My name is Victoria. I’m twenty-nine years old, and I’ve been married to James for three years. We have a strong, loving family, raising our daughter Emily and trying to live peacefully. Yet, one person refuses to give us that peace—someone who should be close and dear: my mother-in-law. Or rather, the woman who’s determined to tear our marriage apart and drag her son back into “Mummy’s arms.”
It all began five years ago when James and I first met. We were in our final years at university. I introduced him to my parents almost straightaway—my family is warm, welcoming, without pretence. But he… kept delaying. A whole year passed before he finally brought me to his home. The moment I stepped into the flat, I knew I wasn’t wanted.
James’s mother, Margaret, greeted me with a stony glare and a frosty smile. I thought it was just first impressions, but over time, I realised—her dislike for me ran deep and sincere. She never accepted me. Not as her son’s girlfriend, not as a woman, not even as a person.
When James and I decided to move in together and rent a flat, Margaret put on a full-blown performance. She screeched that her son was “still a boy,” that he couldn’t manage without her, that I was a bad influence, that I was pushing him into adulthood. James, a grown man of twenty-three, was still a helpless five-year-old in her eyes. But we moved anyway.
That’s when the nightmare truly began.
Daily texts poured in: how to feed James, what to cook for him, how to wash his clothes, which oranges to buy and to peel them in advance—because, according to her, he couldn’t do it himself! When I calmly explained that her son was perfectly capable, she took offence. Then came the meltdown because James visited her in a jumper—”Don’t you see how cold it is? Everyone’s in coats, and he’s underdressed!” It was fifteen degrees outside, and not a single soul was wearing a coat.
When we announced our engagement, the worst began. Margaret—Lord forgive me—started inviting women to her home: friends’ daughters, neighbors, colleagues. Right in front of James, she’d say, “Now, this is wife material!” Furious, he stopped visiting altogether. But Margaret didn’t relent.
She started showing up at ours. Unannounced. With demands. Every visit ended in criticism: “There’s dust under the wardrobe!” “Your soup tastes like canteen slop!” “You’ve let James go to seed!” I tried not to react. Until I couldn’t.
Then, a week before the wedding, she exploded over my dress. Called it “a rag, not a suit.” The restaurant menu was, in her words, “a disgrace to the family.” She accused me of “humiliating them in front of everyone.” I lost it. I threw her out.
An hour later, James got a call: “I feel awful! I think it’s a heart attack!” He rushed over—only to find his mother perfectly fine, cheeks flushed with health. A complete lie. Manipulation.
She didn’t come to the wedding.
After we married and Emily was born, she never visited. Not a single blanket, not one toy. She didn’t even call. When invited to meet her granddaughter, she’d snap, “That’s not my grandchild. You got her from someone else.”
James was torn between his mother and his family. I saw his struggle. But he always chose us. He set boundaries. And since then, his mother hasn’t crossed them.
I don’t speak to that woman. I’ve nothing to apologise for. I won’t let her ruin my family. I won’t let her trample my daughter, my husband, or my life just because she can’t accept that her son grew up and chose a wife she didn’t pick.
I’m exhausted. So exhausted. Sometimes, I just close my eyes and imagine how lovely it would be to have a normal mother-in-law. One who brings pies. Who doesn’t interfere. Who doesn’t dictate how to raise a child. Who hugs me and says, “You’re doing great.” But that’s not my reality.
My mother-in-law is a woman still dreaming her son will come home. To her. Without me.
But you know what? It’s never happening. Because he chose me. And I’m proud he didn’t break under her pressure.
As for me? I just want to live. Raise my daughter. Be a wife—not a “competitor” to his mother.
But the exhaustion won’t fade…
