“My daughter-in-law doesn’t need anyone, not even her own child!” — the tale of a woman who doesn’t understand family.
After my son’s wedding, I had high hopes our family would thrive. But from day one, it was clear: this woman, Emily, wasn’t for me. No, it wasn’t jealousy—I’d long accepted my son had grown up, married, and now another woman came first. I’d have welcomed her with open arms, offered support, been there for her. But the more time passed, the clearer it became—she loved no one. Not me, not my son, and worst of all, not even her own child.
Emily had always put herself and her whims above all else. I’d noticed it before the wedding but thought motherhood might soften her. How wrong I was. She stayed as cold as ever. My son? Just a temporary convenience—useful only when it suited her.
They hardly ever visited. Family gatherings were always at our place, and Emily would show up—immaculate manicure, freshly styled hair, designer outfit. Fine, if she’d spared a thought for my son. But every time I saw him, my heart broke. He looked exhausted, unkempt, lost—not a happily married man, but a man barely surviving on hostile ground.
“Honestly, Emily, you’re letting your husband go to ruin,” my sister remarked carefully over Sunday roast.
Emily just smirked.
“I didn’t sign up to be his nanny. He can look after himself.”
I bit my tongue. Didn’t want to ruin my son’s day. But one thought stuck: “Does she even care how he looks? As long as her lashes are flawless and nails polished, nothing else matters.”
Months later, my son called.
“Mum, can I come round? I just… need to be somewhere for a bit.”
His voice was hoarse, weak. An hour later, he arrived—pale, feverish, barely standing. I nearly fainted when I saw him. Turned out, he needed twice-daily injections—strictly on time. And Emily?
“I’m not setting alarms for this. Let his mum do it if she’s so bothered.”
So there he was. So much for a “wife.” No care, no concern. I thought he might finally consider divorce. But no—months later, they decided to… have a baby.
My grandson arrived, but I saw no love from his mother. Just a checklist: feed, change, sleep. No kisses, no cuddles, no warmth. A robot, not a mum. Once, they planned a holiday. Emily refused to take the baby—”he’ll ruin the trip.” Suggested leaving him with a friend. Not me, not his grandparents—we all worked. My son refused to abandon his boy. So Emily went alone.
He stayed, did it all—cooked, walked, cared. Alone. For the first time, divorce crossed his mind. But, as always, he hesitated. Maybe she’d change. She didn’t. They’re still together, though now he often crashes at mine after yet another row he can’t stomach.
Emily lives like she’s single. A husband? A housemate. A child? A nuisance. I don’t get it. Why marry if you don’t want a family? Why have a child if you don’t want one? Just to tick a box?
My son’s miserable. I see it. But he still hopes. And I still wait—for the day he realises she won’t change. Only then, perhaps, can his real life begin. No ice-cold wife, no hollow marriage. Just him and his little boy, loved at last.
