I first met Marion Clarke when she brought her motherinlaw to our office for introductions, and the woman handed me a stack of thirty demands.
Marion, have you lost your mind? I heard my colleague Sophie gasp. Thats absurd!
Nothing absurd, Sophie, Marion replied, her voice steady. Im just saying what I think.
You cant tell the boss outright that his decisions are idiotic!
Marion leaned back in her swivel chair, a faint smile on her lips. At thirtyfive shed learned not to stay silent when something was wrong. Sophie fidgeted with her pen, glancing toward the door.
Sophie, if we keep quiet no one will ever think of us as people. The new project is a disaster, and I said so.
And now?
Now Ive spoken my mind. My conscience is clear.
Sophie shook her head and returned to her screen. Marion checked her phonethree missed calls from Ian. She smiled. Ian had entered her life six months ago and everything had changed. After a failed marriage that ended five years earlier, she never expected love again. Ian, however, was differentattentive, caring, reliable.
She called him back.
Hey, love. Hows it going?
Fine. Had another row with the boss.
Youre impossible, Ian chuckled. Listen, I need to have a serious talk.
Whats up?
Nothing bad. Just my mum wants to meet you. Were going to her place this weekend.
Marion froze. Meeting the mother was a big step. Ian had spoken often of June Whitaker, his seventyeightyearold mother, a widow who lived alone in a countryside cottage. He described her as strict but fair.
Are you sure? Isnt it a bit early?
Marion, weve been together six months. Its time. Mum keeps asking when Ill introduce her to the woman I keep talking about.
Alright, Marion sighed. Saturday then?
Yes. Ill pick you up at ten. Dont worry, everything will be fine.
The rest of the week was spent preparing. Marion bought a modest darkblue dress that fell to her knees, chose a box of fine chocolates and a bouquet of chrysanthemumsJunes favourite flowers.
Friday evening she called Sophie.
Can you believe Im going to meet his mum tomorrow?
Wow, thats serious! Nervous?
Terrified. What if she doesnt like me?
Dont be silly, youre wonderful. What could she possibly dislike?
Ian says shes strict. What if she thinks Im not good enough for her son?
Dont overthink it. Itll be fine.
Marion still felt a flutter of nerves. She slept poorly, waking several times to drink water. In the morning she wrestled with her hairlet it down or pull it back. She settled on a neat bun.
Ian arrived precisely at ten, dressed sharply in dark trousers, a white shirt and a blazeran outfit Marion rarely saw him wear.
You look stunning, he said, kissing her cheek.
Thank you. You look dashing too.
He smiled oddly, saying nothing more.
The drive took about an hour. Ian chatted about work and holiday plans, but Marion only halflistened. The nearer they got to Junes cottage, the tighter her chest felt.
The house was a spacious twostorey building with a tidy garden. At the gate stood June, tall and imposing in a tailored suit, her silver hair impeccably arranged, her expression unreadable.
Hello, mum, Ian kissed Junes cheek. This is Marion.
Hello, Mrs. Whitaker, Marion offered the flowers and chocolates. Delighted to meet you.
June inspected her from head to toe, took the gifts, and gave a curt nod.
Please, come in.
Inside the home was immaculateno speck of dust, everything in its place. The living room featured heavy furniture and family photographs in matching frames.
Sit down, June gestured to the sofa. Would you like some tea?
Yes, thank you.
While June fetched the tea, Marion examined the pictures: Ian as a child in school uniform, in a military shirt, at his graduation. In every photo June appeared beside him; his father was only visible in a few old images.
Ians father died when he was fifteen, he said quietly, noticing her stare.
June returned with a teapot, cups and a sugar bowlall from the same set. She poured the tea and sat opposite Marion.
So, Marion, Ian has told me a lot about you.
I hope only good things.
Various things, June sipped. You work as an accountant?
Yes, for a construction firm.
Were you married?
Marion tensedshed expected the question, but it still stung.
I was. Divorced five years ago.
Any children?
No.
Why the divorce?
Ian shifted uncomfortably on the sofa.
Mom, maybe I shouldnt, he began.
Junes eyes hardened.
Ian, I have the right to know who my son is involved with, she said, first to Ian then to Marion. So why?
Our personalities just didnt click, Marion replied calmly.
Thats an excuse. Whats the real reason?
Marion inhaled deeply.
My exhusband cheated. I discovered it and filed for divorce.
I see, June nodded. And no children?
We never could.
Health issues?
Ian raised his voice.
Mother! If she has fertility problems, I need to know. I want grandchildren.
Marion felt her cheeks flush. The conversation was far from what shed anticipated.
I have no health problems. It was just my marriage that fell apart.
June set her cup down.
Now to business. Ian may not have mentioned this, but our family has certain traditions and rules. If you intend to become part of the family, you must know and follow them.
She stood, went to a side cabinet, retrieved a folder and handed Marion several stapled pages.
Whats this? Marion asked, bewildered.
A list of requirements for a future daughterinlaw. Thirty points. Read carefully.
Marion glanced at Ian, who stared at the floor, then at the list.
Point one: The daughterinlaw must visit her motherinlaw at least twice a week.
Point two: She must be able to cook every dish from the family cookbook.
Point three: She must bear at least two children within the first three years of marriage.
Point four: She may not work after the first child is born.
Point five: She must obtain her motherinlaws approval for any major purchase
The list went on, detailing how she should dress, manage the house, raise the children, even what hairstyle to wear.
Is this a joke? Marion asked, looking up.
Im not joking, June replied coldly. These were the conditions my late daughterinlaw followed without fail.
You had a son who married against your will?
Hes my only son now. I wont let him be with an unsuitable woman.
Marion turned to Ian.
Did you know about this?
He nodded, eyes still fixed on the floor.
And you said nothing?
I hoped youd reject it, or that youd agree.
Agree to this? Its medieval! Marion snapped, throwing the papers onto the table.
Dont dramatise, June whispered. These are reasonable demands for a respectable woman.
Reasonable? Point fifteen says I must hand over my salary!
For the family budget. Ill allocate the money properly.
Point twentytwo says I cant meet friends without your permission!
A married woman should not be flitting about.
And point twentyeight? I must live with you for a year after the wedding?
So I can teach you proper household management.
Marion shook her head.
This is madness. Ian, how could you bring me here knowing all this?
Marion, lets talk calmly
Talk about what? That your mother wants to turn me into a servant?
Junes face flushed with anger.
Im offering you honest terms. In return youll have a fine husband, a comfortable life, a family.
Im not a commodity to be bought!
All women are for sale; the price just varies, June said icily.
Marion grabbed her bag.
Ian, drive me home. Right now.
Marion, wait
If she leaves now without accepting, its over for you, June cut in.
Ian rose, looked at his mother, then at Marion, pleading in his eyes.
Marion, maybe youll reconsider? Not every point is set in stone; we can discuss.
Every point is mandatory, June interjected. No exceptions.
Marion stared at Ian, caught between the man she loved and his domineering mother.
Take me home, she whispered.
The ride back was silent. Ian tried to speak, but Marion turned toward the window. When they stopped at her house, he turned back to her.
Marion, lets talk.
About what? That youve been lying to me for six months?
I didnt lie! I just didnt know how to say it.
You took me to restaurants, bought flowers, talked about love, yet you knew your mother had this list.
I hoped shed change her mind once she got to know you better.
She doesnt even want to know me. She wants a robot that follows her orders.
Mum is just lonely. After her husband and brother died shes all alone. Im everything she has.
What else do you have, Ian? Besides Mum?
He fell silent.
Youre thirtyseven, a grown man, yet you cant decide without your mothers approval.
Thats not true
It is, Ian. And you know what? Im not angry, I feel sorry for you.
He stepped out of the car, followed her to the door.
Marion, wait! I love you!
She stopped at the entrance, turned.
If you loved me, you wouldnt have put me through this humiliation. Goodbye, Ian.
She slammed the door, kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto the sofa. Tears rose, but she swallowed them. No more crying over men who didnt deserve her tears.
The phone rang. It was Sophie.
Howd it go? Did her mum like you?
Sophie, it was a nightmare.
What happened?
Marion recounted everything, Sophie gasping at each turn.
Shes insane! And Ian took you like a lamb to the slaughter.
He says he loves me.
He loves his mum more. You were just entertainment for him.
Dont say that.
Its the truth. A decent man would never let that happen.
Marion knew Sophie was right, but her heart still ached for Ian.
That evening Ian texted: Marion, lets meet, Ill explain everything. She didnt reply. Later he wrote, Ill talk to my mum, get her to soften the list. More silence. Then, late at night, I cant live without you. Please answer. She turned the phone off.
The next morning at work she tried to focus on numbers, but the thirtypoint list kept flashing in her mind. How could anyone in the twentyfirst century demand such things?
The receptionist announced a visitor.
Ms. Clarke, theres an elderly lady here about a personal matter.
Marion frowned. Could it be?
In the waiting room sat June Whitaker, her suit crisp, posture straight, handbag on her knees.
What are you doing here? Marion asked.
We need to talk.
We have nothing to discuss.
There is something. Five minutes of your time.
Curiosity won. Marion led her to the conference room.
Im listening.
June sat, smoothing her skirt.
Yesterday you left without hearing the whole story.
I heard enough.
You dont know the full history.
I dont want to know.
Junes voice softened as she spoke of her late son Andrew, who had married against her wishes. She described his wife as frivolous, the marriage falling apart, then a tragic car crash that killed both three years ago. She had found letters where the wife mocked Andrew, used his money, loved another.
Im sorry, but I cannot let history repeat itself. Ian is my only son. I must protect him.
Protect him? Youre suffocating him!
Im caring for him.
Youve turned him into a puppet who cant step out of your shadow.
June pursed her lips.
Ive made him respectable.
A respectable thirtysevenyearold who still lives with his mother and cant defy you.
He doesnt live with me. He has his own flat.
But you make the decisions.
June stood.
This conversation is useless. Just rememberif you dont accept my terms, Ian will find someone else who will.
Let him look elsewhere. Hell find a weak woman like himself.
June left, her disdain clear. Marion stayed seated, the story of Andrew explaining much, but not justifying the tyranny.
The day dragged on. Ian called several times; she let it ring. Leaving the office, she saw his car in the lot. He waited by it.
Marion, please hear me out.
Ian, your mother already came. I know everything about your brother.
She did? he was surprised.
She tried to justify herself.
What have you decided?
What do you think?
He lowered his head.
Marion, I truly love you. But Mum shes all I have left of my family.
Ian, you could have your own family. But your mother wont let you.
Shell if you accept her conditions.
You dont understand. No normal woman would accept that. The one who does will be with you out of calculation, not love.
Youre wrong
Yes, Im right, Ian. Deep down you know it.
He stared at his shoes.
You know what? I wish you happiness, truly. But you wont be free until you break free of your mother.
I am independent!
No, youre a puppet, Ian. Until you see that, nothing changes.
She walked past him to the bus stop. He called after her, Marion! Ill wait! Maybe youll change your mind!
She didnt look back.
A week later Sophie dragged her to a café after work.
Stop sulking. Forget that old mans mum.
Im not sulking, just thinking.
Whats there to think about? He showed his true colours.
Sophie, he isnt a bad bloke. Hes just weak.
Do you need a weak man?
No, I dont.
Exactly. Move on and live.
Easily said, but Marion couldnt just erase six months of a relationship. Yes, there were good moments; Ian could be caring. Yet all that care was filtered through his mothers control.
On Saturday she visited her own mother in the suburbs. Her mothers tiny cottage was the opposite of Junescluttered with colourful paintings, the walls alive with her own art.
Marlie, you look downcast, her mum said, hugging her at the door.
Im fine, mum.
Dont lie. Whats wrong?
Over tea Marion poured out the whole saga.
Its a blessing it ended like that.
Why?
Imagine marrying him without knowing all this. It would have been worse.
Youre right.
A good motherinlaw can be a blessing; a terrible one a curse.And so, Marion walked forward with a lighter heart, ready to embrace whatever came next.
