The only thing Ive ever truly dreaded in life is an irate mother-in-law. Id been married before, you see, but in that regard, luck was on my side. My first husband, David, had grown up with no family to speak ofno parents, no judgements, no sharp-tongued mother-in-law to make my life difficult. Still, things didnt work out between David and me. Our marriage lasted just five years before I filed for divorce.
When we got married, I was still at university. A year into it, David took to drinking and started piling up debts, which of course became my burden as his wife. Eventually, I had no choice but to leave my studies behind just to work and chip away at what felt like an ever-mounting sea of bills. That marriage only brought me trouble. When we divorced, I could finally exhaleI felt lighter, as though a great weight had been lifted.
For two years, I kept to myself, gathering the fragments of who I was, quietly rebuilding from the ruins. Then I met Matthew. Hed never been married and, beyond me, hadnt had any proper relationships. Before I knew it, everything happened so quicklyhe proposed, and I agreed. Eventually, the time came to face the formidable challenge of meeting his mother.
From the moment I stepped through her front door, I could see Mrs. Whittakers displeasure carved into every line of her face. She threw a half-hearted hello in my direction before disappearing into another room. At first, I wondered if it was something about mea missing button or perhaps the wrong shoes. But no, I was dressed tastefully and conservatively. At dinner, she sat in stony silence, giving me a sideways glance that made my skin crawl.
When I finally blushed from her cold assessment, she pounced.
So, youve not even finished your degree, is that right? How on earth do you expect to manage? She looked at me with that particular British blend of sarcasm and disdain. I took a breath, sipped my tea, and replied as calmly as I could. Yes, Ive not finished yetlife got in the waybut I do plan to return to university. Mrs. Whittaker let out a loud, disbelieving hum.
Planning to finish, are we? She scoffed. And when exactly do you plan to be a proper wife, raise your children, cook a meal now and then, keep a home? You act as if youre some sort of duchess. Again, that snigger, a deliberate sip of tea, and then she banged her mug down. Let me say it straightmy Matthew doesnt need a daft thing like you hanging around.
She gave me the once-overmy looks, my figure, dismissing me entirely. I was deeply hurt. I stood up and went to the loo to have a quiet cry. There I was, insulted by a stranger for absolutely nothing, while my fiancé just sat there in silence. Thankfully, we didnt stay long. I didnt want to visit her again. But she turned up at our house instead, and each time, shed try to find new ways to slight me, to get under my skin.
I never thought to see a counsellor about it, but after a few sessions, I realised Mrs. Whittaker was your classic manipulatorand I let her hurt me because I didnt know how to stand up for myself. The next time she hurled an insult, I took a deep breath and asked her to leave my house straight away. We dont speak anymore, but I dont much careand, in this matter, Matthew couldnt care less either.
