I asked my future daughter-in-law to slice some cheese, but she just kept chatting with my son. Now I don’t know how to move forward with our relationship.
I’m fifty-five, and my whole life I’ve believed that mother-in-law and daughter-in-law conflicts can be avoided—as long as both women act sensibly. After all, we share love for the same person: my son. I trusted that even with different personalities and opinions, common ground could always be found. I trusted it… until last weekend, which we decided to spend at our countryside cottage. That weekend will stay with me—and not for the best reasons.
My son is getting married soon. His fiancée, Emily, and I have only met a handful of times, barely exchanging more than pleasantries. To get to know her better, we invited the couple to the cottage for some fresh air and relaxed conversation. I put my heart into preparations—planned the menu, cooked up a feast, from starters to mains. I wanted it to feel like a cosy family evening.
They arrived on Saturday afternoon. I greeted them warmly, smiling as they settled in. While they got comfortable, I started setting the table and casually asked Emily to help—just to slice some bread and lay out the cutlery. Not peeling potatoes, not marinating meat—just the simplest thing. But when she heard me, she didn’t even stir. She stayed next to my son, chatting away as if nothing had been asked. I let it go, thinking maybe she hadn’t heard. I finished setting up myself, not repeating the request—it felt awkward.
After lunch, the young couple went to rest while my husband and I cleared up. Later, while preparing tea before grilling, I asked Emily again:
“Emily, could you slice the cheese, please?”
What she said next made my blood run cold:
“When you’re a guest, it’s best not to interfere. The hostess handles things as she sees fit.”
I was speechless. Since when is slicing cheese the wrong way even possible? And since when is a polite request considered interference?
She maintained this odd stance all evening. When the men went outside to grill, she didn’t lift a finger—just stayed chatting while I ran around with plates and cutlery. She didn’t offer to clear the table or help with dishes after dinner. My son noticed my frustration and started tidying up himself. And her? As if nothing had happened. Not even a simple “Let me help.”
The next day, they slept in till noon, then leisurely packed up to leave. The bed they’d used stayed unmade—not even an attempt. Apparently, they didn’t want to “interfere.”
I love having guests. My friends, nieces, even my husband’s old colleagues visit often, and every single one of them—even first-timers—tries to pitch in: clearing plates, chopping vegetables, washing cups. My sister always says, “You cooked, so it’s my turn.” Friends bring dishes to avoid burdening me. That’s respect. That’s gratitude for hospitality.
But Emily’s behaviour was a slap in the face. As if I were meant to do everything because “I’m the hostess,” and she was just there to relax. Not an ounce of respect—not in action, not in words. Just indifference.
I tried not to show my hurt, but inside, I was seething. Now, I don’t know what to do. The wedding is in months. Like it or not, we’ll have to build some kind of relationship. I don’t want to be the enemy in my own family—but I won’t be a maid for a grown woman who thinks slicing cheese is beneath her.
What next? Will she always keep her distance, acting like the house isn’t her concern? What if they have children? Will I be left babysitting while she lounges, only to hear later that “grandmothers should help”?
Maybe I’m old-fashioned. Maybe this is the new normal—smiling, chatting, but never lifting a finger. But to me, family means support, involvement, sincerity. Not strangers sharing a table.
My son doesn’t see the problem. He loves her, and that’s wonderful. I don’t want to come between them. But I can’t stay silent either—because soon, it might be too late.
