**The Mother-in-Law’s Wedding Show: How My Husband’s Mum Tried to Ruin My Life**
Emily met William through mutual friends. At twenty-eight, she’d already been through a divorce and had a seven-year-old daughter, Lily. The divorce left her with a modest two-bedroom flat, while her ex took the car and vanished to another town. Emily had tried dating, but decent blokes were thin on the ground—so when William came along, charming and quick-witted (even if he was flatless and between jobs), she thought, *Why not?*
At first, they kept it casual. Then, hesitantly, Emily introduced him to Lily. To her surprise, the two hit it off instantly. Soon enough, William moved in, and within a month, he proposed. Emily didn’t overthink it—maybe this was her shot at happiness. A lavish wedding was out of the question, so they settled for a quick registry office do and a cosy meal at a local pub.
But William’s mother, Margaret, insisted on a “proper” wedding tradition—the bride’s “ransom” (as if Emily were a medieval hostage). Biting her tongue, Emily waited in her simple evening dress. When she emerged, Margaret smirked and said, *”Where’s the bride? I don’t see a white gown.”*
*”Let’s wrap up the pantomime—we’ve got a wedding to get to,”* Emily replied coolly.
At the ceremony, Margaret stole the show—again. *”I’m the one who should be crying—you’re taking my son away!”* she wailed louder than a banshee, turning the joyous occasion into something resembling a funeral.
Then, at the pub, when the DJ called the newlyweds for their first dance, Margaret shoved past and announced, *”The groom’s first dance is with his mother!”* She yanked William by the elbow and dragged him onto the floor. The whole thing was so absurd, guests snickered. Emily just kept smiling, though her patience was wearing thinner than supermarket-brand teabags.
By the end of the night, Margaret cornered the photographer. *”Let’s get a family portrait!”* she trilled. When Emily stepped forward, Margaret snapped, *”Where do you think you’re going? This is for *family*.”*
Emily glanced at William—he looked away. So she left without a word. The next day, she rang the photographer and requested all images featuring Margaret be deleted. Petty? Maybe. Satisfying? Absolutely.
A week later, Margaret dropped by unannounced while William was pulling a shift at the pub. She’d barely sat down before declaring, *”It’s lovely Lily’s older—she can babysit when you have the next one.”*
*”She’s *eight*,”* Emily said flatly.
*”Well, by nine, she’ll be *very* helpful. You can’t afford maternity leave—William barely earns enough as it is. Lily can always switch to homeschooling.”*
*”Thanks for the tip. Now I’m *definitely* not having another baby,”* Emily retorted.
The row was inevitable. Margaret took Emily’s refusal as a personal insult and began poisoning William against her.
In the end, William decided Emily “wasn’t worth the hassle”—not because of the drama, but because he couldn’t be bothered to grow up. Emily didn’t fight to keep him. There was nothing *to* fight over.
Margaret, however, disagreed. She phoned Emily and announced, *”We’re splitting the flat. I’ll bring the paperwork tomorrow.”*
*”Have you lost the plot, Margaret? It’s *my* flat. Compensation for *what*? For your son mooching off me?”*
*”He took you on with *baggage*! He’s emotionally drained! The courts will side with him!”*
Emily took a deep breath, wished her a *very* happy life, and blocked her number. She never saw William or Margaret again. And thank heavens for that.