**The Late Awakening of a MotherinLaw**
*When everyone else had gone, my motherinlaw finally remembered usonly when it was too late.*
It has been over a decade since I met Louis. I married him at twentyfive. He isnt an only child; he has two older brothers, both long settledcareers, homes, familieswhat people call the perfect picture. Their mother, Geneviève Lefèvre, is a strongwilled woman who never hides behind anyone. She raised the three boys alone and never bowed her head.
From the moment we got engaged, I sensed a particular dislike from her toward me. Nothing was said outright, but her silences at meals, the sideways glances, the calculated oversights spoke volumes. I pretended not to notice. Perhaps I hadnt lived up to her expectations, or perhaps she simply couldnt let go of her youngest.
Louis was her rock. When the older brothers moved out, he stayed to help with groceries, doctor appointments, paperwork. Then I arrived, and his world tipped on its axis.
I tried everything to win her overslowcooked meals, invitations to celebrations, carefully chosen gifts. I even attempted to call her mom, but the word stuck in my throat. She kept a chilly distance, and I felt like an outsider in that family.
When our son Gabriel was born, Geneviève showed up more often. It was a brief respite: once the older siblings gave her more grandchildren, our child became invisible. She spent Christmas with them, called them weekly, and left us in the shadows. The worst part? She consistently forgot my birthday unless Louis reminded her. No card, no message. I suffered, then accepted the fact that not everyone gets two mothers.
Years passed. We led a modest yet respectable life. Our daughter Élodie arrived. Louis worked; I cared for the kids. My motherinlaw lingered on the edge of our existencefar away, 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 dropped by once with groceries and then nothing more. We visited her Paris apartmentless often than they, but more than before.
Then, in midDecember, she invited us for New Years Eve. I need you, she whispered. I accepted, despite everything. One does not abandon a vulnerable person.
I was preparing foie gras and setting the Yule log while she sighed on the sofa. Will François and Mathieu come? I asked. She shrugged, Whats the point?
Midnight drew near. Suddenly she sat up. Sit down. I have a proposal, she said, voice trembling. I asked my other daughtersinlaw to take me in; they refused. So move in here. In return, Ill leave the apartment to you.
The shock hit hard. All those years of indifference, and now, because the others abandoned her, she turns to me? As if a threeroom Paris flat could erase twenty years of coldness.
Louis promised to think it over. In the car I broke downnot with a scream, but with a tight voice:
Listen, Im no saint. I wont live with the woman who treated me like a ghost, who never once came to her grandchildrens school shows. This sudden affection shes just scared of dying alone. Why should we pay with our lives for the love she denied us?
Its my mother he murmured.
A mother comforts, she doesnt sort her children. She wrote us out of her family story, now she reaches for the favorites.
He fell silent. I knew his inner conflict, 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 square meters?
No. Dignity has no price. If youre nothing in bright days, dont become a shield against the shadows.
It isnt revengejust the painful lesson of choosing those who truly choose you.
