My life in a small town near York turned into a nightmare ever since my daughter-in-law, Emily, became pregnant. Our relationship had never been warm, but before the pregnancy, I tolerated her rudeness, hoping for peace in the family. Now, she’s crossed every line: she insults me and my husband, shouts, and belittles us, while our son, James, stands by silently, excusing her behavior with her “condition.” Her cruelty eats at my soul, but James’s indifference wounds me even more. We knew from the start Emily wasn’t exactly a gem—rude and ill-mannered, she looked down on us from day one. But she used to hold back, at least. We’re not aristocrats, but we were raised properly and tried to rise above her jabs. Everything changed when she got pregnant. It was as if a mask had slipped: she became unbearable, her venom unchecked. She screams at us, calls us names, and James just shrugs: “She’s pregnant, she needs understanding.” I’m choking on bitterness, but he doesn’t hear me.
Take my birthday last year—I spent all day cooking, trying to please everyone. Emily took one bite of a salad and declared, “This is the worst thing I’ve ever eaten! Such rubbish, don’t bother making it again!” I was speechless. Guests exchanged glances, my cheeks burned with shame, but I swallowed my anger. James tried to calm her, but Emily snapped, “Why should I stay quiet? It’s my right to say it’s disgusting!” The irony? Everyone else cleared their plates—only hers remained untouched. Her words were a slap, but my son didn’t defend me.
Their wedding was a spectacle I still shudder to recall. Emily got drunk, babbled nonsense, then brawled with her cousin over some trifle. Guests were horrified; her parents sat unfazed, as if this was normal. I realized then her cruelty wasn’t a phase—it was who she was. But even that didn’t prepare me for the tyranny that followed. Now, under the guise of “hormones,” every word or request triggers a tantrum, and my husband and I are her favourite targets.
When they found out they were having a boy, we bought a set of blue baby blankets as a gift. We handed them over with a smile—only to be met with a shriek: “Are you mad? It’s bad luck to buy things early!” She raged, calling us superstitious fools, while James stared at his feet, too cowardly to intervene. We left humiliated. I couldn’t believe my own son would let his wife treat us this way.
Last week, our daughter, Olivia, invited everyone to a restaurant for her birthday. We hoped for a pleasant evening, but Emily arrived in towering heels despite her advanced pregnancy. Quietly, I said, “Perhaps wear something more stable? For your safety and the baby’s.” What followed was unhinged. She screamed, “You *want* me to fall and hurt the baby! You’d love to see me break my neck!” Her accusations were monstrous. My husband tried to reason with her, but she exploded again, called us “useless old sods,” and stormed out. James chased after her without a single apology. The celebration was ruined; guests whispered as we sat in silence.
I was shattered. If my Olivia—a mother of two—ever spoke to her in-laws this way, I’d die of shame. This isn’t just bad manners—it’s contempt. Three days later, James called. I refused to speak, passing the phone to my husband. He apologised but said he wouldn’t make Emily do the same—”she’s under enough stress.” That broke me. I raised three children: Olivia makes me proud, my youngest, Daniel, is kind and thoughtful, but James… he’s a stranger now. He lets his wife trample us, humiliate us in public. It’s betrayal.
We’ve kept this quiet, though we could’ve told the family and made Emily’s life difficult—but I won’t stoop to her level. Still, my heart aches: why won’t James stand up for us? Did we raise him to be so weak, or has she erased him entirely? I don’t know how to live beside a woman who poisons every moment, or a son who lets her. Their child is our grandson, but I fear she’ll turn him against us too. The thought strangles me—but I won’t surrender. If James won’t stop his wife, I will, even if it tears us apart. Some lines must be drawn, no matter the cost. A family’s dignity should never be sacrificed for silence.
