“No more help until she leaves that good-for-nothing”: I told my daughter to stand on her own two feet.
“Not a penny from us until she divorces him.” Thats what I made clear to my daughterI wont lift a finger to help while shes tied to that layabout.
Every day, our home shakes with shoutingnot between my husband and me, but because of my son-in-law. The man my daughter married is the very picture of laziness and irresponsibility. He hasnt held a steady job in over a year, drifting between odd jobs and spending the rest of his time doing absolutely nothing. My daughter shoulders the entire burdenraising twin toddlers while on maternity leave, while he? He simply exists.
Of course, she cant work full-timethe twins need constant care. I offered to help, but on one condition. A firm, unwavering one: not a single pound more until she divorces that parasite. Because helping her only enables *him*. And I refuse to bankroll someone elses idleness.
From the start, I never liked Daniel. I hoped it would pass, that shed wake up. But noshe married him. Youth, love, foolish dreamsit all clouded her judgment. And now, were left picking up the pieces.
My husband and I gave them Grans old flat. Before, it was rented out, our only extra income in retirement. But the young ones couldnt afford rent, so we handed it over. I only asked for a bit of sprucing up, just so the children had a decent place.
Then Daniel showed his true colours:
“Im not doing that. Im not handyIm an intellectual. Hire professionals.”
With what money, pray? He hasnt earned enough to buy a screwdriver. All he does is philosophise and moan about his bad luck. Work evenings? Out of the question. Weekends? “Thats time to rest.” Hes grown far too comfortable letting others carry him.
When I called him a lazy sod to his face, he sulked. “Youre unfair to me.” And my daughter? Instead of backing me up, she snapped:
“Now weve rowed again because of you! Why cant you stay out of it?”
I stepped back. But I made myself clear: if she chose this life, shed face it alone. No more handouts. Then came the newstwins. My heart broke. I thought Daniel might step up. But no. Nothing. It all fell on us. We finished the flat, hunted down cots, even took my daughter to her check-ups. Him? Sprawled on the sofa, glued to his laptop.
Emily did her best, but I could see the dawning realisation of who shed married. Together, we cobbled the flat into shapeall by hand. Later, he bought a few trinkets on salehardly an apology. When youve a family, you act like a man. Him? Just a lodger in a house built by others.
Then we found out how they were scraping by: a credit card. Hidden from us. Then the call came:
“Mum, we cant manage. Please”
I was livid.
“Emily! You had children with a man who cant change a lightbulb! How did you think this would work?”
“Its just a rough patch”
“Rough patch? Youve a home, parents carrying you both. And him? No jobs good enoughpays too low, commutes too far, hours dont suit!”
“Mum, you dont understandhes looking! He wont work for peanuts!”
“Peanuts keep people alive! You, your children, himall on our backs!”
Ive had enough. No more being their cash cow. I told her straight:
“No divorce? Then dont darken our door. Not another penny. If you stay with him, you cope alone.”
Sobs.
“Youd have my children grow up without a father?”
And I said what Id held back too long:
“Better no father than one like *that*. A man who lives off others.”
Im a mother. But I wont be a doormat. I want my daughter raising those babies with a *man*, not a millstone. I want her to respect herself. To stop begging for help while he sips his tea in peace.
She hung up quietly. But one day, shell understand.
