“My daughter-in-law doesn’t need anyone—not even her own child!” — the story of a woman who doesn’t know the meaning of family
From the moment my son married Emily, I held onto hope that our family would find happiness. But right from the start, I knew—this woman and I would never see eye to eye. It wasn’t jealousy, as some might assume. I had long accepted that my son was grown, married, and that another woman had taken centre stage in his life. I truly wanted to embrace her, to support her, to stand by her. Yet the more I saw, the clearer it became—she loved no one. Not me, not my son, and worst of all, not even her own child.
Emily has always put herself first, her desires above all else. I noticed it before the wedding but naively thought motherhood might soften her. Make her kinder, more caring. I was wrong. She remained as cold as ever. My son? Just a temporary assistant—useful only when convenient.
They hardly ever visited. Family gatherings were the only occasions she’d show up—polished nails, styled hair, designer clothes. Fine, if not for the way my son looked beside her: exhausted, dishevelled, lost. Not a happily married man, but someone barely surviving in hostile territory.
“Honestly, Emily, you’ve let him go to pot,” my sister remarked lightly over dinner one evening.
Emily smirked.
“I’m not his nanny. He can look after himself.”
I bit my tongue, not wanting to ruin the day for my son. But one thought nagged me: “Does she even care? As long as her lashes are curled and her nails shine, nothing else matters.”
Not long after, my son called.
“Mum, can I come stay with you? Just for a bit…”
His voice was rough, weak. An hour later, he arrived—pale, feverish, barely standing. My heart nearly stopped when I saw him. The doctor had prescribed injections—twice daily, strictly timed. And Emily’s response?
“I’m not setting alarms for him. If you’re so worried, his mother can do it.”
So he came to me. That was his “wife.” No concern, no care. I thought this might finally push him toward divorce. But no—months later, they decided… to have a child.
My grandson was born, yet I saw no love from his mother. Just mechanical care: feed, change, sleep. No kisses, no cuddles, no warmth. More machine than mother. Once, they planned a holiday. Emily refused to bring the baby—”he’ll ruin the trip.” Suggested leaving him with a friend. Not with me or his grandparents—we all worked. My son refused to abandon his boy. So she went alone.
He stayed, cooked, walked, cared—all on his own. For the first time, he seriously considered leaving her. But as always, he wavered. Maybe she’d change. She didn’t. They’re still together, but now he often stays with me after their fights, his patience worn thin.
Emily lives as if she’s alone. She needs no one. Her husband? A flatmate. Her child? An inconvenience. I don’t understand—why marry if you won’t be family? Why have a child you don’t want? For appearances?
My son suffers. I see it. Yet he still hopes. And I still wait for the day he realises—this woman won’t change. Only then, perhaps, can he start anew. No cold wife, no hollow marriage. Just him, and the little boy he loves more than anything.
