“You’re Not Right for My Son”: Everything I Overheard
Emily was walking home from work when the sky cracked open, draping London in a thick, stormy blanket. The rain came down like someone had upended a bucket straight from the heavens. Her umbrella was at home, and by the time she was soaked to the bone, she remembered her in-laws’ flat was just round the corner. “I’ll wait it out,” she thought, heading up to their floor and knocking. No answer. She was about to leave when she noticed—the door was slightly ajar. She stepped in, shrugging off her sodden coat and hanging it in the hallway. Muffled voices drifted from the kitchen. Then, she heard her name.
“…that dreadful squeaky voice of hers,” snapped Margaret, her mother-in-law, irritation sharp in her tone. “She’s just not right for our David, not right at all. I’ve told him—find a girl with some backbone. But this one… she’s nothing.”
Emily froze. Her chest tightened. Wet hair clung to her face, but she barely noticed—the cold sinking into her wasn’t from the rain, but from what she’d just heard.
“Still living off her parents, hasn’t achieved anything on her own,” Margaret went on. “Useless at keeping house. Can’t even raise a child properly. I tell her how to feed, bathe, put the baby to sleep—but does she listen? Just smiles and does things her way. Stubborn! David’s so lovesick he can’t see she’s not the one. She’s not for him…”
Emily slipped out as quietly as she’d come. Rain hammered the pavement outside, but inside, she felt hollow—dried out. She’d tried so hard. From that very first visit, scrubbing windows before Margaret arrived, baking a Victoria sponge, bringing out the good china. Then, the moment Margaret stepped in, eyeing her up and down, firing questions: “Did you buy your own flat?” “What do your parents do?” Every time, Emily bit her tongue, smoothed things over.
“I’m not going to your parents’ anymore,” she told David that evening.
“Your call,” he said, pulling her close. “But know this—I chose you. Mum’s… well, she’s still Mum.”
Years passed. Their daughter, Charlotte, grew up, moved to secondary school. Emily climbed the corporate ladder, became CFO of a major firm. Margaret still called sparingly, stiffly, but it didn’t sting like before. Emily had learned to live without her approval.
One day, out with Charlotte in Hyde Park, they ran into Margaret. To Emily’s surprise, her mother-in-law walked over, smiling.
“Hello, girls. Mind if I join you?”
Emily nodded silently. They strolled down the path, listening to Charlotte’s cheerful chatter. Then, when Charlotte begged for an ice cream, Margaret pulled out a twenty-pound note.
“I’ve got it,” Emily said.
“Don’t be silly,” Margaret waved her off. “Can’t I treat my granddaughter?”
While Charlotte happily licked her cone, they settled on a bench. An awkward silence settled—until Margaret broke it.
“Emily… I need your help. There’s some mess with my pension paperwork, and I can’t make head nor tail of it. David’s always so busy…”
For the first time in years, Emily smiled. “Of course. Come round tomorrow morning—we’ll sort it.”
“Thank you, love,” Margaret exhaled, relief clear in her voice.
From that day, something shifted. Margaret called more often—asking advice, listening. And Emily, against all odds, answered. Because the anger was gone. All that remained was quiet understanding.
That Christmas, the whole family gathered at David’s parents’. When the women found themselves alone, Margaret suddenly spoke, voice low.
“Forgive me, Emily. I was a fool. I was scared he’d chosen wrong. But you—you’re brilliant. Charlotte’s wonderful. You look after David so well. And I… I only ever got in the way.”
Emily sighed. “It’s alright, Margaret. Really.”
But in that moment, she realised—she truly belonged now. Not because she’d earned approval. But because she’d stopped needing it.