He’s destroying us from within: I fear my husband’s uncle will ruin our family.
My husband, James Everhart, always listened to his uncle—Harold Whitmore. Respected him, looked up to him, trusted him in everything. But from the very beginning, I couldn’t understand why. Harsh, irritable, constantly at odds with everyone—neighbours, colleagues, even his own family. At his old job in Manchester, they only tolerated him because of his years of service, though he’d already managed to fall out with half the team.
Then everything changed when Harold brought James into his crew. No one lasted long under him—six months at most. He nitpicked, rushed them, blamed others for his mistakes. But James—gentle, avoidant—endured it. Silently redid the work, smoothed over Harold’s outbursts. Sometimes, yes, he snapped, but they always made up. James even liked the job, though the unfair profit split—half to Harold, half to him—always made my skin crawl.
After we married, I realised James couldn’t handle drink. It turned him into someone else—volatile, unpredictable. I prayed Harold might help, guide him. James respected him, after all. But instead, he poured fuel on the fire. They started going to the pub together, coming back worse for wear. When I protested, James would shut me down, insisting, *”The man leads the house; the woman follows.”* Those words? Straight from Harold’s lips.
Later, during one of their rows, James started parroting absurd claims about my mother—that she was scheming, turning everyone against him. They’d only met twice, both times perfectly civil. That’s when I knew: Harold wasn’t just influencing him. He was poisoning him against my family. Against *me*.
We used to decide everything together. Now, James pulls away. Dismisses my advice, takes every word as an attack. Like I’m the threat—not his wife, but some enemy encroaching on Harold’s influence. I watched the man I love change, and I knew the root of it all. But how do you fight someone your husband worships?
Then, the unexpected: Harold got sacked. Another explosive row, management had enough. James, meanwhile, was promoted—into Harold’s old role. The blow to that man’s pride was lethal. He fled to Liverpool, claiming it was temporary, but I knew the truth—he couldn’t stomach being beneath James.
And now, my husband tells me Harold’s coming back. Offered a position as his *assistant*. I begged James to refuse—find someone else. He wouldn’t hear it. “I need the help,” he said. “We worked well together once.”
But I know how this ends. Harold won’t accept being second. He’ll find a way to undermine, sabotage. He’s done it before. He’s jealous. He can’t share power. He’ll drag everything down just to stay on top.
The man sleeping next to me isn’t the one I married. He’s Harold’s puppet now. And if this continues—I don’t know if we’ll survive it. Will he lose his job? Will I lose my marriage? Or both? Every day is smothered in this dread, this waiting for the axe to fall. And I don’t know how to save what’s left of us.
