A Knock at the Door: A Mother-in-Law in Tears and a Drama Unfolded
There was a knock at the door. I opened it to find my mother-in-law standing there, drenched and red-eyed from crying. The mistress had taken every last penny.
Fifteen years ago, Victor and I married. His mother made it clear from the start we would never be friends. I accepted it. We built our life together, but children were slow to come. Ten years of waiting, hoping, prayinguntil we were blessed: first came Peter, then Eleanor.
Life had been kind. Victor climbed the ranks as director of a prominent firm. I devoted myself to the children, taking maternity leave and pouring my heart into our family. My own mother lived far away, in another city, so there was no help to be had. And my mother-in-law? In fifteen years, her attitude toward me never softened. To her, I was always a “gold-digger,” a schemer who stole her son. In her dreams, Victor should have married the “proper girl,” the one shed chosen. But Victor chose me.
We lived, raised our children, and I ignored her icy staresuntil the day everything fell apart.
I remember every detail of that afternoon. Wed just returned from an outing; the children were kicking off their shoes in the hall, and I went to put the kettle on. Thats when I noticed a note on the side table. Just seeing it sent a chill through me. The house felt eerily empty. Victors things were gone.
In hurried handwriting, hed written:
*”Forgive me. It happenedIve fallen for another. Dont look for me. Youre strong; youll manage. This is best for everyone.”*
His phone was switched off. Not a call, not a text. Hed vanished. Left me alonewith two small children in my arms.
I didnt know where he was or who the “other woman” was. Desperate, I rang his mother. I hoped for an explanation, some comfort. Instead, I heard:
“This is all your fault.” Her voice dripped with satisfaction. “I always knew it would end this way. You shouldve seen it coming.”
I was speechless. What had I done? Why did they hate me so? But there was no time for blameI had the children and almost no money. Victor hadnt left a single pound.
I couldnt workthere was no one to mind the children. Then I remembered my old side job, proofreading university essays. Thats how we survived. Each day was a battle to put food on the table. Six months passednot a word from Victor.
One autumn evening, as I tucked the children into bed, there was a persistent knock at the door. Who could it be at this hour? A neighbour?
I opened itand nearly stumbled back.
There she stoodmy mother-in-law. Dishevelled, soaked, her face streaked with tears.
“May I come in?” she whispered, and without thinking, I stepped aside.
We sat in the kitchen. Between sobs, she told me everything. Victors “new love” was a fraud. Shed emptied his pockets, saddled him with debts, and vanished with everything of value.
Victor was left penniless. The mistresss promises were lies; the future, an illusion. Even his mother had lost everythingshed mortgaged her flat for him, and now the bank threatened to evict her.
“We have nothing left,” she wept. “Help me please Ive nowhere to go.”
She looked at me like a beaten dog, begging to stay, if only for a few days.
My fists clenched. Questions pounded in my head. I remembered every cruel word, every scornful glance, the years Id felt like an outsider in my own family. And now she wanted my help?
Part of me wanted to throw her words back at her. To say, *”Off you gosort yourself out!”* But another partthe one that still believed in love, in kindness, in my childrenwouldnt let me be so heartless.
I stayed silent. My eyes burned.
What to choose? Vengeance or mercy?
While I weighed it, I stood, made tea, and set a cup before her.
Because sometimes, being human means choosing not with the heart, but with the conscience.
