How My Son’s Mother-in-Law Stole Him Away: Ever Since He Got Married, He Never Visits Us Anymore—Now He’s Always at His Mother-in-Law’s House, Helping Her with Constant Emergencies, While We’re Left Trying to Understand What Happened to Our Close Family Ties

Author Mitsuko NagasakiReading 5 minViews 2

How My Daughter-in-laws Mother Took Our Son Away

Ever since our son got married, he hardly ever visits us. Hes always round his mother-in-laws these days, because it seems she constantly needs urgent help. Honestly, I cant imagine how she managed before her daughter married our son.

Our sons been married for more than two years now. After the wedding, the kids moved into a flat that wed bought for our son when he started university. Hes always had our support and understanding, right from childhood. Even before the wedding he was living alone, since his flat was so close to his job.

I wouldnt say I didnt like my daughter-in-law. She just seemed a bit too immature for married life at the time, despite being only a couple of years younger than our son. She often behaved like a child, sometimes downright spoilt. Our son was always so considerate, and I couldnt help but wonder how hed cope going through life with such a girl.

After meeting her and her mother, I soon realised what sort of people they were. Even though my sons mother-in-law was the same age as me, she acted like a child as well. Maybe youve met those who, despite their age, never really grow up? Theyre terribly childish and helpless. By the time her daughter married our son, shed already been divorced six times.

We had nothing in common to talk about with her, as she seemed to live in her own little world, but to be fair, she never imposed on us. Our communication was limited to polite congratulations at the kids wedding and that was about it.

The first warning signs appeared even before the wedding. My daughter-in-law was always dragging our son to her mums: fixing a leaking tap, changing a socket, or putting a kitchen shelf back up. I let it go the first timeafter all, there was no man in their house to help, so perhaps he was needed.

But as time went on, the list of emergencies at his mother-in-laws never shrank. Our son kept ignoring us, always saying he and his wife were off to help her mum. Then, every family event suddenly took place at her house. While I sat at home with just my own dad and my mother-in-law for company.

It would be one thing if our son only missed the occasional family dinner, but it was quite another when he started brushing aside our requests for help.

Take the time we bought a new fridge and asked our son to help carry it in. He agreed at first, but later called to say he couldnt make it because he and his wife were heading to her mother’s, as her washing machine was leaking.

When my husband rang our son, he overheard my daughter-in-law saying, Couldnt your parents call a removal service? Our son did eventually turn up, but he was fuming.

Dad, couldnt you have just called someone in? Now Ive got to lug this thing!

That was the last straw. I just couldnt understandwhy couldnt his mother-in-law get a professional in herself? Maybe in her world there arent any tradesmen? Our son insisted the woman needed his help because, these days, you cant trust anyone: theyll take your money and do a shoddy job.

My husband finally lost patience and said perhaps she didnt know a thing about appliances, but she was certainly good at leading a sheepbecause shed been expertly herding one around for ages. Our son instantly took offence and stormed out. I didnt butt into their argument, as I happened to agree with my husbandthese new in-laws were always taking advantage of our son. Hes become their handyman, while were left alone and he no longer has time for us.

Now, after that row, our son hasnt spoken to his father for over two weeks. My husband flatly refuses to make the first move, and our sons just as stubborn, saying he wont speak to his dad unless he apologises. I feel torn between them. My husband was right, but he could have been gentler with our son. Now our boys holding a grudge and avoiding us, and I dont want to lose him over such nonsense.

My husband wont reach out to our son, and our son says he wont budge eitherhe wants an apology first. Yet through it all, its his mother-in-law who seems to be doing just fine!

A Mother’s Heart Stan sat at the kitchen table, settled comfortably in his favourite seat, staring at a steaming bowl of his mum’s legendary beetroot soup—aromatic, rich, and just a touch tangy. His spoon moved from bowl to mouth in soothing rhythm, but his mind drifted. Life had changed so much in recent years—now he could enjoy breakfast at trendy cafés, lunch at Michelin-starred spots, and dinner wherever top chefs played with molecular gastronomy. Oysters from France, truffles from Italy, Wagyu from Japan—whatever he fancied, he could have. Yet none of it quite compared to the simple perfection of his mum’s soup. Sauces, rare spices, fancy plating—it all seemed empty set against the food of his childhood. In Mum’s soup, there was something more than just ingredients or method; there was care, the warmth of hands, memories of carefree days. Stan knew: however many restaurants he visited, whatever delicacies he tasted, nothing would ever top Mum’s kitchen. As he mused, Maria entered with a fresh cup of tea, carefully placing it before him. She looked worried—troubled, even. “Stan, when do you have to set off?” He looked up, smiled. “Tomorrow morning. My car’s packed in, so I’m getting a lift with a mate.” He studied his mum. He liked how she looked—healthy, relaxed, pink-cheeked and cheerful. No one would guess she was over fifty, though she’d crossed that milestone long ago. “It’s just a couple of hours, don’t worry,” he added, trying to calm her nerves. Maria froze, grip tightening on the edge of the table like she needed to steady herself. Silence ticked by, broken only by the old wall clock. “With a mate,” she repeated, almost whispering. Colour drained from her face. “No, Stan, I don’t want you going with him.” Stan frowned—he hadn’t seen his mum like this in ages. Usually calm and collected, she was clearly shaken. He set his spoon down and watched her intently. “You don’t even know who I’m talking about,” he tried to say lightly, though an edge of worry crept into his tone. “It’s just Jack—a good driver, always careful. Solid German car, even the reg’s lucky—triple seven.” Maria moved slowly towards him, never breaking her gaze. She took his hand—her fingers cold against his warmth. “Please, son,” her voice trembled, but she was firm. “Just book a taxi, won’t you? I really can’t settle.” “What if the driver bought his licence off eBay?” he joked weakly. “Honestly, don’t worry. I’ll call you as soon as I arrive—promise. Before you even get the chance to miss me.” Stan kissed her cheek, feeling her anxiety seep into him. He hugged her tight, lending the reassurance she needed. For a moment she clung to him, soaking up the comfort, then quietly stepped away. “It’ll all be fine, Mum,” he promised, gazing into her eyes. “I swear.” Later, leaving the house, Stan walked slowly along the familiar street. It was calm, the air fresh and cool. Street lamps spilled warm pools of light across the pavement. Home wasn’t far—just a few minutes on foot. He tried not to dwell on Mum’s worried eyes, but her face wouldn’t leave his mind. Back in his flat, everything was quiet and cozy. He headed for the bedroom, where his overnight bag waited, packed and ready. He double-checked—nothing forgotten. Bag by the door, alarm set: quarter to ten. “Up at six. Don’t sleep in,” he reminded himself. Undressing, Stan got into bed, switched off the lamp. For ages he lay awake, listening to the city beyond the window, running over his morning routine in his mind—coffee, breakfast, check the presentation again—until, at last, sleep took hold. ***************** Morning didn’t go as planned. Bright sun streamed through the curtains and he squinted awake, unsure what had roused him. He checked the clock—five to nine. “Shit!” He shot up, heart pounding. Snatching the alarm from the side, he hurled it across the room. He’d slept in. “Why didn’t Jack call me?” he muttered. His phone sat on his bedside table—powered off. That was odd; it had been charging overnight. Frowning, he powered it up. Instantly, messages flooded in. First, a text from Jack at 8:00am: “Stan, where are you? Been waiting fifteen minutes. If you’re not downstairs in ten, I’ll have to head off—can’t afford the delay.” Another: “You coming? Call me.” Then: “I’m going. Sorry mate, can’t wait.” Stan froze. Jack had come, waited, called… but he’d slept through it all. Mum’s worried face popped up again—she’d begged him not to go with Jack. Not that it mattered now. He jumped out of bed, panic rising. No time left—maybe book a taxi, or hire a car instead? As he reached for the phone, he saw dozens of missed calls—all from Mum, one after another. Dread clenched his stomach. Not daring to stop for anything else, he grabbed his keys and ran, heart hammering. Please let everything be okay. When he reached Mum’s house, the door was left ajar. He rushed inside, barely catching his breath. “Mum, are you alright?” he called, anxious and loud. Maria was in the sitting room—a picture of distress, eyes red from crying, face drawn with worry. She stared at him in disbelief. “Stan… is it really you?” Her voice trembled as she got up from the sofa. “Oh, thank God…” Stan’s own nerves jangled. He’d never seen his mum like this. He hurried to her, gently holding her hands. “What’s happened, Mum?” he asked softly but firmly. “Why are you so frightened?” Just then, the telly behind them droned with grim news: “There has been a major crash on the A34 outside Oxford. Four vehicles involved—tragically, only one survivor, the driver of an Audi…” Stan turned to look—the images onscreen were terrifying: smashed-up cars, scattered belongings, blue lights. Then he spotted it—a white Audi, number plate 777. His stomach dropped. Jack’s car. Now he understood. Mum had seen the accident, recognised Jack’s car, and when Stan didn’t answer his phone… she’d feared the worst. “Mum, it’s me, I’m alive,” he said as calmly as he could. He sat her down, then darted to the kitchen for a glass of water. “Here, drink this. You can see me—I’m right here. Everything’s fine.” Maria clung to his sleeve, trembling as she pressed herself close, overcome with silent sobs. “Stan, I was so frightened…” her voice cracked. “They said on TV only the Audi driver survived. And you weren’t answering the phone—I kept calling and calling…” He hugged her tightly, soothing her as best he could. But realising she needed more, he pulled out his phone and dialled 999. “Ambulance, please,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “My mother’s had a bad shock—her heart, I think. Here’s the address…” After the call, he held her hand, keeping her calm until the blue-lights arrived. Ten minutes later a paramedic arrived, quickly assessing Maria and suggesting a hospital stay—her age and stress levels were worrying. Stan agreed immediately—he would take her to a private clinic: better care, more comfort. Soon, Maria was settled in a quiet hospital ward, under careful observation. Stan remained by her side, holding her hand, trying to project a calm he did not feel. The days drew out in gentle routine—doctor’s rounds, checks, and new treatments. Maria slowly improved; Stan camped beside her bed each night. One golden evening as the sun set, Maria spoke softly, as though she’d carried the words for ages. “You know, I always worried you’d leave and not come back.” Stan gazed at her, seeing not only a loving mum, but the woman who’d spent years carrying secret fears. “Why?” he asked gently. “You were always fiercely independent,” she said, smiling at the memory. “Even at five, you’d tie your own laces—never let me help! At school you packed your own bag, never forgot a book. I was proud, truly—but sometimes, I felt I was losing you. You became grown up so fast; I was left behind.” He squeezed her hand comfortingly, struck by the depth of her love—and her fear. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “You’ll always be the most important person in my life. I just never realised… I’m sorry.” She stroked his cheek, her touch as gentle as in childhood. “It’s enough that you know now,” she said. Stan squeezed her hand. “Mum, I’ll never leave you. You’re the most precious thing I have,” he whispered with heartfelt conviction. Maria smiled, a little shaky, but brighter. Tears sparkled—tears of relief, not worry. She squeezed his fingers, testing the reality of his presence. “I just want you to be happy,” she said. “To have a family, children—to know you’re loved and never alone.” Stan thought of Lena—a kind, thoughtful girl from work. For weeks he’d wanted to mention her to Mum, always holding back. “There is someone,” he finally admitted, shy, but then confidence steeled his words. “Her name’s Lena. She’s different—understands me without words.” Maria’s eyes brightened. “Tell me about her—how did you meet?” He told her—little stories, memories, slowly sharing a side of life he’d kept private until now. “I think she’s the one,” he finished, smiling. “I just worried you’d think I’d forget you, that everything would change…” Maria laughed, a warm, gentle sound. “Silly boy. I’ll only ever be happy if you find your happiness. I’ve never stopped you living your own life. But remember—you’ll always have your mum, who loves you, no matter what.” Stan grinned—truly, deeply for the first time in days. “I’ll never forget, Mum. And thank you… for understanding.”