My mother-in-law hasn’t spoken to us in three months—all because we went on holiday instead of giving her money for home improvements.
She’s been fuming since the day my husband and I dared to take a break rather than fund her latest renovation. Her flat in an older part of Manchester isn’t falling apart, but she’s convinced it needs redecorating every few years. Meanwhile, she spends her own money on whatever takes her fancy—trips, new dresses, you name it—so long as it suits her whims.
We’re not struggling, but we’re not rolling in it either. We’ve only just paid off the mortgage, and with two school-aged kids—Emily in Year 7 and James in Year 4—we’ve had to budget carefully. This year, for the first time in ages, we treated ourselves to a proper holiday. Little did we know it would turn everything upside down.
While we were paying off the house, holidays were a luxury we skipped. At most, we’d spend a few days at my parents’ place in Birmingham. We’d drop the kids off, pick them up a week later. Their big house with a garden kept them happy—fishing with Grandpa, baking with Grandma, fresh veggies from the allotment. But for me and David, it wasn’t a break—just a change of scenery. This time, we wanted something different. We raided the savings and went to stay with my cousin in Brighton, right by the sea.
Some might think it odd that our kids spend summers with my parents, but that’s how it’s always been. My mother-in-law, Margaret, made it clear early on: she wasn’t going to help with childcare. She’d raised her own children and now wanted to live for herself. We respected that and never pushed. I understood—David has a brother and sister, and raising three kids is no joke. Two keep me busy enough, so I never expected more from her. She’d visit now and then for an hour, play with the grandkids, then be off again.
Four years ago, she retired.
*”Finally, time to enjoy myself!”* she announced, beaming.
Her plans were ambitious—swimming, theatre trips, holidays, visiting friends across the country, spa weekends. She lived like she was making up for lost time. But there was one catch: her pension didn’t stretch far enough. The kids had to chip in. David’s sister refused straight away—her own expenses were tight. His older brother sent money occasionally. We couldn’t contribute much, not with the mortgage to clear—she knew that.
Instead, she asked for other help—errands, lifts, odd jobs. When the mortgage was nearly done, she started hinting about updating her flat. Ours wasn’t exactly modern either—just basic work when we moved in. But we decided holidays came first. Her requests? We forgot about them.
We didn’t tell her our plans. No plants or pets to worry about, the kids were with us—sharing details wasn’t our habit. We locked up, packed our bags, and left.
The trip was perfect until Margaret needed David’s help. She called, and he honestly told her we were in Brighton. Used to us just popping over to Birmingham for a day or two, she asked when we’d be back. When he said weeks, not days, she demanded he come up for the weekend—just a four-hour drive from Birmingham to Manchester.
David laughed.
*”Mum, we’re at the seaside! What weekend?”*
She went icy.
*”Right,”* then hung up.
Back home, the storm hit. She barged in the same day we returned, livid.
*”You didn’t even tell me!”*
*”Tell you what? That we went on holiday? You never tell me about your trips, and I don’t make a fuss,”* David said, baffled.
*”Where’d you get the money? You’ve only just finished the mortgage!”*
*”Saved up, decided to treat ourselves. What’s the issue?”* He still didn’t get it.
*”Oh, you’ve got cash for a holiday but not for your own mother’s flat?”*
David snapped.
*”I don’t ask what you spend your money on! We go away once, and you kick off!”*
*”Ungrateful!”* She slammed the door.
Since then, silence. No calls, no visits, not even a birthday wish for James. David’s siblings now ring just to scold us for being selfish—especially his sister-in-law, who’s never once helped Margaret, visited, or invited her over. But of course, she’s the first to judge.
David and I know we’ve done nothing wrong. She’s upset over nothing. We’re not obliged to fund her whims—we’ve got our own lives, our own kids. My parents back us, saying we were right. I couldn’t care less what his brother and sister think. But this feud hangs over us like a storm cloud, and I’ve no idea how to fix it.
