The doorbell rang. I opened it to find my mother-in-law standing on the doorstep, tears streaming down her face—turns out, the mistress had cleaned them out, leaving them penniless.
Fifteen years ago, Victor and I tied the knot. His mother made it abundantly clear from day one that we wouldn’t be bosom buddies. I accepted it. We built a life, but children didn’t come easily. A decade of waiting, hoping, praying… and then, finally, fate smiled on us: first a son, then a daughter.
Life was good. Victor had climbed the corporate ladder and now ran a successful firm. I was able to be a full-time mum, diving headfirst into nappies and nursery rhymes. My own mum lived miles away, so no help there. And my mother-in-law? Well, in fifteen years, her opinion of me never budged an inch. To her, I’d always be the crafty little gold-digger who’d snatched her son away. In her dreams, Victor was supposed to marry some “nice, respectable girl”—one she’d handpicked for him. But Victor chose me.
We carried on, raising the kids, brushing off her icy glares. Then, one day, it all fell apart.
I remember every second of that afternoon. The kids and I had just come back from the park. They were kicking off their wellies in the hall while I headed to the kitchen to put the kettle on. That’s when I spotted the note on the side table. Even before I picked it up, my stomach dropped. The flat felt hollow. Victor’s things were gone.
Scrawled on the paper in his messy handwriting:
*”Sorry. I’ve fallen for someone else. Don’t look for me. You’re strong—you’ll manage. It’s better this way.”*
His phone was off. No call, no text. He’d just vanished, leaving me alone with two small children.
I didn’t know where he was or who this “someone else” was. Desperate, I rang my mother-in-law, hoping for answers, maybe even comfort. Instead, I got:
*”You brought this on yourself,”* she spat, venom in her voice. *”I always knew it’d end like this. You should’ve too.”*
I was stunned. What had I done to deserve such spite? But there was no time to dwell—I had two mouths to feed and barely a penny to my name. Victor hadn’t left us a quid.
I couldn’t work—no one to watch the kids. Then I remembered my old side hustle, writing essays for uni students. That’s how we scraped by. Every day was a battle. Six months passed without a word from Victor.
Then, on a drizzly autumn evening, as I was tucking the kids into bed, the doorbell rang. My heart jumped. Who on earth would visit so late? A neighbour, maybe?
I cracked the door open—and froze.
There stood my mother-in-law. Soaked, shivering, her face streaked with tears.
*”Can I come in?”* she whispered. I stepped aside without thinking.
We sat at the kitchen table. Between shaky breaths, she told me everything. Turns out, Victor’s “new love” was nothing but a con artist. She’d bled him dry, taken out loans in his name, and vanished with anything of value.
Victor was left with nothing. The mistress’s house? A mirage. His dreams? A lie. And my mother-in-law? She’d remortgaged her flat to bail him out. Now the bank was threatening to take it.
*”We’ve got nothing left,”* she choked out. *”Please… help me. I’ve nowhere else to go.”*
Her eyes were pleading, like a kicked dog begging for shelter.
I clenched my fists. My mind spun with questions. Every cruel word she’d ever thrown at me, every sneer, every cold shoulder—all of it rushed back. And now she wanted *my* help?
Part of me wanted to slam the door. To say, *”Not my problem anymore!”* But the other part—the one that remembered kindness, love, the kids watching from the hallway—wouldn’t let me.
I stayed silent, tears stinging my eyes.
Revenge or mercy?
Before I’d even decided, I stood up, boiled the kettle, and placed a steaming mug in front of her.
Because sometimes, being human means choosing with your conscience, not your heart.
