Ignatius, wounded by his mothers behaviour, resolved to live apart from her.
“You dont respect me at all!” The bitter echo of his mothers fury crackled down the telephone line, her sharp, indignant tone deafening Daphne.
She sighed heavily, weighed down by the womans relentless demands, her voice as commanding as it was cold. Daphne remembered the moment just before her wedding, when fate itself seemed determined to upend her happiness. The grooms mothera woman of stern principles and unyielding opinionshad caught nothing more than a common cold, yet she spoke of it as though it were the plague itself, capable of ruining everything.
The call had come that morning, mere hours before Daphne and her beloved Ignatius were to begin their new life together. Shock swiftly gave way to frustrationthis was absurd, utterly senseless. His mother insisted they postpone the wedding.
“Postpone? Weve arranged everythingthe reception, the guests! My parents are flying in from Manchester just for this!” Daphne protested.
Ignatius listened in silence, knowing what lay aheada battle of wills with a mother no one dared defy. But this time, he would stand his ground.
“Mum, its just a cold. I understand youre worried, but we cant cancel over something so trivial.”
His firm tone shocked her. She drew a sharp breath, unaccustomed to defiance from the son she had always controlled. A choked sob escaped heranger disguised as sorrow.
“Fine. If neither of you care about my health Then let it be. But mark my wordsif anything goes wrong, itll be on your heads.”
The line went dead. Silence settled over the room, broken only by Daphnes restless fingers tapping the table.
The mothers hand trembled as she clutched the phone, her fingers scrolling through contacts. Her pulse raced, but her resolve was clearthey would not celebrate while she suffered.
“Hello, Lydia? Its me. Im sorry to call so suddenly, but the weddings postponed. Ive come down with fluwe must delay for a fortnight. Yes, my son agrees. Hes concerned for me.”
A pause. Then a hushed, pitying reply: “Oh, you poor dear! Of course, get well soon.”
She exhaled, relieved. The lie was bitter, but necessary.
Next call.
“Natalie? Yes, its true. Weve had to delay the wedding. Im dreadfully illthe doctor says I must rest.”
Natalie gasped. “Oh, what a shame! God bless, get well, darling!”
Call after call, the same script: “Apologies, but we must postpone.” Each response identicalsympathy, concern. Only her conscience whispered that this was wrong, that she was hurting her son, his future, herself.
When the last call ended, she slumped onto the sofa, exhausted. The phone still vibrated in her grip, demanding confirmation. Tears spilled silently down her cheeks.
That evening, as guests gathered for the ceremony, only Daphnes closest friends, a few of Ignatiuss colleagues, and distant relativesthose seldom in touch with his motherremained. The rest had vanished, heeding her warnings, though no official cancellation had been made.
Daphne swayed, dizzy with shock before fury surgedhot, bitter, unjust.
Yet despite it all, the air hummed with joy. Laughter, music, dancingan intimate warmth binding them together.
Far from the celebration, his mother sat alone in her dimly lit home, weeping quietly, cursing fate for humiliating her. Anger curdled into loneliness, swallowing her whole.
“To them, my illness is nothingjust an old womans foolishness. Was it so hard to show kindness? To care?”
When the truth emerged, Ignatiuss family felt betrayed. Some voiced their outrage openly; others stayed silent, fearing confrontation.
Wounded by his mothers cruelty, Ignatius chose to leave. Soon, the newlyweds moved to another cityfar from her, far from the pain.
