The Mother to Whom I Owe Nothing
Elizabeth and William were preparing for their wedding. The day before the celebration, the brides mother, Anne Whitmore, came to visit and meet her future son-in-laws mother. The meeting took place in the home of Williams motherMargaret Hartley. They discussed wedding details and shared a meal together. The next morning, as Anne prepared to leave, Elizabeth walked her out.
“Well, what do you think of William?” she asked her mother.
“Hes a good lad,” Anne smiled, but then sighed deeply.
“Mother, whats wrong?” Elizabeth frowned.
“Daughter, be wary of his mother. Theres much you dont yet know about her.”
Those words soon made their meaning clear.
When Elizabeth learned her mother-in-law planned to live with them, she spoke plainly to her husband:
“Youll have to choose: either me or your mother.”
“Ive no intention of choosing,” William replied calmly. “Well remain as we are, and my mother must sort out her own affairs.”
“So you wont let her move in with us?”
“Ive already told her so.”
“And how did she take it?”
“She was angry. Called me ungrateful and said Id regret it.”
“That was to be expected”
Margaret had retired earlyafter many years as a flight attendant.
“Enough. Ive worked long enough,” she declared, receiving a generous pension, certainly larger than most.
Yet she quickly realised it wasnt enough for her lifestyle. The solution came naturally: shift the expenses onto her son.
“I raised you, gave you an education. Now its your turn to fulfil your duty as a son,” she told William when he was just twenty-three. “Starting next month, youll pay the rent and food.”
“Fine,” he answered. “But if I take care of our home, you stay out of my life.”
She agreedand, truth be told, never troubled him much. Her sons life hardly interested her. William had been raised mostly by his grandparents while she pursued her own affairs, without much success.
Years passed. Her son grew up, moved in during his university years. For five years, he paid the rent and kept her fed. She enjoyed life, spending her pension only on herself.
When Margaret turned fifty, William brought home his wife.
“How well-kept you are!” Elizabeth remarked awkwardly at their first meeting. “You dont look like a pensioner at all.”
Learning the young couple would live with her, Margaret was pleased: “Oh, splendid,” she said, thinking, “Now I wont even have to cook.”
Elizabeth took her sincerity at face value, but William set her straight:
“Mother lacked the nerve to turn us away. For the last five years, Ive paid for everything myself.”
Anne Whitmores visit soon shattered whatever fragile illusions remained:
“Daughter, be careful. That woman lives only for herself. Shell forget you the moment youre inconvenient. Hold fast to your husband. I like him. But with his mother, youve had no luck.”
Six months passed. Margaret fell in love. A man named Andrew began appearing more often. Then
“Youve two weeks to move out. Im selling the flat. Moving to Bath.”
“Youre serious?” William stared in shock.
“What of it? Its my right. The flat was a gift from my parents.”
“And youre throwing us out?”
“Yes. Its all perfectly legal.”
William silently put on his coat and left. That evening, he and Elizabeth packed their things. They moved in with a friend whod been looking for tenants. A month later, Margaret sold the house and left with Andrew for Bath.
Days after, William tried to borrow money:
“No, of course not. Ive other expenses planned,” his mother replied coldly.
“Well, good luck then,” he said.
“And to you,” she smiled, not even hugging him goodbye.
A year passed. Margaret called: shed split with Andrew. Hed taken her money and vanished. Now she was alone, homeless. She returned and announced at once:
“Ill live with you.”
“No. Take whats left, get a mortgage.”
“A mortgage? At my age? On a pension?”
“Find work. Youll manage, like everyone else.”
“So you wont help me?”
“I owe you nothing, Mother.”
She erupted:
“Youre ungrateful! I raised you!”
“Im only following your example,” her son replied evenly.
Margaret stayed with friends until her money ran out. Refusal after refusal followed. Then she turned to her son again.
“Mother, youre neither ill nor old. Find work. Rent a room if you must. Look.”
“Dont you feel sorry for me?”
“No. You remind me of that grasshopper the one that sang all summer.”
Later, Margaret sorted herself outnot with a job, but with a new marriage. To the first man whod have her. At least she had a roof.
But thats another story entirely.
