He Thought She Was a Bad Mother and a Bad Wife
A friend of mine, a mother of three, recently got remarried. How she managed it is a mystery to me. It’s not that mothers of many children can’t find husbands; they do, if they’re loved. It’s just that, from what I remember of her first marriage, she was always “the worst mother and the worst wife.”
I visited her a few times during her “previous” life. She was always tired, overwhelmed, and scatterbrained. The porridge would burn, the youngest would wander around with wet clothes, and she’d be juggling between him, the middle child’s homework, and the stove, unable to change the wet clothes.
She still had to make dinner before her husband came home from work. She needed to tidy up because he liked things tidy. She’d snatch up toys, stuffing them in boxes, only for the little one to scatter them again. Meanwhile, she’d be online, sending emails—taking on side jobs because her husband’s paycheck wasn’t enough. It was a relentless cycle of dreary chaos.
Her husband would come home, take in the mess, and casually comment, “Give the cat some water, do something useful…,” half-jokingly. But those words stuck with me. My friend would drop everything, with a sheepish smile, and pour water into the cat’s bowl, as if it was the only worthwhile thing she’d done all day.
I made a foolish suggestion, trying to lighten the mood. Half-joking, I said we should ditch the cats and the unfinished dinner, gather the kids, put on some makeup (for her), and head out to a café. “I’ll bring my own kids too.”
“She’s too old for makeup,” her husband quipped, jokingly. I looked at this woman, horrified to realize she was actually younger than me. If she was old, then what was I?
She apologized, saying they preferred home-cooked meals, and started setting the table for her waiting husband. The children kept scattering toys, and with some “third” hand, she’d gather them up again because he liked things orderly. Her phone chimed—probably a work email.
“Stop wasting time on the internet all day,” her husband said. I said my goodbyes and left.
“I’m My Own Worst Enemy”
No, she never complained to anyone. Never! Even when asked, everything was fine with her. The grayer and greener she appeared, the more confidently she’d claim, “Everything’s fine,” hiding her lifeless eyes.
We had many mutual acquaintances, and from them, I heard her mother-in-law was very dissatisfied. Her daughter-in-law was a bad mother because the little one fell off his bike and cut his eyebrow, requiring stitches. She should watch the kids instead of wasting time. A bad wife too, because the house was a mess and the family poorly fed.
Once, her husband attended a school event and later a scandal erupted. Her eldest had misbehaved, all because the “bad mother” was busy with who knows what, rather than parenting. I heard she’d started taking antidepressants, because yes, she was a bad mother and wife. Doing nothing, unable to do anything because she had no energy. Even the kids knew.
“Mum, you’re awful!” shouted the youngest one day as we walked together. “You don’t read me stories.” She’d pull out a book from her bag and begin to read, resigned and exhausted. She desperately wanted to be a good mother.
Eventually, they divorced. Her husband met someone new, likely a good wife and homemaker. To be fair, he paid child support and stayed in touch with his kids. “That’s how it is,” was all she said to my inquiries. “Whatever happened, it was my own doing.”
She moved with her kids, swapped flats, and we lost touch for some time.
“From Ugly Duckling to Swan”
Time passed, and recently, we reconnected through social media. She messaged me first. I was surprised. The profile picture showed someone different, unrecognizable. Vibrant, beautiful, happy, and full of life. I was intrigued and suggested we meet up.
We met at a café, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. She was genuinely different. Confident in herself, her life, in people. That’s when I learned she’d remarried.
“I don’t know why he noticed me,” she shared. “I wasn’t even thinking about it. I was just surviving…”
But the man persisted, courted her, bonded with her kids, and proposed.
It turned out she was the best mother and wife. Burnt the eggs—a perfect homemaker. The next day, she was baking pies, because she felt like the best. She wanted to bring joy. A messy house? A fantastic mother and wife. It turned out they could clean together and have fun chatting while doing so.
It turned out she didn’t have to lug shopping bags alone, risking scolding for forgetting something while being busy with nonsense. Shopping could be a team effort with shared laughter if anything was forgotten.
She was not an old lady but the most beautiful woman in the world. Now she was styling her hair in the evenings just to greet the one who admired her beauty home from work.
She was doing great, managing to do some extra work, but only because she wanted to, not because she had to.
She wasn’t the useless person she’d believed herself to be for years. It was all because she was loved, praised, valued—not criticized.
I listened, astonished. Then her new husband arrived to pick her up. I understood everything. He looked at her as if she really did blossom. It was impossible not to blossom under such a gaze. He spoke and cared for her in a way that made it impossible not to feel like the most wonderful woman on earth.
He brought her three children along, and even in a brief glimpse, I noticed she was an excellent mother, as evident in their behavior. It was all thanks to having someone beside her who helped her believe it. He transformed her from an ugly duckling into a beautiful swan. It’s crucial to have someone who helps you become that swan—because a swan needs time, strength, and love to spread its wings.
No, I’m not trying to make any specific point, nor lay blame. Life offers many experiences. But that’s her story. I wonder what the first husband thinks now.
