**Diary Entry**
*”Dont you dare dress like that in my house,”* my mother-in-law hissed before the guests arrived.
*”Emily, have you seen my glasses? I think I left them on the coffee table,”* Margaret peered into the kitchen where my wife was putting the finishing touches on the holiday salad.
*”Check the case, Margaret. I tidied the lounge and put them there,”* Emily replied without looking up from slicing vegetables, ensuring each piece was perfect.
My mother pressed her lips together but said nothing. In her world, no one touched anothers belongingsno matter how well-intentionedespecially hers. But she bit back her words; today wasnt the day for arguments.
It was her thirtieth anniversary in this housea grand, high-ceilinged home filled with antique furniture passed down from her own mother-in-law. Every corner bore her touch, every object had its place. Legally, the house now belonged to my brother James and me, but to her, it would always be *hers*.
Emily had only lived with us for two years. Mother hadnt approved of our whirlwind marriagethree months of dating before I brought her home. Too modern, too educated, too *different*, in her eyes.
*”Salads nearly ready,”* Emily said, arranging it on a platter. *”Ill just nip upstairs to change before everyone arrives.”*
*”Youre not wearing that red dress, are you?”* Margaret remarked airily, smoothing her immaculate silver bob.
Emily paused, then met her gaze evenly. *”Actually, yes. James picked it for our anniversary.”*
*”Its hardly suitable for a family dinner,”* Mother clipped. *”Too revealing. What about that lovely blue dress with the collar I gave you at Christmas?”*
Emily exhaled. That frumpy blue dressreminiscent of a school uniformhad been worn exactly once, out of obligation.
*”Margaret, at thirty-two, I think I can choose my own clothes,”* she said gently but firmly.
*”Of course,”* Mother replied with a tight smile. *”Just remember, my friends are comingpeople of a certain age, with certain standards.”*
Without waiting for a reply, she swept out, leaving Emily simmering.
Upstairs, I was buttoning my shirt when Emily walked in. *”Hows the grand reception coming along?”* I joked.
*”Nearly there,”* she said, pulling out *the* red dress. *”Your mothers at it againcriticising what I wear.”*
I sighed. *”Ignore her. Shes just worried about appearances.”*
*”Or *my* appearance,”* Emily muttered, eyeing the dress. It *was* daringlow-cut, with a thigh slitbut hardly indecent.
*”Love, not today, alright? This means a lot to her.”*
*”And my self-respect means a lot to *me*,”* she said quietly. *”Im not a child to be dressed.”*
I hesitated, torn between backing my wife and not upsetting Mother. *”Wear what you like. Youre stunning in anything.”*
She kissed my cheek, but frustration still flickered in her eyes.
By six, guests arrivedMothers old colleagues, neighbours like sharp-tongued Beatrice, all her lifelong friends. Emily and I played host, trading pleasantries while Mother held court in the lounge, reminiscing about her travels.
Later, in the kitchen, Mother cornered Emily. *”Couldnt you find something *modest*?”* she seethed.
*”Weve discussed this. Its just a dress.”*
*”In *my* house, family dinners dont call for *parading* yourself.”* The pie dish clattered onto the counter.
Emily flushed but bit back a retort. *”Lets get back to the guests.”*
At the table, laughter bubbleduntil Mother *needed bread* (the basket was full). As Emily left, I heard Mother whisper, *”Youth todayno sense of decorum.”*
Emily froze, fists clenched, then returned empty-handed. *”Theres plenty of bread, Margaret.”*
Tension thickened as toasts were made. Then Beatricebless herchimed in, *”Your daughter-in-laws a vision! That red dress could grace a magazine!”*
Mother forced a smile. *”Emily *is* fashionable. Though modesty *does* suit a woman.”*
*”Oh, rubbish!”* Beatrice cackled. *”If I had her figure, Id flaunt it too!”*
Later, in the kitchen, Mothers composure snapped. *”How *dare* you disrespect me in *my* home!”*
Emily stepped back, stunned. *”Margaret, its just a dress.”*
*”Youre *mocking* me! Undermining *everything*!”*
I walked in, hearing enough. *”Whats going on?”*
*”Nothing,”* Mother said sweetly. *”Just discussing wardrobe choices.”*
*”I heard you,”* I said coldly. *”Emilys my wife. You *will* speak to her with respect.”*
Mother paled. *”James, you dont”*
*”No, *you* dont. This is *our* home. All of us. And we *all* deserve comfort here.”*
Silence. Then, shockingly, Mother swallowed her pride. *”Perhaps I overreacted. But in my day”*
*”Times change,”* Emily said softly. *”But kindness doesnt. I dont want war. I want *family*.”*
When we returned, Beatrice shot us a knowing look. The night ended warmerMother even asked where Emily bought the dress (*”For my friend Dorothyshed suit something bold.”*).
After, as we cleared up, Mother waved us off. *”Leave it. Tonight was lovely. Rules are meant to be bent, eh, Emily?”*
We shared a rare, genuine laugh.
*”You know,”* Mother mused, *”I saw a dress just like yoursbut blue. Do you think itd suit me?”*
And just like that, something shifted.
**Lesson learned:** Pride stiffens backs, but humilityhowever grudgingmends fences. Even the deepest rifts can bridge when someone dares to apologise first.
