For ten days in London—and not a single invitation from the daughter-in-law.
“My Oliver comes from a small village near York,” begins 28-year-old Emily. “He moved to London with his sister when they started university. She’s been here for years now—settled with her husband and two kids. Recently, their mum, Margaret, came to visit. She stayed in the city for ten days. Of course, she stayed with Oliver’s sister—she has a two-bed flat, and the grandkids are nearby. We saw each other a couple of times, but—as it turned out later—that wasn’t nearly enough. She was deeply hurt. And all because I didn’t invite her over.”
Emily and Oliver started dating just under a year ago. They’ve only lived together for a short while—renting a tiny one-bed flat on the outskirts of town, saving for a mortgage. Their schedule leaves little time or space for hosting.
“Mind you,” she continues, “I’ve already visited his parents. Oliver and I went to see them last summer. His mum welcomed us warmly—laid out a proper spread, treated me like family. She was upset we didn’t stay the night, but I promised then—once we’re married, I’ll come back and stay longer.”
Since then, Margaret called Emily occasionally, checking in, as if trying to build a bond. Then, a few weeks before her trip, she announced she was coming to London—to visit her daughter and see the big city.
“Oliver even took time off work to spend time with her,” Emily says. “He picked her up from the station, took her to his sister’s, then showed her around—walked down Oxford Street, visited a museum, even went to the cinema. And me? I stayed out of the way. I was working. His sister’s husband barely got involved—just had a cuppa with his mother-in-law. And yet, somehow, I’m the one in the wrong.”
On Margaret’s last day, the whole family got together. Emily even left work early: they went to a café, strolled along the Thames, and saw her off at the station. All proper, polite.
“And now I hear mutterings: ‘That daughter-in-law of yours… Didn’t even let me inside.’ What’s there to see?” Emily says wryly. “Our rented one-bed in an old council block? Someone else’s furniture and a cramped kitchen? Fine, I didn’t invite her. But not because I’m hiding something or being rude. I just don’t feel right showing off a place that isn’t really ours. When we have our own home—that’ll be different.”
She’s sure Margaret got plenty of attention. Oliver spent every free moment with her. Both her children dropped everything to take her sightseeing. Yet she’s still upset—because her future daughter-in-law didn’t throw a “proper tea and a tour of the flat.”
“I respect Oliver’s mum,” Emily says. “But family isn’t about orders or control. It’s trust and understanding. If she starts this relationship with scolding, I doubt there’ll ever be warmth between us.”
What do you think? Does Margaret have a right to be upset? Or has she overstepped, demanding hospitality in a rented flat? And does Emily stand a chance to fix things—when she’s already been labeled “ungrateful” from the start?
