My name is Liam. I’m just an ordinary bloke who found himself caught between a rock and a hard place: my loving wife and my own mother. What happened after our daughter was born turned my life upside down and made me question my marriage. Truth be told, I don’t know how to fix any of it now.
My mum isn’t an easy woman. She’s never been one to respect boundaries, always thought she had every right to meddle in my life. Why? Because I’m her favourite son. Her only one. The best. That means anything to do with me is her business too, and she’d never let anyone else take control—not even my wife.
My wife’s name is Emily. We’ve been together five years, and I love her. She’s clever, patient, stubborn, but fair. When we first started dating, Mum took it badly. Everything about Emily annoyed her—her manner of speaking, her cooking, even the way she laughed. I put it down to jealousy—after all, Mum always believed no one could look after me better than she could. And maybe that’s where the trouble started.
Three weeks ago, Emily gave birth to our little girl—our long-awaited daughter. The labour was tough, and Emily took a while to recover. The moment Mum heard Emily had gone into labour, she kicked off—demanded to be in the delivery room. Of course, Emily refused. She didn’t even want her own mother there, let alone mine.
When Mum realised she wasn’t getting in, she made a scene right there in the hospital corridor—shouting, crying, accusing everyone of robbing her of her chance to be a grandmother.
After we came home, Emily, despite everything, agreed to let my parents visit and meet their granddaughter—but on one condition: Mum had to keep her opinions to herself. And Mum swore up and down she’d behave. The minute she stepped through the door, it all went to hell.
“What kind of filth do you have in this garden?” she started. “Do you live in a pigsty, Emily? Have you no shame? You’re a mother now—you could at least have mopped the floors before guests arrived!”
Emily listened in silence, then calmly—firmly—said:
“Don’t come back to this house. Ever.”
After that, all our relatives—mine and Emily’s—visited us. Even my dad. Only Mum stayed away, and Emily didn’t miss her for a second. We were in our own little world, just me, the baby, and our cosy home.
Then one day Emily had a doctor’s appointment, leaving me alone with our daughter. I felt sorry for Mum, thought she deserved to see her granddaughter. What harm could two hours do? So I invited her over.
Mum was there in a heartbeat. I warned her—you’ve got exactly two hours. Of course, she ignored that. Two and a half hours later, Emily walked in to find her mother-in-law cradling our baby like nothing was wrong.
What happened next—I wish it never had.
Emily exploded. She screamed, sobbed, snatched our daughter out of Mum’s arms with shaking hands, and roared at her to get out. Mum started making excuses, so I stepped in. I lost it.
“You didn’t have this child alone!” I shouted. “She’s my daughter too. I’ve as much right as you to decide who sees her. You can’t throw my mum out like this!”
“Then both of you leave!” she screamed back. “Now!”
Emily shoved us out the door—me and my mother. Told me not to come back.
Now I’m staying with my parents. Dad stays quiet, Mum hisses about Emily every day, and I don’t know what to do. I miss my daughter. I miss my home. I know I messed up, but Emily went too far, didn’t she?
How do you fix things when you’re stuck between two women who each think you should take their side—and only theirs?
Maybe you can tell me—who’s really in the wrong? Or have I lost the family I spent years building?
