Now I’m certain—my son made the right choice.
When my son William first brought home his girlfriend, Emily, something twisted inside me. At the time, I couldn’t tell if it was dislike or fear—fear of losing him. But I’d never admit that to myself, of course.
“What on earth does he see in her?” I snapped at my husband after she’d left.
“You can’t command the heart, Margaret,” he replied calmly. “You know Will’s a sensible lad. If he chose her, he must feel something. Maybe we should just… step back and accept it?”
But I didn’t want to accept anything. To me, she seemed like such an ordinary girl—no pedigree, no connections—hardly a match for our clever, promising son. She struck me as too quiet, too meek, too… bland. The more I watched her, the more convinced I became—she was all wrong, the sort who’d never make my boy happy.
Then came the wedding. Small, no grand affair. They moved into our place in York—we’ve got a big two-storey house, plenty of room. I figured since fate had landed Emily in our family, I ought to try getting along. I played the “good mother-in-law,” as they say. But I quickly realised Emily wasn’t the arguing type. She quietly took on everything—cooking, cleaning, laundry, ironing.
“Why do you put up with it?” I asked once, as she mopped the floor after our Labrador had trodden mud everywhere. “I’m practically treating you like a maid.”
She just smiled and said, “You’re my husband’s mother. I’m not a guest here. It’s fine.”
Later, I confided in my friend: “Honestly, Sarah, she unnerves me. Puts up with everything, never talks back, doesn’t even snap.”
“And you don’t feel sorry for her?”
“Sorry? No. Will will get bored—she’s too spineless. He needs a woman with spirit.”
“Then go find him one!” Sarah scoffed.
“I would! But Peter, my husband, won’t have it. He told me straight—stay out of it, it’s not your life.”
Time passed. Emily got pregnant. Will was over the moon, and I… well, I decided to give her a chance. After all, there’d be a grandchild. That’s when my son first asked me to help—to ease her load around the house. I agreed, wanting to prove to myself I could be better, kinder.
The pregnancy was hard on her. Her back ached constantly, she felt sick, tired quickly. I had to take over everything. And though I grumbled, deep down, I knew—for that little one’s sake, I’d scrub floors and stir porridge.
Then he arrived—our little Thomas. Tiny, wrinkled, with Will’s eyes. When we brought Emily and the baby home from the hospital, I threw a proper celebration. Everything was just right—even tears welled up.
Later that evening, I approached Emily. “Let’s put Thomas down. I need to say something.” I took a breath. “Emily, love… I wasn’t fair to you. Didn’t accept you, didn’t trust you, didn’t love you. And yet you never fought back. I was a rotten mother-in-law.”
She looked up at me—tired, but calm.
“Margaret… I’m no angel either. We were both stubborn. Let’s start fresh. No grudges, no fuss—just a clean slate?”
I hadn’t expected that. Didn’t even know what to say. Just nodded. Walked out, sat at the kitchen table, and cried—relief, shame, happiness all at once.
Now I know for sure: my son chose someone to build a real life with. A wife who doesn’t put on airs, just loves. Loves him, loves family, respects her elders. And to think, I once believed happiness had to be loud, bright, fiery. Turns out, it’s quiet, steady, and true.