**Diary Entry 15th June**
*”Dont you dare dress like that in my house,”* my mother-in-law hissed in front of the guests.
*”Marina, have you seen my glasses? I think I left them on the coffee table,”* Margaret called from the kitchen doorway, where my wife was putting the finishing touches on the holiday salad.
*”Check the case, Margaret. I tidied the lounge and put them there,”* Marina answered without looking up, carefully slicing each vegetable into perfect pieces.
Margaret pursed her lips but said nothing. In her world, no one touched anothers belongingsespecially hersno matter how well-intentioned. But with guests arriving soon, she bit back her remarks. Today was important, and unnecessary drama had no place here.
Thirty years ago today, Margaret had moved into this housea grand place with high ceilings and antique furniture inherited from *her* mother-in-law. Every corner bore her mark, every object its designated place. Though the house now legally belonged to our son, James, in her mind, *she* was still the lady of the manor.
Marina had only been living with us for two years. To Margaret, the marriage had been an unpleasant shockJames bringing home a woman hed known for just three months. Clever, university-educated, and with what Margaret deemed *far* too modern an outlook on life.
*”The salads nearly ready,”* Marina said, arranging it on the platter. *”Ill just change before everyone arrives.”*
*”Youre not thinking of wearing *that* red dress, are you?”* Margaret remarked idly, smoothing her immaculate silver hair.
Marina froze mid-motion, then slowly met her mother-in-laws gaze.
*”Actually, yes. James chose it for our anniversary.”*
*”Its hardly appropriate for a family dinner,”* Margaret snipped. *”Far too revealing. What about that lovely blue dress with the collar I gave you at Christmas?”*
Marina exhaled deeply. That blue dresspractically a schoolgirls uniformhad been worn exactly once, to spare Margarets feelings. Since then, it had hung untouched in the wardrobe.
*”Margaret, at thirty-two, I think I can choose my own clothes,”* she said firmly.
*”Of course,”* Margaret forced a smile. *”Just remember, my friends are coming tonight. People of a certain generation. With certain standards.”*
Without waiting for a reply, she swept out, leaving Marina simmering in silence.
Upstairs, James was buttoning his crisp shirt. *”All set for the grand affair?”* he teased.
*”Almost,”* Marina replied, pulling out the red dress. *”Your mothers had another go at my wardrobe choices.”*
James sighed. *”Ignore her. Shes just worried about making a good impression.”*
*”On *us*? Or just *me*?”* Marina studied the dress. It *was* boldlow-cut, with a daring slitbut hardly scandalous.
*”Lets not do this tonight, love. This means a lot to her.”* He hugged her from behind. *”Thirty years in this houseits her whole life.”*
*”And my self-respect means something too,”* Marina murmured. *”Im not a child to be dressed.”*
James hesitated, torn between wife and mother. Finally, he sighed. *”Wear what you like. Youre beautiful in anything.”*
She kissed his cheek, swallowing her frustration. For him, shed play along.
By six, the guests arrivedMargarets old friends from her days at the architecture firm, neighbours like sharp-tongued Edith next door, all her contemporaries. Marina and James greeted them politely, while Margaret held court in the lounge, arranging the buffet and reminiscing about her travels.
When Marina slipped into the kitchen to fetch the roast, Margaret intercepted her, pulling a golden pie from the oven.
*”Ill bring the hot dishes,”* Marina said. *”Everyones asking after your famous beef Wellington.”*
Margarets eyes locked onto the dress. *”Couldnt you have worn something modest?”*
*”Weve been over this. Its perfectly suitable.”*
*”In *my* day, family dinners didnt call for such exhibitionism.”* The pie dish clattered onto the tray.
Marinas cheeks burned, but she bit back her retort. *”Lets get back to the guests.”*
The dining room bubbled with laughter as James told a work story. Marina set the food down, but Margaret cut in. *”Marina, darling, fetch more bread, would you?”*
A liethe basket was full. Still, Marina turned to gountil she overheard Margaret whisper to her friend: *”Trying to civilise the girl. Youth todayno sense of decorum.”*
Marina froze, fists clenched. Then she walked backempty-handed. *”Theres plenty of bread, Margaret.”*
Dinner resumedtoasts, stories, politics. Marina smiled, chatted, but the tension thickened.
Over dessert, Edith suddenly said, *”Margaret, your daughter-in-laws a stunner! That red dressstraight off a magazine cover!”*
Margarets smile tightened. *”Marinas very stylish. Though modesty never goes amiss.”*
*”Oh, nonsense!”* Edith waved a hand. *”If I had her figure at her age, Id flaunt it too. Good for you, girl!”*
Marina mouthed *thank you*.
When the kettle whistled, she rosebut Margaret followed, shutting the kitchen door.
*”You *will not* dress like a tart in my home,”* she spat. *”Its vulgar. Disrespectful!”*
Marina stepped back, stunned. *”Its just a dress.”*
*”Youre mocking me! Flaunting your disregard!”*
James appeared, face grim. *”Whats going on?”*
*”Nothing,”* Margaret said sweetly. *”Just discussing fashion.”*
*”I heard you,”* James said quietly. *”Marinas my wife. I wont have you speak to her like that.”*
*”This is *my* house!”*
*”No. Its *ours*. And we *all* deserve comfort here.”*
Silence. Then Margarets shoulders slumped. *”Perhaps I overreacted.”* The words seemed to pain her. *”You do look lovely. Ediths rightyouth should be enjoyed.”*
Marina blinked. Two years, and never an apology. *”Thank you. That means a lot.”*
Back in the lounge, the mood lightened. Margaret even asked where Marina bought the dress*”For my friend Dorothy, shed adore something bright.”*
As guests left, Edith lingered. *”Fifty years Ive known you, Margaret. Never seen you apologise. Until tonight.”*
Margaret feigned ignorance, but Edith chuckled. *”Shes a good girl. James is happy. Isnt that what matters?”*
Later, as we cleared up, Margaret waved us off. *”Leave it. Tonight was lovelylets not spoil it with chores.”*
James gaped. *”But you always say”*
*”Rules are made to be broken,”* Margaret said, smiling at Marina. *”Right?”*
*”Right,”* Marina grinned back.
James hugged us boththree generations, three perspectives, but one family. Flawed, clashing, yet somehow healing.
Then Margaret laughed. *”Actually, I saw a dress just like yours, Marina. In blue. Do you think itd suit me?”*
And for the first time in ages, we laughed togethertruly together.
**Lesson learned:** Sometimes, the hardest bridges to mend are the ones within our own homes. But a little humilityand a red dresscan go a long way.
