*Diary Entry 17th October*
Bloody hell. Another early morning ruined. The doorbell wouldnt stop ringing, and I refused to budge.
Why arent you opening the door? Victor snapped, still half-asleep.
Because I dont bloody want to! I shot back. Guests should warn people before turning up unannounced. And they certainly shouldnt root through my drawers, fridge, and cupboards.
What dyou mean? Thats my *mother*! Shes here to see *me*!
Then *you* go greet her. But not in *my* house.
He glared, muttering something about Emilyhis exwhod always been better at handling his mum.
I rolled my eyes. Oh, brilliant. If I start listing all the ways your ex was superior, well both die of embarrassment.
Doubt Id be the embarrassed one, I muttered, scrubbing the kitchen table harder than necessary. If you two were so perfect together, whyd you break up?
Victor turned away, jaw tight. You know why.
Exactly. So spare me the tales of Saint Emily, I said flatly. Unless you fancy making me your *next* ex.
I meant it. I was done.
Wed met at a pub last year, introduced by a mutual friendironically, the same Emily. Shed brought Victor along, then vanished a few months later. One drunken night, he confessed theyd split after he caught her cheating. Even shed a tear. At the time, I found it endearinga bloke unafraid of emotion. Something in me clickedmaternal instinct, maybeand before I knew it, we were dating.
It started sweetly. Hed pick me up after work, send cheesy texts, fuss over whether Id dressed warm enough. Then Emily messaged me out of the blue: *Heard youre seeing Victor. Just be careful. Him and his mum? Package deal.*
I shrugged it off. Love conquers all, right?
Wrong.
The first time Margarethis mothershowed up unannounced, I bit my tongue. Maybe she was just worried, wanting to check on her son. I dragged myself out of bed, threw on clothes, and stumbled out to meet heronly to find her rifling through our dresser.
Goodness, what a mess, she tutted, holding up a tangled pair of socks. After breakfast, Ill show you how to fold properly.
Not hello. Not sorry for barging in. Just criticism. I swallowed it.
Then came the advicehow to clean the loo, polish cutlery, even water the plants correctly. Victor? Fast asleep. By evening, I was knackered.
Is your mum always this involved? I asked later.
Shes just being friendly, he said, shrugging. Emily used to love her visits.
Emily. Again.
The next weekend, Margaret was back at dawn, this time critiquing our fridge. Chicken eggs? Victor only eats quailbetter for men. And these shelves! Disgusting.
Ill clean them *later*, I said through gritted teeth. Its our *day off*.
Perfect time to deep-clean! she chirped. Next week, Ill teach you his favourite steak pie. Emilys were *divine*.
That was it. Margaret, I said slowly, how about you *call* before visiting? Your son lives with me now. Wed like some say in our own home.
Her face darkened. Emily never minded.
Well, *my* exs mum brought cherry scones. Delicious. Want the recipe?
She left in a huff. But the damage was done. Every meal, every quiet momentEmilys ghost lingered. Her cabbage rolls were better. Mum taught her this.
A month of peace, then*ding-dong*Margaret again. This time, I didnt move.
Victor stormed out. Why wont you open the door?!
I told youno uninvited guests. No snooping.
Shes my *mother*!
Then greet her *outside*.
The row that followed couldve woken the dead. Ultimatums flew. He chose her.
No loss, really. We werent even married.
Months later, a friend told me Victor had a new girlfriendliving with him *and* Margaret. She wants to meet you, she laughed. Apparently, Margaret now says youre perfectgorgeous, strong, a brilliant cook.
*Margaret* said that?
Seems she only likes the ones who escape.
I laughed. But I learned. A man still tied to his exor worse, his mothers apron stringsisnt a partner. Hes a tenant in *her* life. And thats no foundation for love.
Lesson? Trust your gut. And never date a man who compares you to a ghostespecially when the ghost still has a key.
