**She Knows Best**
For Margaret Thompson, that October when Michael married Emily was a living nightmare. She barely noticed the golden hues of autumnall she saw was her boy, the centre of her world, slipping into the clutches of that *Emily*.
Shed disliked her future daughter-in-law from the start. Too independent, too strong-willed. She looked people in the eye, had opinions of her own. Worst of all? She came with a childborn out of wedlock, no less. *Who does she think she is?* Margaret fumed. *Shes trapped my Michael, and now hell be raising another mans child.*
There had been another girl. Sophie.
A friends daughterthe one Margaret had already pictured standing beside Michael at the altar. Quiet, obedient, a sensible accountant at a respectable firm. Best of all, Sophie understood the *special* bond between mother and son. Shed even said, *Margaret, Ill always ask your adviceyou know him better than anyone.* Such perfect words.
But this *Emily*? Impossible to reason with. Every suggestionhow to cook his favourite roast, how to starch his shirtswas met with a polite but firm, *”Well manage, thank you.”* That *”we”* cut Margaret to the bone. *She* was his mother. *She* knew best.
***
At home, Emilys family werent exactly thrilled either. Nearly thirty, still living with her parents, raising her daughter, shed longed for love. Michael had proposed quicklybarely a month after they met (though, initially, without her little girl). Two months later, they married.
Emily was over the moon. This was *real* love, the kind shed dreamed of. When anyone warned herlove was blind, Michael wasnt ready for marriageshe brushed them off. She loved him fiercely, convinced she could make him happy, help him “spread his wings.”
A month before the wedding, her mother sipped tea, watching her with quiet sadness.
*”Emily you know Michaels not the easiest, dont you?”*
*”Mum, hes just sensitive!”* Emily shot back. *”No ones ever understood him. But I do.”*
*”Its not about understanding, love. Hes used to being coddled, living under his mothers wing with no responsibilities. Are you ready to carry him, his mum, and your daughter on your back?”*
*”Hell outgrow it once were a family! He just needs love and support. I can give him that.”*
Her sister, Lucy, was blunter. After an evening where Michael monopolised conversation with tales of his ex-bosss cruelty, she pulled Emily aside:
*”Chris, your Michaels a total narcissist. Do you even see it? He doesnt notice anyone elsejust himself.”*
*”Hes just upset! You havent seen how sweet he can be.”*
*”Youre idealising him,”* Lucy sighed. *”Marriage isnt about sweetness. Its about who takes out the bins and brings you tea when youre ill.”*
Emily didnt listen. She was sure they were just jealous of her whirlwind romance.
For months, she revelled in playing housecooking, nesting, missing him when he travelled. She ignored his mothers meddling, relieved they had their own flat.
***
If Margaret could have stopped the wedding, she would have. But it happened too fast, and Michael was nearly thirty-four. Shed hoped hed ditch Emily like the others, but no. Worse, the brides family took charge of the arrangements. Margaret refused to help, attended as the grooms only guest, and seethed when Emilys parents splashed out on a lavish reception.
Watching them at the altar, she thought, *Shell tire of him soon enough. Hell never last with her.*
After the wedding, Emily moved her daughter in and set about building a home. Margaret, living across town, called and visited so often it grated. She criticised everythingEmilys cooking, her cleaning. Michael never stood up to her. Maybe he didnt know how.
When he lost his job, Margaret doubled downdaily calls, uninvited visits with pies, inspecting the fridge.
*”Michael, you prefer white socks! Emily, why havent you bought any?”*
*”Mum, leave it,”* hed grumblebut he wore the socks she brought.
Emilys disillusionment came slowly. First, she couldnt compete with Margarets homemaking. Second, she worked longer hours as Michaels “temporary” unemployment stretched to six months. He waited for severance pay from his bankrupt firm, refusing “beneath him” jobs. They lived on Emilys wages and dwindling savings.
Once, when money ran low, he said breezily, *”Just borrow from Mum till payday.”*
She stared. *”Michael, were adults. Maybe you could start job-hunting?”*
*”You dont believe in me?”* His face twisted. *”Im not stacking shelves! Is that what you want?”*
Margaret seized every complaint, fanning the flames:
*”She doesnt understand you, son. Never appreciated you. Sophie wouldnt have treated you like this.”*
She painted an alternate world where Michael was cherishedunlike Emilys world of nagging and demands to *grow up*. He nodded silently when Margaret nitpickedthe dishes, the sand in the hallwaythen snapped at Emily: *”Why cant you just keep the place tidy so Mum doesnt complain?”*
Emily fought back, but it was useless. He obeyed his mother. He wanted to lead his household but had been raised to defer to her. In crisesbills, fightshe ran to Margaret. She fixed things. She provided. With her, he was safe.
Even before the cheating came to light, Emily knew shed married a man-child doomed to eternal mummys-boyhood. So when someone sent her *that* video, she didnt confront him. She packed her bags and left.
Margaret was *relieved*. *Finally, that farce of a marriage is over. My boys back where he belongs.*
She comforted him: *”Men stray when homes unhappy. She drove you to it. Dont worry, darling. Mummys here. Ill cook, Ill clean. Maybe Sophie will visitshe always liked you.”*
***
Emily, though decisive, was shattered. In her family, divorce after two years felt like failure. She braced for pleas to *”make it work”*but they never came.
What happened next stunned her.
When she called her mother, sobbing, *”I cant do this. Im filing for divorce,”* the reply was simply, *”Alright, love. Your rooms ready.”*
That evening, as Emily poured out the truth of her marriage, her mother listenedthen said softly, *”Leave him, darling. Did he ever once put you first?”*
*”No, but youre not going to talk me out of it?”*
*”No. That man will never change. Do you want to mother him forever?”*
Her sister cheered: *”Thank God youve woken up!”* Her grandmothermarried 55 yearsblessed the divorce. Even her traditional father slammed the table: *”Good for you! No one should tolerate that.”*
Then, a different fury surged in Emily. She turned on her mother:
*”Why did none of you *stop* me?! You *saw* what he was like! At the wedding, before the wedding! Why didnt you grab me, forbid me, *save* me?! Did you even *care* who I married?!”*
Her mother looked at herexhausted, loving.
*”Emily, my love. Would it have changed anything? If Id begged you not to marry him at the registry office, would you have listened? Or would you have hated me for ruining your happiness?”*
Emily had no answer. Of *course* she wouldnt have listened.
*”Sometimes, the only way to learn is through your own mistakes,”* her mother said gently. *”We couldve taken that choice from you. But youd have spent your life wondering what if, resenting us. Now? You *know*. For yourself. And thats a lesson youll never forget.”*
Emily weptnot just for the marriage, but for the realisation: they *had* cared. Deeply. Enough to let her fall, so shed learn to see *real* men, not fairy tales.
***
So tell mewhats right?
To stop a doomed marriage, risking forever alienating someone you love? Or to let them learn the hard way, waiting to pick up the pieces? Wheres the line between care and control?
