My heart aches with pain and confusion. I have two sons, and with one daughter-in-law, I’ve found common ground, but with the other—it’s as though an insurmountable wall has risen between us. Emily, the wife of my younger son, is convinced I’m scheming to end her marriage to my James. But watching her behaviour, I can’t help but feel she’s the one pushing their marriage toward the edge, while I’m desperately trying to stop the fall.
My elder son, William, lived with his wife, Charlotte, in our home in Manchester after their wedding. They were saving for a mortgage, but after my mother’s passing, they moved into her flat in the city centre. In a year of living under the same roof, Charlotte and I never once argued. Now that they’ve moved out, our bond has only grown stronger—we’re more like friends than mother-in-law and daughter-in-law.
With James, it’s a different story. He married a year ago, and his wife, Emily, seemed sweet and kind at first. But soon, the mask slipped, revealing a temperament full of resentment and accusations. Emily constantly plays the victim, convinced she’s being deprived of attention, care—everything under the sun! Worse, she’s dead certain that I’m plotting to ruin her marriage to James. Honestly? I’m exhausted by her suspicions. I don’t care how long they stay together, but with this attitude, their happiness won’t last.
After the wedding, I offered to let them stay with me so they could save for a mortgage deposit. William even promised to help financially, since his own housing situation was settled. The whole family agreed it was sensible—but Emily? She acted as if I’d set a trap. She moved in, yet from day one, she treated me like her personal servant.
I work late, yet the moment I’m home, I’m at the stove, cooking for everyone. But Emily? She leaves piles of dirty dishes in the sink, scatters her things everywhere, and refuses to lift a finger. Once, I gently suggested I wasn’t her maid. What happened next? She flew into a rage, locked herself in their room, and sobbed until James came home, wailing that I was bullying her, trying to force her out.
*“She hates me! You know she never wanted us to marry!”* Emily shrieked, tears streaming. I stood there, stunned, unable to believe a simple comment had sparked such a storm. For a moment, I even wondered if she was pregnant—how else could she react so violently to plain words?
Once, William and Charlotte came over for tea. Charlotte brought a homemade cake, and of course, I praised her baking. I never meant to slight Emily, but she took it as a personal attack. Eyes burning with hurt, she fled to her room, leaving us in awkward silence. My patience was wearing thin, melting like ice in a heatwave.
But the final straw was her attitude toward my grandchildren. William and Charlotte’s children live across town and visit rarely. They’re well-behaved and quiet, yet Emily turns each visit into a spectacle, complaining they give her a *“splitting headache”* even when they’re silent as shadows. Her theatrics became unbearable, and I couldn’t stay silent any longer.
I gave them an ultimatum: they had a month to move out. Emily, of course, accused me of trying to break them up by *“kicking them onto the streets.”* Her words burned like hot coals, but I refused to endure her endless accusations and delusions about my *“wicked schemes.”*
Later, I called James and asked to meet alone to discuss housing. I knew Emily’s presence would turn it into a one-woman drama, but James told her everything. Within an hour, my phone was blowing up with her calls:
*“You threw us out and now you’re trying to turn James against me? Meeting him behind my back? You’ll never be satisfied, will you?”*
I choked back fury but kept calm, arranging to speak with James. During our talk, I learned that in a year under my roof, they’d saved nothing. William and I had covered everything—food, bills—yet they hadn’t even bought a loaf of bread. My savings and William’s help could cover a deposit, but how would they keep up payments? The question hung like a storm cloud.
Days later, Emily called again, hurling fresh accusations. She screamed that I was forcing them into a mortgage to *“make her work,”* and James supposedly didn’t want it. That was it—my patience snapped. I hung up and blocked her number. Enough. I’m done with her tantrums, the guilt she dumps on me, the poison in her words. I won’t speak to her again. Full stop.
William talked James out of the mortgage—he sees their marriage crumbling too. My savings stay in the bank, and what happens next? God only knows. All I know is I’m tired of being Emily’s imaginary villain. I just wanted to help my son. Instead, I got pain and blame.
