“Why wont you open the door?”
“I dont want to! Guests should call ahead, and they *certainly* shouldnt go rummaging through my cupboards, fridge, or drawers.”
“What do you mean, you *wont*? Thats my *mother*! She came to see *me*!”
“Then go greet her! But not in *my* house.”
“Emily always got on better with my mum, you know.”
“You really want to start listing all the ways my ex was better than you?” Lily cut in sharply, scrubbing at the kitchen table. “Because trust me, neither of us will come out looking good.”
She paused, fingers tightening around the cloth. “If you were so happy with *Emily*, why did you break up?”
Victor turned away, jaw clenched, staring out the window.
“You know why.”
“I do. So stop bringing up your precious *Em*,” Lily snapped. “Unless you want me to be your next ex.”
She *meant* it.
Shed met Victor nearly a year ago at a mutual friends gathering. She even knew Emilynot well, but enough. Emily had been the one to bring Victor along. And then, a few months later, shed vanished without a trace.
Drunk one night, Victor had confessedhed caught Emily cheating. Hed even cried.
At the time, Lily had found it endearing. A man unafraid of emotion, who valued love. Something in her had *clicked*a need to comfort, to protect.
Later, she realised that *something* had been maternal instinct, not attraction. But by then, it was too late.
Things had started well. Hed meet her after work, drive her home, send sweet texts, ask if shed dressed warmly. For the first time, Lily felt *cared for*.
Then Emily messaged her.
*Hey. Heard youre seeing Victor. Not my business, but be careful. Him and his mum are a package deal.*
Lily noted it but brushed it off. Love overcame worse obstacles. Just because things went badly with one woman didnt mean they would with another.
*Thanks for the heads-up,* she replied. *But well figure it out.*
She didnt want the conversation to continueit felt disloyal.
Victor, meanwhile, had no such concerns.
When his mother, Margaret, first showed up unannounced, Lily bit her tongue. Maybe they didnt realise how rude it was. Maybe Margaret just worried about her son.
She sent Victor to greet his mother, hastily dressed, and dragged herself outhair in a messy ponytail, dark circles under her eyesto meet her potential mother-in-law.
Who was already rifling through their living room drawers.
“Ah. A mess,” Margaret said with a condescending smile. “Socks never paired, I suppose. Lily, after breakfast, Ill teach you how to fold clothes properly.”
No *hello*. Just criticism.
Being a stranger in *her* home, touching *her* thingsit was beyond rude. But snapping back felt wrong, so Lily swallowed it.
“Goodness, those *bags* under your eyes!” Margaret tutted. “Cucumber slices, darling. Or better yetget your kidneys checked. My friend Margaret”
Lily smiled, nodded, and pretended interest in the ailments of strangers. All while longing to crawl back into bed. It was *8 a.m.* on a *Saturday*.
Margaret stayed until evening. A barrage of “advice”how to water plants, scrub the bathtub, polish cutlery. By the end, Lily felt wrung out.
And Victor? He *let* it happen.
“Your mum is she always that *intense*?” Lily asked carefully that night.
She wasnt against familybut *boundaries* existed.
“Thats just how she is. She wants to be friends,” Victor shrugged. “Emily and I used to live with her. Shes lonely now.”
“Please tell me we *wont* be living with her.”
“You dont like my *mother*?” His voice turned icy. “*Emily* got on with her.”
Lily said nothing. Emily had been *eight years younger*, a people-pleaser. Of *course* shed “got on” with Margaretprobably memorised her friends names, ironed her sheets, baked her pies.
But Lily hadnt signed up for that.
Shed learned the hard way: the fewer people meddling in a relationship, the better. Victor disagreed.
“Mums just sociable. Gets on with *anyone*.”
*Not everyone wants her to*, Lily thought but didnt say.
It got worse. Margaret returned the next day*early*and inspected the fridge.
“Chicken eggs? I only ever bought Victor quail eggs. Better for men,” she declared. “And these shelves*filthy*. You *eat* from this?”
*I dont eat directly off the shelves*, Lily wanted to snap.
“Ill clean them later,” she said tightly. “Its our *day off*.”
Victor, of course, was still asleep.
“Nonsense! Weekends are for *cleaning*,” Margaret said briskly. “Fetch a sponge. Next Saturday, Ill teach you to bake Victors favourite meat pies. Hell *love* it.”
Lily froze. Arms crossed. *Enough.*
“Margaret, maybe text before visiting? So we know youre coming.”
“*Text*? I cant visit my own son?”
“You *can*,” Lily said evenly. “But he lives with *me* now. We should respect each others space.”
“*Emily* never minded.”
“My exs mother never turned up at dawn,” Lily shot back. “Though she *did* bring cherry pies. Delicious. Want the recipe?”
Margarets face darkened. Wrinkles deepened. Fury flashed in her eyes.
“Think carefully, dear. The nightingale never outflies the lark.”
She leftbut the tension remained. Victor didnt *hear* her. Margaret treated their home as her own. And always, *always*, the ghost of Emily lingered.
“Emilys cabbage rolls were better. Her mum taught her,” Victor would muse over dinner.
“Maybe *she* should teach *you* then.”
Lily suspected Margaret would poison Victor against herbut she refused to engage. She just wanted it *gone*.
For a month, peace. Thenthe doorbell. *Again.*
This time, Lily didnt answer.
Rude? Maybe. But so was ignoring her boundaries.
Five minutes later, Victor stormed outsleep-rumpled, furious.
“Why wont you open the *door*?”
“I *told* you. Guests *call first*. And they dont *snoop*.”
“Thats my *MOTHER*!”
“Then *you* greet her. *Not in my house.*”
The fight that followed probably woke the neighbours. Victor accused her of rejecting *him*. Margaret screamed to be let in, phoned repeatedly.
Finally, Lily snapped.
“*Enough!* Either you explain the word *guest* to your mother*now*or were *done*.”
Victor chose *done*.
Lily wasnt even upset. Theyd never married. *Bullet dodged.*
Months later, news reached her: Victor had a new girlfriend. A mutual friend filled her in.
“She moved in with him *and* his mum. Already wants out. Asked to meet you.”
“Why?”
“According to Margaret, youre *perfect*. Beautiful, strong, a *great cook*.”
“*Margaret* said that? About *me*?”
The friend smirked. “Guess she only likes the ones who escape.”
From then on, Lily listened *closely* to gossip. She kept her witsbut she never ignored red flags again.
Especially *mamas boys*.
A man who put his mother first? Finein *moderation*.
But *hers* would put *her* first. Or he wouldnt be hers at all.
