Years ago, when I was but twenty-nine and wed to my husband, Edward (a man of thirty-one), his familys closeness often felt more burden than blessing. His mother, Margaret, had a way of blurring linesalways with a smile, yet never quite letting me forget I was an outsider in their tight-knit fold.
Her remarks were laced with sugar but stung all the same. “A mothers love is the first and longest,” shed say, or, “Youll understand one day, when your own son leaves you behind.” I bit my tongue, kept my manners, and played the part of the dutiful daughter-in-law, though it wore thin as time passed.
Then came Edwards birthday. The family had booked a table at a fine establishment in LondonThe Gilded Rose, it was called. I dressed carefully, brought him a finely crafted pocket watch, and arrived with every hope of a pleasant evening.
Yet the moment we entered, there she was, Margaret, already settled beside him. I took the seat opposite, thinking little of ituntil she rose abruptly, fixing me with a pointed stare. “Goodness, must you cling so?” she announced, loud enough for the entire room to hear. “Let the poor man breathe for once!” Then, with a dismissive wave, she added, “Move along, dear. A mother ought to sit with her son on his special day.”
Laughter rippled through the partyEdward’s included.
My cheeks burned, but I held my tongue and shifted down the bench, watching as she all but claimed him like a prize. Minutes dragged, the jest lingering in the air as though I were the punchline. At last, I could bear it no longer. Standing, I gathered my gloves and reticule. “I believe I shall take my leave,” I said, calm but firm. “Happy birthday, Edward.” And with that, I departed.
Later, a furious letter arrived from Edward, accusing me of causing a spectacle and shaming him before his kin. Margarets note followedshort, airy: “Apologies if our humour doesnt suit your sensibilities. We meant no harm.”
Now he refuses to speak to me unless I beg pardon. And though I know their behaviour was unkind, I find myself wonderingwas it truly so wrong of me to walk away? Ought I to apologise for wishing to be treated with respect? Even now, the question lingers.
