Emily and James were preparing for their wedding. The celebration was in full swing when the master of ceremonies announced it was time for gifts. The bride’s parents were the first to congratulate the newlyweds. Then James’s mother, Margaret Harris, approached them, holding a large box tied with a pale blue ribbon.
“Goodness! I wonder what’s inside?” Emily whispered excitedly to James.
“No idea,” James replied, puzzled. “Mum kept it a secret.”
They decided not to open the gifts until the next day, once the wedding chaos had settled. Emily suggested starting with the box from her mother-in-law. Untying the ribbon and lifting the lid, they peered inside… and froze in shock.
Emily had long noticed something odd about James—he never took even the smallest thing without asking.
“Mind if I have the last biscuit?” he’d ask hesitantly, eyeing the lone treat in the tin.
“Of course not!” Emily would reply, baffled. “You don’t have to ask.”
“Habit, I suppose,” James would mumble, quickly unwrapping it.
It took months before Emily understood where this nervousness came from.
One evening, James invited her to meet his parents—Margaret and Edward Harris. At first, his mother seemed warm and welcoming. But that illusion shattered over dinner when Margaret served them each two small potatoes and a tiny portion of meat. James finished quickly and, in a quiet voice, asked for seconds.
“Always eating like a horse! You’ll bankrupt us!” Margaret snapped, loud enough to embarrass Emily.
Yet when Edward asked for more, his wife cheerfully piled his plate high. Emily barely touched her food, stunned by such blatant favouritism.
Later, while wedding planning, Margaret made her disapproval clear—she hated the rings, the venue, the menu.
“Such a waste! You could’ve gone cheaper!” she scolded.
Emily finally snapped. “We’ll handle it ourselves! It’s our money, our choice!”
Offended, Margaret stopped calling and even threatened to skip the wedding.
Two days before, Edward visited the couple alone.
“Son, help me with something,” he said, leading James to his car.
Inside was a washing machine—a gift he’d bought secretly to avoid Margaret’s protests. He admitted they’d argued—she thought even a wedding gift for their son was too extravagant.
On the day, Margaret arrived—wearing an expensive dress, taking a cab. She behaved politely, handed over the blue-ribboned box, then vanished into the crowd.
Next morning, Emily and James eagerly opened it—only to deflate in disappointment.
“Towels?” Emily muttered, pulling one out.
“And socks,” James sighed, lifting two pairs. “Dad was right… She just grabbed whatever was lying about. Honestly, it’s hard to believe she’s become this stingy. Might’ve been better if she’d come empty-handed.”
But the story didn’t end there. Days later, Margaret called to interrogate them.
“So, what did your in-laws give you? And your uncle? Emily’s friends?” she pressed.
James had had enough.
“Mum, that’s none of your business. We’re happy, that’s all.”
Hanging up, he felt no guilt for the first time in his life.
Some lessons are simple: kindness isn’t measured by price tags, and respect—like love—is shown in the little things. Sadly, Margaret had long forgotten both.
