My mother-in-law was “drunk” on the night of my wedding, so I had to relinquish my bed to her. and I was stunned when I discovered something on the sheets the following morning.
The festivities were finally coming to an end. The only thing I wanted was to lock myself in our room, be with my husband, and finally give up to rest after spending hours grinning, welcoming guests, listening to toasts, and dancing in spite of my weariness.
The door suddenly opened just as I was beginning to take off my makeup.
– “My mom is worn out. It’s too noisy downstairs, so let her rest down here for a bit.
With a pillow under her arm, my mother-in-law, a severe and authoritarian woman, walked in nearly dazed. Her lipstick appeared hastily done, her clothing smelled of booze, and her low neckline accentuated her flushed cheeks.
With this gesture, my husband stopped me before I could offer to help her return down to the living room:
Allow her to spend the night here. Just a single evening, even if it’s the wedding night.
I brought a pillow to the couch with resentment since I didn’t dare do anything else for fear of being called a “disrespectful young bride.”
I didn’t get any sleep that night. I was tossing and turning, my heart heaving from an unidentified worry.
Upstairs, I heard footsteps and the floors creaking, and then there was silence. I didn’t go into a short, deep slumber until morning, when I was finally too tired to continue.
It was nearly six when I opened my eyes. In order for my husband and I to descend to welcome the family, I went upstairs to wake him.
The door was open.
I gave it a little shove and froze.
My husband was facing the wall while he slept on his back.
In the same bed that I had left the previous evening, my mother-in-law was standing directly beside him.
I stepped forward to rouse him. But I froze once again when I looked at the document.
An antique photograph is a forgotten artifact. Ethan sitting on his mother’s knee as a child, eyes wide open. His father’s silhouette behind them However, it appeared as though someone had intended to completely erase his existence by painstakingly cutting out half of his face.
I flipped the picture over.
A tense statement, nearly chiseled into the paper, was written on the back:
“No one else is needed.”
I was startled out of my reverie by a faint rustle.
Still dazed from sleep, my mother-in-law stirred on the bed. Before Margaret could see the picture, I instinctively tucked it under the pillow.
That’s when the doorknob turned.
— “My little one, do you sleep well on the sofa?” With a gentle tone and a keen stare, she inquired.
That’s when I realized the picture wasn’t a coincidence. It served as a warning.
My doubts were only confirmed in the days that followed.
Margaret was everywhere.
She showed up in hallways, throughout discussions, and during every quiet moment that Ethan and I shared.
She finished her son’s sentences, made meals before I could, and always stepped in when he tried to approach.
She knocked on our door every evening to “wish us good night,” but her gaze was fixed on Ethan as if he were her property.
She whispered, almost gently, one afternoon:
— “I am all that my son needs.” He was always aware of that.
It wasn’t affection. The barrier was imperceptible.
I ventured to unlock the condemned room one evening.
An anxious shrine was exposed by the yellowish light: dozens of pictures of Ethan as a child or adolescent, constantly by himself or clinging to his mother.
There was a diary on the desk.
I read the opening lines:
**I vowed that Ethan would always have love the day he left us.
His. mine.
Just mine. **
Afterwards, hurried, crossed-out phrases:
“I will not allow anyone to take from him what his father disapproved of.”
Nobody.
Ethan was motionless for a while after I showed him everything.
Then, in a voice that was broken:
“My dad is still alive.” He departed. Not a word. My mother kept me because she could never bear to be parted. Too near.
A letter was waiting for us the following day:
“Claire, release him. I do not want my fear to serve as his cage any longer.
We then departed.
so that Ethan may at last understand that love allows you to breathe and does not hold you back.
