**Diary Entry**
My life in a quiet town near York has become unbearable since my daughter-in-law, Emily, fell pregnant. We never got along well, but before her pregnancy, I endured her rudeness for the sake of family harmony. Now, she’s crossed every line—shouting at me and my husband, hurling insults, while our son, James, just stands there, excusing her behaviour with, *”She’s pregnant, we must be patient.”* Her cruelty cuts deep, but his silence wounds me even more.
From the start, my husband, Thomas, and I knew Emily was trouble. Rude and ill-mannered, she looked down on us from day one. Still, she kept herself in check—until the pregnancy. It was like a mask had slipped. She became unbearable, her spite now laced with venom. She screams at us, calls us names, and James just shrugs: *”She’s hormonal, we mustn’t upset her.”* I’m choking on bitterness, but he won’t hear it.
Take last year’s birthday—I spent the whole day cooking, making sure everything was perfect. Emily took one bite of the salad and declared, *”This is the worst thing I’ve ever eaten! Who even makes this rubbish?”* I was stunned. The guests shifted uncomfortably, but she kept going: *”Why should I lie? It’s disgusting!”* Everyone else finished their plates—only she had a problem. It felt like a slap, and James did nothing.
Their wedding was another disaster. Emily got drunk, embarrassed everyone, then nearly came to blows with her sister over some nonsense. Her parents sat there as if this were normal. That’s when I realised her cruelty wasn’t an accident—it was just who she was. But nothing prepared me for what came after the pregnancy. Under the excuse of *”hormones,”* she’s become a tyrant. Every word, every request, sets her off. Thomas and I are her favourite targets.
When the scan showed they were having a boy, we bought blue baby clothes as a gift. We handed them over with smiles—only for Emily to scream, *”Are you stupid? Buying things early is bad luck!”* She called us superstitious idiots while James stared at his feet, too weak to stop her. We left humiliated. How could my own son let her speak to us like that?
Recently, our daughter, Charlotte, invited everyone to dinner for her birthday. Emily turned up in towering heels despite being heavily pregnant. I gently said, *”Love, maybe wear something more stable? It’s not safe.”* That set her off—*”You want me to fall, don’t you? You’d love it if I lost the baby!”* Her words were vile. Thomas tried defending me, but she just shrieked, called us *”pathetic old fools,”* and stormed out. James ran after her without a word of apology. The evening was ruined.
I was devastated. If my Charlotte—a mother of two—ever spoke to her in-laws like that, I’d die of shame. This isn’t just rudeness—it’s pure malice. Three days later, James rang. I refused to speak, so Thomas took the call. He apologised but insisted Emily wouldn’t—*”She’s too stressed.”* That crushed me. I raised three children: Charlotte makes me proud, our youngest, Edward, is kind and thoughtful—but James? He’s letting his wife trample us, humiliate us in front of others. It’s betrayal.
Thomas and I won’t air our dirty laundry, though we could. But I won’t stoop to her level. My heart aches—why won’t James stand up for us? Did we raise him to be this weak, or has Emily erased him entirely? I don’t know how to live with a daughter-in-law who poisons every moment—and a son who lets her. Their child will be our grandson, but I fear she’ll turn him against us. The thought chokes me, but I won’t surrender. If James won’t stop her, I will—even if it breaks this family apart.
