with the woman who treated me like a ghost, who never showed up for 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 a comfort, not a selector. She excluded us from her family story, now she reaches for her favorites.
He fell silent. I knew his anguish, but he understood me.
We never returned to Rue de Rivoli. A few frosty phone calls later, she blamed us for her disappointment. I thought: what right does she have to expect a smile bought with square metres?
No. Dignity isnt for sale. If youre nothing in the bright days, dont become a shield against the shadows.
It isnt revenge, just the painful lesson of choosing those who truly choose you.
The Late Awakening of a Mother-in-Law
