Why Won’t You Open the Door? – I Don’t Want To! And I Won’t. Guests Should Warn Before Visiting—And Stay Out of My Drawers, Fridge, and Wardrobe. – What Do You Mean You Won’t? She’s My Mother! She Came to See Me! – Then Greet Her Outside! But Not in My House.

**Diary Entry**

“Why wont you open the door?”

“I dont want to! And I wont. Guests should call before dropping in, and they definitely shouldnt rummage through drawers, fridges, and wardrobes.”

“Youre seriously not going to open it? Thats my *mother*! She came to see *me*!”

“Fine, then *you* go greet her! But not in *my* house.”

Honestly, Lily always got on better with my mother.

“You know, if I started listing the ways my ex was better than you, wed both be embarrassed.”

“Though Im not sure about myself,” Anastasia cut in sharply, scrubbing the kitchen counter. “If you were both so happy with Lily, why did you break up?”

Victor turned away, offended, and glared out the window.

“Well, you already know the story”

“I do. So spare me the tales of your precious Lily-loo,” Anastasia snapped. “Or Ill be your next ex.”

She was ready to take drastic measures.

Shed met Victor nearly a year ago at a mutual friends gathering. Shed even known Lilythough not well. It was Lily whod brought Victor along, only to vanish from the radar a few months later.

Once, after a few too many drinks, Victor had confessed theyd broken up because he caught her cheating. Hed even shed a tear.

At the time, Anastasia found it endearinga man unafraid of his emotions, who valued love. Something clicked inside her, a maternal instinct, not attraction, but it was enough to spark a relationship.

It started beautifully. Hed wait for her after work, drive her home, send sweet texts, ask if shed dressed warmly. She felt cherished.

Then came the first red flaga message from Lily.

*”Hey. Heard youre seeing Victor. Not my business, but be careful. Him and his mum are a package deal.”*

Anastasia noted it but brushed it off. Love conquered worse obstacles, right? If things went poorly with one woman, it didnt mean history would repeat.

*”Thanks for the heads-up, but well figure it out,”* she replied, ending the conversation.

Victor, however, had no regard for her comfort.

When his mother, Margaret, first showed up unannounced, Anastasia stayed calm. Maybe they didnt realise how intrusive it was. Margaret was just worried about her son, right?

She sent Victor to greet his mother, hastily dressed, threw her hair into a messy ponytail, and stumbled outonly to find Margaret already rifling through the dresser in the living room.

*”Ah, everythings a mess,”* Margaret smirked. *”Soon youll have mismatched socks. Anastasia, after breakfast, Ill teach you how to fold clothes properly.”*

No hello. Just criticism. Anastasia was too stunned to react. Someone digging through her underwear in *her* home felt like a violation. But snapping back seemed wrong, so she bit her tongue.

*”Oh, dear, those under-eye bags!”* Margaret tutted. *”You should try cucumber slices. Or get your kidneys checked. My friend”*

Anastasia nodded along, pretending interest while dreaming of crawling back into bed. It was 8 AM on a Sundayher one chance to sleep in.

Margaret stayed until evening, dispensing unsolicited advice on everything from flower care to polishing cutlery. By the end, Anastasia felt drained. And Victor? Did nothing.

*”Is your mother always this involved?”* she asked carefully that night.

*”Yeah, why? Shes just being friendly,”* Victor shrugged. *”Lily and I used to live with herit was lively. Now shes lonely.”*

*”I hope were not moving in with her”*

*”Whats the problem? You dont like my mum?”* His tone turned defensive. *”Lily got on with her just fine.”*

Anastasia stayed silent. Lily had been eight years younger, a people-pleaser. Of *course* they got along.

But Anastasia wasnt signing up for that. She believed in boundariessomething Victor clearly didnt.

*”My mums sociable. She gets on with anyone.”*

*”Not everyone *wants* that,”* Anastasia nearly said but held back.

It got worse. Margaret returned the next morning, inspecting the fridge.

*”Chicken eggs? I only cooked quail for Victorbetter for men. These shelves are filthy You *eat* off these, Anastasia.”*

*”I dont lick the shelves,”* she muttered, promising to clean them *later*.

Victor, of course, was still asleep.

*”Weekends are for chores!”* Margaret declared. *”Next Sunday, Ill teach you Victors favourite meat pie. Youll love it!”*

Anastasia froze. *”Maybe text before visiting? I might have plans.”*

*”I need *permission* to see my own son?”* Margaret gasped.

*”He lives with me now. A little consideration would be nice.”*

*”Lily never minded,”* Margaret sniffed.

*”Well, *my* ex didnt barge in at dawn,”* Anastasia shot back. *”She brought cherry pies. Want the recipe?”*

Margarets face darkened. *”Think carefully, dear. The nightingale doesnt out-sing the lark.”*

She left, but the tension lingered. Victor kept comparing Anastasia to Lily, and Margarets ghost loomed over them.

A month of peace passedthen the doorbell rang again. This time, Anastasia refused to answer.

Five minutes later, Victor stormed out.

*”Why wont you open the door?”*

*”I dont want to! Guests should call first. And stop snooping!”*

*”Thats my *mother*!”*

*”Then *you* greet her. Not in *my* house.”*

The row that followed probably woke the neighbours. Victor accused her of rejecting his family; Margaret screamed through the door.

Finally, Anastasia snapped.

*”Either you explain what guest means to your mother, or were done.”*

He chose the latter.

She wasnt heartbroken. They hadnt even married. Living with a man tied to his ex and his overbearing mother? No thanks.

Months later, news reached her: Victor had a new girlfriendwhod moved in with him *and* Margaret.

*”She wants to meet you,”* a mutual friend laughed. *”Apparently, Margaret now says youre perfectpretty, strong-willed, a great cook.”*

Anastasia blinked. *”Were talking about the same Margaret?”*

*”Guess she only likes the ones who escape Victor.”*

From then on, Anastasia listened to warnings. She didnt believe every rumour, but she *did* steer clear of men obsessed with their exesor their mothers.

Life with a “mummys boy” never works. Maybe its right they come firstbut not at *your* expense.

What do you think? Agree or disagree? Drop your thoughts.