I am determined to end my son’s marriage. Why should he be stuck with such a thoughtless wife?
There’s a stereotype that mothers-in-law are wicked witches who torment poor, unfortunate daughters-in-law for no reason. Just browse the forums online—there are plenty of such stories. Well, I am that “evil mother-in-law” who hasn’t just nitpicked her daughter-in-law, but has firmly decided to break up her son’s marriage. And you know what? I’m not ashamed. I’m convinced I’m right, and I’ll explain why I feel this way while my heart is filled with anger and pain for my boy.
My son, James, met this girl, Clara, about five years ago. But he introduced her to me much later—only after he proposed and decided to marry her. From the first moment, I didn’t like her, and as it turned out later, my intuition didn’t fail me—this girl turned out to be a nightmare.
I invited them to my home, our cozy apartment on the outskirts of London. Clara didn’t even have time to take off her shoes when her phone rang. Instead of apologizing and saying she’d call back, she started chatting with her friend right in the hallway. Fifteen minutes! I stood there, gritting my teeth, while she giggled and discussed some nonsense. Already then, I felt something was off with her.
At the table, I didn’t ask her serious questions—just observed. But then, when the conversation turned to her and her life plans, everything became clear. She barely finished school, studying at the last year of college, but she doesn’t even think about higher education. Why? According to her, a woman should be a wife and mother—end of story. She’s not planning to work. Her parents support her now, and afterwards, it seems this burden will fall on my son. She lives with her mom and dad but plans to move into our apartment after the wedding. And the cherry on the top: she’s pregnant. It’s early enough that the wedding needs to happen quickly before her belly reveals her “secret.” She acted like the whole world owed her something, and her beauty was a ticket to a carefree life.
But the most shocking part came when James stepped out to smoke on the balcony. Clara immediately pulled out a pack of slim cigarettes and followed him. Pregnant—and smoking! I almost choked with outrage. What would happen to the baby? She didn’t seem to care.
Soon they married, and we started living together in my apartment. I left for work early, returned in the evening, and Clara slept till noon, then wandered around doing nothing, constantly sneaking out for a cigarette on the balcony. In college, she got a note about her pregnancy and took a leave of absence. Every evening I was greeted by chaos: a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, clothes scattered everywhere, an empty fridge. She neither cooked nor cleaned—just stayed on the phone, chatting either with her mom or her friends.
When I asked her to help around the house, she shrugged it off, citing morning sickness or fatigue. Yet it didn’t stop her from going out with friends to cafes or dragging James to nightclubs until morning. I gritted my teeth but kept quiet—for my son’s sake. Then our grandson was born. And guess what? Clara hadn’t changed a bit. James was the one up at night with the baby, taking him for walks, and bringing him to the doctor. I helped in the evenings and on weekends, completely worn out after work. And her? She lounged on the couch, scrolling through her phone and smoking like nothing had happened. My anger burned inside me.
I tried talking to her—calmly at first, then more firmly. She ignored my words, looking at me with a defiant smirk. But the worst part was that James always defended her. When I pointed out her laziness and uselessness, he stood firm: “Mum, she’s trying; it’s just hard for her.” And we argued. He’d shout at me, never at her. My son, my only child, blind with love for this empty-headed girl.
The tension at home became unbearable. One day, I couldn’t take it anymore and angrily shouted: “Take your wife and your child and get out! Live separately and see how you manage!” They left. James was upset, stopped talking to me. I tried explaining, opening his eyes to the truth, but he built a wall between us. Now he rarely calls, hardly visits. I’m sure it’s Clara turning him against me, driving a wedge between us. Yet, I love my son more than anything, and I adore my grandson with all my heart.
I’ve decided: such a wife is not what James needs. He deserves better—a smart, caring woman, not this lazy, irresponsible girl. He might not see it now, but I will do everything to break their marriage. I won’t stop until my son is free from these shackles. I’m sure, sooner or later, he’ll realize I was right, hug me, and say, “Thank you, Mum.” And we’ll raise the grandson ourselves—without her useless shadow, without her apathy and cigarette smoke. I won’t back down because this is my battle for my boy’s happiness.
