**Monday, 12th February**
Is it really so difficult to call your mother-in-law “Mum”?
When Lina got married, she made up her mind firmly—she wouldn’t call her mother-in-law “Mum.” True, many of her friends happily referred to their husbands’ mothers as “second mums,” speaking of some kind of soulful closeness, respect, and gratitude. But Lina wouldn’t have it. “I only have one Mum, the one who raised me and gave me life,” she thought, and she wasn’t about to go against that conviction.
Her mother-in-law, Margaret Stevens, was a serious, reserved woman—not unkind, though. Early on, she even helped the young couple—financially, with advice, with support. Thanks to her, they managed to buy a decent car and, eventually, save up for the deposit on a flat. She never interfered in their affairs or forced her opinions on them, but she carried herself with quiet dignity.
And yet, Lina always kept her distance. No “Mum,” not even “Margaret”—just “Mrs. Stevens.” Respectful, polite, but cold. As if an invisible wall stood between them.
One day, when Lina went over for tea and a chat, Margaret suddenly said softly, “You know, you don’t have to be so formal. Just call me Margaret—or whatever feels right to you.”
Lina gave a strained smile and shook her head. “No, I think I’ll stick with Mrs. Stevens. I just can’t do otherwise, I’m afraid.”
Margaret didn’t press her. Life went on as before—distant, but peaceful. Until history repeated itself.
Lina’s son, Thomas, got engaged. His fiancée, Emily, a warm and open-hearted girl, was instantly adored by the whole family. At the wedding, when she accepted Lina’s gift, she suddenly hugged her and whispered, “Thank you, Mum.”
Everyone assumed she’d said it in the heat of the moment. But the next day, Emily did it again. And in that instant, something shifted inside Lina. Something long buried suddenly woke up.
There was so much warmth in that word, so much genuine acceptance. She hadn’t expected how deeply it would move her. Just a word—but it mended something. It soothed. It embraced.
A few days later, Lina realized she wanted to visit Mrs. Stevens. Her husband was at work, so she called a cab. She made up an excuse—a new set of bedsheets she wanted to give her. But really, the pull was deeper than that. Something unspoken.
Margaret opened the door, led her to the kitchen, brewed tea, and cut a slice of Victoria sponge. They sat across from each other. Then, before she could stop herself, Lina heard herself say:
“Mum, slow down—let’s just enjoy our tea and talk a bit, shall we?”
She froze. The words had slipped out like a breath—unplanned, unscripted. Just straight from the heart. Her mother-in-law—no, her *mum*—looked up, and in her eyes was a brightness Lina had never seen before.
They didn’t speak of it after. There was no need. Everything had already been said.
When Lina got home, her chest felt light in a way she hadn’t known in years. Warm. Quiet. She’d done what she’d denied herself for so long.
And perhaps, for the first time, she understood—sometimes one word could tear down a wall built over decades. Just one word: “Mum.”
