I want to convince my son to get a divorce. Why does he need such an airheaded wife?
There’s a stereotype about mothers-in-law being wicked witches who torment their poor, unfortunate daughters-in-law for no reason. Browse any online forum, and you’ll find plenty of such stories. And here I am—the so-called “evil mother-in-law” who’s not just nitpicking my daughter-in-law but has made up her mind to destroy my son’s marriage. You know what? I don’t feel guilty. I’m convinced I’m right, and let me explain my reasons while I’m filled with fury and concern for my boy.
My son, Paul, met this girl, Emily, about five years ago. However, he introduced her to me much later—only after he proposed and decided to get married. From the first glance, I didn’t like her, and as it turned out later, my intuition was spot on—this young woman turned out to be a true nightmare.
I invited them over to our cozy home just outside of Manchester. Emily hadn’t even taken off her shoes when her phone rang. Instead of apologizing and saying she’d call back, she started chatting with a friend right there in the hallway. Fifteen minutes! I stood, gritting my teeth while she giggled and discussed some nonsense. I sensed right then something was off about her.
At the table, I refrained from asking her serious questions and just observed. But when the conversation turned to her life and plans, everything became clear. She barely graduated from school, is on her last year at college, and isn’t even considering further education. Why should she? According to her, a woman’s role is to be a wife and mother—end of story. She doesn’t plan on working. Her parents support her now, and I guess that burden will soon fall on my son. She lives with her mum and dad, but after the wedding, she plans to move into our house. And the cherry on top: she’s pregnant. It’s still early, so they need to have the wedding quickly before her bump gives away her “secret.” She acted like the world owes her something, and her beauty is a ticket to an easy life.
The most shocking moment was when Paul stepped out for a cigarette on the balcony. Emily immediately pulled out a pack of slim cigarettes and followed him. Pregnant—and she’s smoking! I was nearly suffocated by outrage. What about the baby? She, apparently, wasn’t concerned.
Soon they got married, and we all moved into my house. I’d leave for work early in the morning and return in the evening, while Emily would sleep till noon and then wander around the house doing absolutely nothing, constantly slipping out to the balcony for a smoke. She took a pregnancy leave from her college courses. Every evening met me with chaos: piles of dirty dishes in the sink, scattered belongings, an empty fridge. She didn’t cook or clean—only spent time on the phone, chattering with her mum or friends.
Whenever I asked her to help around the house, she waved me off saying it was either morning sickness or fatigue, but it didn’t stop her from clubbing with friends or hitting nightclubs with Paul till dawn. I gritted my teeth but kept quiet—for my son’s sake. Then my grandson was born. And guess what? Emily didn’t change one bit. Paul got up at night, went on pram walks, took the baby to the doctor. I helped in the evenings and on weekends, exhausted after work. And her? She lay on the couch, scrolling through her phone and smoking as if nothing had happened. I shook with anger.
I tried talking to her—calmly at first, then more firmly. She brushed my words aside, looking at me with a cheeky grin. But the worst part was Paul always stood up for her. When I pointed out her laziness, her uselessness, he’d stand like a wall: “Mum, she’s trying; it’s just hard for her.” And we’d argue. He’d shout at me but never a word against her. My son, my only child, blinded by love to this lazybones.
The tension at home reached unbearable levels. One day I snapped in rage: “Take your wife and child and get out! Live on your own and see how you manage!” They left. Paul was hurt and stopped talking to me. I tried to explain to him, open his eyes to reality, but he shut himself off from me. Now he almost never calls or visits. I’m certain Emily is turning him against me, driving a wedge between us. But I love my son more than anything, and I adore my grandson wholeheartedly.
I’ve made my decision: Paul doesn’t need a wife like that. He deserves someone better—an intelligent, caring woman, not this lazy, irresponsible girl. Though he doesn’t see it now, I’ll do everything to make their marriage fall apart. I won’t stop until my son is freed from these shackles. Sooner or later, he’ll realize I was right, embrace me, and say, “Thank you, Mum.” And we’ll raise our grandson ourselves—without her useless shadow, without her indifference and cigarette smoke. I won’t relent because this is my battle for my son’s happiness.
