My Husband Always Chose His Mother – Until He Chose Me

Mike always chose his mum until he chose me

Good heavens, Emily, what on earth are you doing, love? shrieked Dorothy Thompson, standing in the middle of our kitchen. Youre tearing our family apart! Do you realise that? James has come to me for advice every single day of his life. And now youre shielding him from his own mother, as if I were some villain, not the woman who raised, fed and got him on his feet!

Dorothy waved a sheet of bloodtest results shed just snatched from my tote while I was chopping carrots for a salad.

I turned to her. You know that feeling when youre boiling inside but, absurdly, you feel completely calm? That was exactly me at that moment.

Until that Sunday lunch, my life had been relatively peaceful. As peaceful as it can be when your motherinlaw thinks she has the right to run the life of her thirtyfiveyearold son. I was up at seven, brewing coffee, waking James with a kiss on the cheek. Hed always smile, eyes halfclosed, and pull me close.

Then wed have breakfast, dash off to work, and in the evenings wed cook dinner together, chat about nonsense, bingewatch a series and plot our next holiday. Just a typical young couples routine, and we were happy.

Except for the fact that, at least once a week sometimes more Dorothy would turn up unannounced.

Dorothy, could you at least give us a headsup before you arrive? Id asked half a year ago.

The very next day she showed up at the door again, lugging a casserole and a long list of complaints about how I ran the house.

Give a headsup? Since when does a mother need to ask permission to visit her own son? she huffed. Emily, dear, youre mixing things up. This is my son. I gave birth to him, and I can pop round whenever I fancy!

I kept quiet, but the pattern repeated. Each time I stayed silent. Then I discovered shed taken a spare key and was slipping into our flat when we werent home, straightening up as she saw fit. My patience snapped.

She rummaged through my cupboards, rearranging things the way she thought they ought to be.

James, we need to talk about your mum, I said one evening.

James tensed immediately. Hed known this conversation was inevitable.

Your mum is overstepping, I said. She shows up without warning, dives into our stuff, and constantly criticises everything I do. She also keeps asking for money.

What money? James raised an eyebrow.

It hit me then that he genuinely didnt know. Dorothy had often hinted that her pension was short, that prescriptions were pricey, that the fridge was on its last legs but she always asked for cash when James wasnt around.

Your mum is always moaning about being short of cash, I continued. She keeps dropping hints that we should help her, even though I know you already give her money every month.

James flushed. Hed thought I was clueless.

Yeah, I chip in a bit, he stammered. Shes my mum, after all.

A bit? I asked. James, I handle our household budget and I see every outlay. £150 a month isnt a bit; its a quarter of your salary!

After that talk we set new ground rules. The financial support to Dorothy would be a fixed amount, agreed in advance. Shed give at least a days notice before visiting. Our personal belongings would stay personal no rummaging without permission.

Dorothy took the new rules like a lead bullet.

This is all your wifes doing! she shouted into Jamess phone. Shes turning you against your own mother! I can see how shes manipulating you!

But James held his ground. For the first time, he said no to his mum, and she didnt take it lightly not him, not especially me.

The next few months felt like a standoff. Dorothy still turned up for the obligatory Sunday roast James couldnt dodge that tradition. She sat there with a stoneface, lobbing snide comments about my cooking, my looks and my job. I smiled and said nothing. Theres a certain pleasure in not feeding the provocateur; it drains them more than any retort.

Then, one afternoon, she stood before me with my test results in hand the ones Id taken before we decided to try for a baby.

Are you two actually planning to have a child? she raised an eyebrow. You only got married a year ago! How are you going to raise a kid when you cant even afford a proper flat, let alone a tiny rented studio? And why am I hearing about this last?

I took the sheet, folded it deliberately and slipped it back into my bag.

Dorothy, I said evenly, firstly, these are Jamess and my private medical records you had no right to look at them. Secondly, deciding on a child is our familys business, not yours. Thirdly, were not obliged to consult you on such matters. Its simply not your concern.

Her face turned a shade of beetroot.

Not my concern? she sputtered. Im his mother! I have a right to know! I have a right to be involved in my sons life!

Knowing, perhaps, I replied. Interfering, absolutely not.

James! Dorothy turned to her son, who had been sitting silently all this time. Do you hear what shes saying? Shes trying to push me away from you! Choose me or her!

It was an ultimatum. Id known it would come to this; Dorothys old trick always worked. James had always chosen his mum hed dumped his first girlfriend because she didnt win his mothers approval, hed called off a second engagement for the same reason. But now the stakes were different.

James stood, walked over and wrapped his arms around me.

Mum, I love you, he said calmly. Youll always be my mother. But Emily is my wife, my family. Please, try to accept that. And if you force me to choose, I choose her.

Silence fell. Dorothy stared at her son as if hed betrayed her, then fixed her gaze on me, her eyes full of such hatred it made my stomach churn.

Well then, she said at last. Now I see who you really are, son, and who your wife is. Live as you will. But when she eventually leaves you and she will dont come crying to me!

She snatched her handbag and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

James and I stood hugging in the kitchen. The Sunday roast never got made, but I didnt mind. For the first time in our marriage I felt we were a real family not James plus mum plus me, but just James and me together.

Do you regret it? I asked, looking at him.

Not in the slightest, he replied, kissing my forehead. Its about time. Sorry it took me so long.

Three months later Dorothy hadnt called or visited. James initially tried to reach out himself, but she never answered. Eventually he gave up, and we moved on, finally feeling like a proper couple in our own right.