There came a knock at the door. I opened it to find my mother-in-law standing on the threshold, her face streaked with tears—turned out, her son’s mistress had bled them dry.
Fifteen years ago, I married Edward. Even then, his mother made it clear we would never be friends. I accepted it. We built a life together, though children were slow to come. A decade of waiting, hoping, praying… At last, fortune smiled upon us: first a son, then a daughter.
Life was good. Edward climbed the ranks, becoming director of a prominent firm. I devoted myself to the children, stepping away from work to care for them. My own mother lived far away, so there was no one to lean on. And my mother-in-law? In all those years, her disdain never wavered. To her, I was still the scheming upstart who stole her son—when in her mind, he ought to have married some “proper girl” she’d handpicked for him. But Edward chose me.
We carried on, raising our children. I ignored her sharp words, her cold glances. Until the day everything shattered.
I remember it all too well. The children and I had just returned from the park. They were kicking off their shoes in the hall while I moved to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Then I spotted it—a scrap of paper on the side table. A chill crept over me as I approached. The house felt hollow. Edward’s things were gone.
Scrawled in haste, his note read:
*”Forgive me. I’ve fallen for someone else. Don’t look for me. You’re strong—you’ll manage. This is for the best.”*
His phone was dead. No call, no message. Just… gone. Left me alone with two little ones.
I didn’t know where he was, or who she was. Desperate, I rang his mother. Maybe she’d offer answers, comfort. Instead, she said:
*”You brought this on yourself.”* Her voice dripped with satisfaction. *”I always knew it would end like this. You should have too.”*
I reeled. What had I done wrong? Why such hatred? But there was no time to dwell—I had children to feed and barely a penny to my name. Edward had taken everything.
I couldn’t work—no one to mind the children. Then I remembered the academic papers I’d written years ago for extra income. That’s how we scraped by. Each day a battle. Six months passed without a word from Edward.
Then, one rainy autumn evening, as I tucked the children in, came another knock. My pulse jumped. Who’d call so late? A neighbor?
I cracked the door—and froze.
There she stood: my mother-in-law. Drenched. Defeated.
*”May I come in?”* she whispered. I stepped aside without thinking.
At the kitchen table, she wiped her tears and spoke haltingly. Edward’s “true love” had been a fraud. She’d emptied his accounts, taken loans in his name, and vanished, leaving nothing behind.
He was ruined. The house she’d boasted of didn’t exist. His mother, too, had lost everything—she’d mortgaged her flat for him, and now the bank meant to seize it.
*”We have nothing left,”* she pleaded. *”Please… help me. I’ve nowhere else to go.”*
Her eyes held the look of a beaten dog.
My hands clenched. Memories surged—the cruel words, the scorn, the years I’d spent an outsider in my own home. And now *she* begged for mercy?
Part of me burned to shut the door. To say, *”Leave. You’ve earned nothing.”* But another part—the one that remembered kindness, that thought of the children—wouldn’t let me.
I sat silent, tears brimming.
Revenge or compassion?
Before I’d decided, I stood, brewed tea, and set a cup before her.
Because sometimes, being human means choosing with your conscience, not your heart.
