So, my mate Dave came back from his mum’s place, let out this massive sigh, and out of nowhere, he says we should get a paternity test for our two-year-old daughter—but not for him, for his mum!
“For six months, she kept telling my bloke not to marry me, that I wasn’t good enough for him,” says Emma, her voice shaking. “Too pretty, apparently—reckoned I’d go off cheating or something. We used to laugh it off, joked that he should’ve dated someone ‘plain as porridge’ if he wanted a safe bet. But now? Not exactly laughing, are we?”
Emma doesn’t think she’s drop-dead gorgeous—just a normal girl from a suburb outside Manchester. She takes care of herself, keeps fit, dresses nice but not flashy, and always had standards when it came to relationships. No idea why her mother-in-law, Margaret, decided she was some flighty temptress, but that woman’s made Emma’s life a nightmare.
She and Dave have been married four years, got a little girl together. Emma’s on maternity leave, so her days are all nappies, cleaning, and cooking. Her only social life is chatting with other mums at the park. But Margaret won’t let up—she’s convinced Emma’s cheating, stalking her like some dodgy daytime TV detective.
“She’s always spying on me!” Emma sighs, eyes welling up. “Random calls, surprise visits, trying to keep tabs on every move. At first, I brushed it off, told Dave, we’d have a giggle. But it’s exhausting! I’ve snapped at her a few times, proper rows. She’d back off for a bit, then come back full throttle.”
The first big blow-up happened a few months after the wedding. Margaret showed up unannounced at Emma’s office—no call, no warning. Just turned up to “check” if she actually worked there or if she was off gallivanting with other men.
“No clue how she even got past security!” Emma says, still furious. “It’s a proper office building, you need an appointment. I nearly fainted when the receptionist—my mate Sophie—brought her over, all, ‘Someone here to see you.’ I was like, ‘Margaret, what on earth—?’ And she goes, ‘Just wanted to see where you work.’ Then starts eyeballing the place! It’s an open-plan office, everyone at their desks—nothing to see! Can you imagine if I had a private office? She’d have been rifling through my drawers!”
Later, Sophie whispered that Margaret had grilled her—how long had Emma worked there? Was she ever late? Who did she talk to? Any “special friends”? “I told her you were married, obviously,” Sophie said, baffled. Emma was livid. That evening, she laid into Dave: “Your mum’s crossed a line. Sort her out, this isn’t normal! Next she’ll be checking under the bed for blokes!”
Dave must’ve had a proper go at her, because things calmed down for a bit. Margaret only called in the evenings, asked after them, even dropped off homemade pies. Emma thought maybe the storm had passed. She was wrong.
Next drama hit when Emma was pregnant but still working. She took a sick day, passed out with her phone off, only to be woken by someone hammering on the door and jamming the buzzer. “I thought the building was on fire!” she says. “Peeked through the peephole—Margaret! Face all twisted, kicking the door like a madwoman. I was terrified to open it. Called Dave screaming, ‘Get home now!’” He raced back, but she’d been camped out there the whole time, waiting.
They both shouted her down. Emma threatened to call the police—or mental health services—if it ever happened again. “Keep her away from me!” she told Dave. And for a while, peace.
When their daughter was born, Margaret didn’t even look at her. Later, the reason became clear—she didn’t believe the baby was Dave’s. “Course not, because obviously I’m out shagging randos,” Emma scoffs. The logic? Dave’s side of the family only had boys. A girl, to Margaret, “proved” infidelity. “I stopped engaging,” Emma says. “Dave sees her once a month, but not us. Probably for the best—I’d never leave our girl alone with her.”
But the worst came later. Dave came home from his mum’s, all tense, and dropped the bomb: paternity test for their toddler. “Not for me, Em, swear down!” he blurted. “Just to shut Mum up. She’s lost the plot, and I’m sick of hearing it!”
Emma laughed in his face. “For *her*?” she spat. “Or do you mean you believe her nonsense? You know she’ll never stop. We could do ten tests—she’d say they’re faked, the doctors paid off. I’m not playing her games.”
“It’s just a test,” Dave muttered.
“No,” Emma said, holding back tears. “I *know* who her dad is. Do you? Fine, we’ll do it—but first, we’re filing for divorce. I won’t stay with a man who doesn’t trust me.”
The words hung there, heavy. The trust between them’s crumbling, all because of his mum’s poison. Emma feels like she’s standing on the edge, watching her family fall apart—and she doesn’t know how to stop it.
