Oh, my dears, gather round—I’ve got quite the story to tell you, one I heard from my neighbor here at the care home. My own family tucked me away in this place, so now I just listen to tales and pass them on. This one’s about Max, his wife Julia, and his mum, Theresa. Oh, it’s a right drama, so listen close.
Max was sat in his office, flipping through a report, when his phone rang—Theresa, his mum, absolutely fuming.
«Son,» she snapped, «if your Julia doesn’t learn to speak to me properly, I’ll rip every hair out of her head!»
Max pressed the phone to his ear so hard his coworker turned to stare. His head was buzzing with spreadsheets, numbers swimming, but his mum’s voice drowned it all out.
«Mum, what happened?» he asked, tired.
«My friends came over!» she thundered. «Margaret, Veronica—proper ladies! I’m slicing salads, the oven’s blazing, and I call Julia to ask, ‘Pop round for half an hour, help me out.’ And what does she say?»
She paused, like she was on stage. Max could picture her—apron on, knife in hand, her friends in the sitting room, listening like a jury.
«She said she was busy!» Theresa exploded. «Told me I should’ve warned her! Who does she think she is, lecturing me like a child in front of guests? They all heard!»
Max rubbed his forehead. He knew this tune. To his mum, anything not done her way was a tragedy. Julia probably *was* busy—she worked from home, and her job wasn’t any easier than his. But to Theresa? Her schedule was law.
«What exactly did she say?»
«‘Theresa, I’m in a meeting. I’ll be there in three hours,’» his mum huffed. «Putting her work above me! I’m running myself ragged, and she’s sat at her computer! Bring her here—she’ll apologise to everyone!»
Max imagined dropping work, racing home to drag Julia to his mum’s, forcing her to bow to a room full of judgmental women. Ridiculous. But Theresa wasn’t joking—she was commanding.
«I’m at work, Mum,» he said firmly. «We’ll talk tonight.»
«Tonight?» she hissed. «This is humiliation *now*! My friends are already whispering about the rude little upstart you married! Call her, make her come! Are you a man or not?»
Max felt the tug-of-war. She didn’t want a solution—she wanted him to confirm her authority.
«Tonight,» he repeated, and hung up.
His coworker pretended not to listen, but curiosity was eating him alive. Max stared at his report—the numbers might as well have been soup. The evening would be brutal.
He got home to the smell of coffee, fresh air—no pots boiling. Julia was at the table, glued to her laptop, focused. She glanced up—tired but calm.
«Hi. How was your day?»
«Mum called,» he muttered.
«Figured,» Julia nodded. «She hung up when I said I was busy.»
«She wants you to apologise. To her friends.»
Julia closed her laptop, steady:
«I had a conference call with German clients—a project I’ve worked on for three months. I told Theresa I’d come in three hours when I was free. She slammed the phone down. That’s it.»
Max listened and saw it: on one side, his mum’s meltdown over salads; on the other, Julia, holding their future together. The choice he’d been forced into his whole life suddenly seemed absurd.
«Got it,» he said shortly. Grabbed his phone, dialled his mum. «Come here, Jules.»
He put it on speaker. Theresa’s voice trembled:
«Well?! Are you coming?»
«Mum, I’ve sorted it,» Max said coldly. «Julia was working. She couldn’t drop everything for your guests. She’s not a maid—she’s my wife.»
Silence. Then:
«How *dare* you—»
«Not finished,» he cut in. «Don’t ever threaten her again. If I hear it, you won’t see me. Ever. Understood?»
The silence in the receiver was stone-heavy. Max ended the call himself. Looked at Julia—her eyes held no triumph, just understanding. This was only the beginning.
Two weeks passed. Theresa didn’t call. The silence was worse than shouting. Max knew: she wasn’t surrendering, just plotting. And he was right.
Saturday morning—the phone rang. Theresa’s voice was syrup-sweet, nauseating:
«Darling, my birthday’s soon. I want all the family—your aunts, cousins. You and Julia will come, won’t you? It’s important to me.»
Max stared out the window, hearing the trap in every word. But he said:
«We’ll be there.»
Refusing would’ve been her victory. On the day, they stepped into Theresa’s flat—smell of roast beef, polish, perfume. Guests—Aunt Zoe, Aunt Nina, Margaret, a few others—all with identical smiles, like actors. Julia stood tall. She knew: this was a test.
The evening began with sticky small talk. Aunt Zoe piled meat onto Julia’s plate:
«Eat up, dear. Modern women spend all their time working, but family comes first. Max always doted on his mum.»
«Too right,» Aunt Nina added. «Knew his place—by his mother’s side. Young people today just think of themselves.»
Julia smiled.
«Times change. Plenty juggle work and family.»
The guests faltered—not the reaction they wanted. But they rallied. Theresa launched into stories—raising Max alone, all her sacrifices. Every anecdote was a jab at Julia.
«A family’s foundation is respecting elders,» she finished. «Without that, it’s just a house of cards.»
Nods all round. Side-eyes at Julia. Max tried to speak, but his voice drowned. Here, he was just «the man with the wrong wife.»
The climax: Theresa’s toast.
«To family! May the young listen to their elders, not put themselves first. To Max—wisdom. And to his wife…» A pause. «May she learn it.»
The verdict. Julia stayed silent. Max stood, napkin down:
«Thanks for tonight. We’re off.»
He took Julia’s hand, and they left to stunned stares. The guests expected tears, shouting—got calm instead. Max wasn’t playing.
In the car—silence. Max stared at the road; Julia, out the window. Her quiet was support.
«I have to go back,» he said.
«Alone?»
«Yeah. This ends now.»
He turned the car around, parked outside the house. Aunt Zoe opened the door, smile slipping. Max walked into the sitting room. Theresa was basking in Margaret’s praise:
«Theresa, love, you always know where to strike.»
She saw Max—stopped. Thought he’d come to apologise.
«Changed your mind?» she asked.
«I came to finish this,» he said, scanning the room. «You made me choose—you or Julia. Staged this whole show. But *you* made the choice.»
Theresa’s smile vanished.
«Now it’s my turn,» Max continued. «This flat—it’s ours, after Dad. I’m selling my half tomorrow.»
Silence. Even the fridge hummed louder. Theresa whispered:
«What?»
«Likely, you’ll have to sell the whole place. Your share might get you a one-bed out of town. Julia and I will buy a house. Somewhere else.»
His voice was calm, no anger. Not revenge—consequence. He looked at Theresa—the woman who’d ruled his life with guilt and games. Her power crumbled.
«That’s it, Mum. I choose my family.»
He walked out. No one stopped him. Just the quiet click of the door. For good.