t asked the familiar question: “Does anyone here object to this marriage?”
Then my mother-in-law lifted her hand.
— I object, — she declared loudly. — This is my only son, and I won’t surrender him to another woman. Son, let’s just go home, why continue this wedding?
The audience gasped, a few chuckled. My husband froze, completely speechless. I was furious inside, yet I quickly searched for a way to rescue the ceremony.
I said with a sharp voice:
— Mom, did you forget to take your medication again? The doctor warned: miss a dose, and you’ll start rambling. Should I bring you water to calm you down? Today is the wedding! I am your daughter-in-law, and he is your son. Did you forget?
Then I turned to the guests:
— Forgive us, my mother-in-law suffers from illness, and sometimes she loses awareness of her words. Father, please continue; her statements mean nothing. She is confused.
— But I am not ill! — my mother-in-law protested.
— Yes, yes, of course you’re fine, you just skipped your medicine briefly. Now it’s fine, and I’ll bring it later, — I answered kindly.
Bewildered, she stepped aside and sat down, and the ceremony carried on. We were married, and in that instant, I realized: sometimes, in order to protect happiness, you must rely on wit.
