Why arent you opening the door?
Because I dont want to! Guests should warn people before showing upand maybe not go rifling through drawers, fridges, and wardrobes while theyre at it.
What do you mean, you *wont*? Thats my *mother*! She came to see *me*!
Brilliant! Go greet her, then. Just not in *my* house.
You know, Emily always got on better with my mum.
Right. And if I started listing all the ways my ex was better than you, wed both die of embarrassment.
Well, *I* might survive, snapped Lucy, scrubbing furiously at the kitchen table. If you and Emily were so perfect together, whyd you break up?
Victor turned away, sulking, and glared out the window.
You know why.
Exactly. So spare me the my darling Emily monologues, Lucy retorted. Unless you want me to be your *next* ex.
She was fully prepared to follow through.
Shed met Victor nearly a year ago at a mutual friends gathering. She even knew Emilynot well, but enough to nod at in the street. Emily had brought Victor along that night, then vanished from their lives entirely a few months later.
One tipsy evening, Victor had confessedcomplete with drunken tearsthat theyd split after he caught Emily cheating.
At the time, Lucy found it sweet. A man unafraid of emotion! A man who valued love! Something inside her *clicked*that instinct to comfort, to nurture.
(Later, shed realise that something was her maternal reflex, not actual attraction. But by then, they were already dating.)
It started beautifully. Hed meet her after work, drive her home, send sweet texts daily. *Did you dress warm enough?* Shed never felt so cared for.
The first red flag came via textfrom Emily herself.
*Hey. Heard youre seeing Victor. Not my business, but be careful. He and his mum are a package deal.*
Lucy noted it but brushed it off. Love conquered worse obstacles, right? Just because things went badly with one woman didnt mean history would repeat.
*Thanks for the heads-up,* she replied. *But well figure it out.*
She ended the chat there. It felt disloyal to Victor.
(Victor, meanwhile, had *zero* qualms about *her* comfort.)
When his mother, Margaret, first dropped by unannounced, Lucy stayed calm. Maybe they just didnt *get* how rude it was. Maybe Margaret just worried about her son.
She shoved Victor toward the door, threw on clothes, scraped her hair into a ponytail, and stumbled outbleary-eyed, half-asleepto meet her potential mother-in-law.
Who was already elbow-deep in their living room drawers.
Hmm. A bit of a mess, Margaret observed with a pitying smile. Socks all mismatched, I bet. Lucy, after breakfast, Ill show you how to fold clothes properly.
Not *hello*. Not *nice to meet you*. Just *let me reorganise your life*.
Lucy was too stunned to speak. A stranger, rifling through her underwear like she owned the place? Rude. But snapping back felt wrong, so she bit her tongue.
Oh, *darling*, those under-eye bags! Margaret tutted. You need cucumber slices. Or a kidney check. My friend Margaretlovely woman, terrible bladderhad the same
Lucy nodded, smiled, and pretended to care. Inside, she was dreaming of her pillow. It was *8 a.m.* on a *Saturday*. Shed stayed up late *specifically* to sleep in.
No such luck.
Margaret stayed until evening, dispensing *essential* advice on flower-watering, bath-scrubbing, and cutlery-polishing. Lucy even got to practise. By sunset, she felt like a wrung-out dishcloth.
Not once did Victor intervene.
Your mums *enthusiastic*, huh? Lucy ventured that night.
She loved familyjust not *this* close.
Yeah. She just wants to bond, Victor shrugged. Emily and I used to live with her. Shes lonely now.
Please tell me were not moving in with her.
Whats the *problem*? You dont like my mum? he bristled. Emily got on with her *fine*.
Lucy stayed silent. Emily was eight years youngera people-pleaser who probably memorised Margarets friends medical histories and ironed sheets for fun.
Lucy wasnt signing up for that. She knew relationships worked better without third wheels.
Victor disagreed.
Mums sociable! Gets on with *anyone*.
(*Not everyone *wants* to get on with her,* Lucy nearly said. She didnt.)
It got worse.
Margaret returned the next *Saturday**again* unannouncedand inspected the fridge.
*Chicken* eggs? I only buy quail for Victor. Better for *men*. She frowned. Shelves could be cleaner. You *eat* off these, Lucy.
(*Not *literally*,* Lucy thought.)
Ill clean them *later*, she said tightly. We were planning to *relax* today.
(Victor, of course, was still asleep.)
*Relax*? Weekends are for *chores*, Margaret declared. Sponge and cloth*now*. Next Saturday, Ill teach you Victors favourite meat pie. Youll *love it*.
Lucy froze. Arms crossed. *Absolutely not.*
Margaret, maybe text *first* next time? Just so I know youre coming.
*Text*? I cant visit my own *son*?
You *can*. But he lives with *me* now. Courtesy goes both ways.
Emily never minded, Margaret sniffed.
My exs mum never turned up at *dawn*, Lucy shot back. She *did* bring cherry pie, though. Want the recipe?
Margarets face darkened. Wrinkles deepened. Eyes sparked.
Lucy, *think carefully.* The nightingale doesnt outlast the lark.
With that, she left.
But the damage was done. Victor was oblivious. Margaret treated their home like her own. And Emilys ghost haunted every conversation.
(*Emilys cabbage rolls were *better*.*)
(*Great. Get *her* to make them, then.*)
Lucy suspected Margaret was poisoning Victor against her but refused to engage. She just wanted the topic *gone*.
A peaceful month passedthen it all repeated.
Another Saturday. Another doorbell.
This time, Lucy didnt budge.
Rude? Maybe. But was *barging in* after being asked not to *polite*?
Five minutes later, Victor stormed outsleepy, grumpy, *livid*.
Why arent you opening the *door*?
Because I *wont*. Guests *warn* people. They dont *snoop*.
Thats my *MUM*!
Then *greet her*! Just *not here*.
The row that followed probably woke the neighbours. Victor accused her of rejecting *him*. Margaret shrieked through the door.
Finally, Lucy snapped.
Enough! Either you explain *basic manners* to your mother *right now*, or were *done*.
Victor chose *done*.
Lucy wasnt heartbroken. They werent even married. Bullet dodged.
Months later, gossip reached her: Victor had a new girlfriend. A mutual friend filled her in.
She moved in with him *and* Margaret. Already wants out. Asked to meet *you*.
*Why*?
Well, according to Margaret, youre *perfect*. Pretty, strong-willed, great cook.
We *are* talking about *Margaret*, right?
The friend shrugged. Guess she only likes the ones who *escape*.
Lucy took the lesson to heart. She still had her own mindbut she stopped ignoring red flags.
And she *never* dated men who worshipped their exes *or* their mothers again.
Lifes too short for *that* kind of drama.
Agree? Disagree? Let me knowpolitely, and *with warning*.
