Mum wants to stay with us while the mother-in-law is away, but she forbids letting strangers into her house.
I’m Emily, 25, and my heart’s been torn in two by this situation. My husband, James, and I live in his mother’s flat—Margaret Whitmore—in a small town near Brighton. This isn’t temporary; we’ll be here a while, at least until I’m back from maternity leave. Three months ago, I gave birth to our daughter, Lily, and now our lives revolve around her. But instead of feeling at home, I’m trapped in someone else’s house, where my mother-in-law makes the rules, and even my own mum isn’t allowed to visit.
Margaret’s flat is spacious—three bedrooms with a good layout, a balcony, and a large kitchen. Four people could easily live here. James has a legal share in the property, and we only take up one room to avoid disturbing anyone. I breastfeed Lily, we co-sleep, and it works for everyone. But life in this flat has become an endless battle for me. Margaret isn’t one for tidiness, so the cleaning falls entirely on me. Before the baby, I scrubbed away years of dust, and now I keep the place spotless—with a newborn, there’s no other way. Daily mopping, laundry, ironing—it’s all on me. I cook alone too, since Margaret won’t even step into the kitchen. Luckily, Lily’s an easy baby—she sleeps or lies quietly in her cot while I rush about.
Margaret does nothing. She used to wash dishes, but now she can’t even be bothered with that. She leaves dirty plates on the table and walks away. I bite my tongue to avoid arguments, but inside, I’m boiling. Is it so hard to rinse a soup bowl? A small thing, but it breaks me. I clean, cook, wash up, while she watches telly or gossips on the phone. I keep my head down, swallowing every hurt, but every day, I feel myself wearing thin.
Then Margaret announced she’s visiting relatives in Yorkshire this autumn—her niece is getting married, and she wants to see her sisters and cousins. I was thrilled—finally, James, Lily, and I could have time alone, just us. That same day, my mum, Catherine Bennett, called. She lives far away, in Manchester, and hasn’t met Lily yet. She said she misses us and wants to visit. I was over the moon—Mum could finally hold Lily, and I’d feel like I was home, even for a short while. It felt like a double blessing, and I couldn’t wait to share the news that evening.
But my happiness shattered. When I mentioned Mum’s visit, Margaret’s face darkened. “I won’t have strangers in my house while I’m gone!” she snapped. Strangers? She meant my mother, my daughter’s grandmother! I was stunned. How could she call my mum a stranger? They aren’t close, but they met at our wedding. Back then, we lived in a rented flat, and Mum stayed with us because Margaret had distant relatives visiting. That was three years ago—does that make my mum an outsider now?
Margaret dug her heels in. She accused me of plotting with Mum, as if we’d been waiting for her to leave so we could “take over” her flat. She’d already bought train tickets but now claimed Mum’s timing was suspicious. “Two years without a word, and now she suddenly wants to visit? I don’t buy it!” she ranted. I tried explaining Mum just wanted to see Lily, but Margaret wouldn’t budge. She said she’d refund the tickets and stay to “guard” the flat. As if it’s some royal palace, not an ordinary three-bed with worn-out furniture!
I couldn’t hold it in—I told Mum everything. She was upset but said she’d postpone till summer to avoid trouble. True to her word, Margaret cancelled her trip. Now she prowls around like a prison warden, watching my every move as if I’m a thief eyeing her valuables. I feel humiliated. My own mother, desperate to hold Lily, can’t visit because of Margaret’s paranoia. And me—legally living here, registered in this flat—can’t even invite my family over.
My heart aches with resentment. I do everything for this house—clean, cook, make it a home—and in return, I get suspicion and rules. James stays out of it, but I can tell he’s embarrassed. Who’s right here? Margaret, guarding her flat like a fortress? Or me, just wanting my mum to meet her granddaughter? My mother isn’t a stranger—she’s family. But Margaret sees me as a threat and my wishes as some hidden scheme. I’m exhausted, living under her control, feeling like a guest in what should be my home. This whole mess cuts deep, and I don’t know how to fix it without tearing us apart.
