I cook for you, clean, wash, dress you. Why do you hate me so much?
My life in a small village near Birmingham has become an endless nightmare. I, Emily, have lived under the same roof as my mother-in-law, Margaret Higgins, for years, and she’s done everything to make my days a misery. Today, my patience finally snapped. I asked her the question that’s haunted me for years: “Why do you hate me so much?” No answer came—just icy silence and her scornful glare. My heart aches with pain, screaming at the injustice.
That day, as usual, I was cleaning the house. I hoovered, then mopped the floors, polishing everything to a shine. And then Margaret, sitting in her armchair, deliberately crumbled biscuit crumbs onto the freshly cleaned floor. I froze, unable to believe my eyes. It was intentional, and she didn’t even bother hiding her spite.
“Mum, why would you do that? I saw you—you did it on purpose!” I cried, barely holding back tears.
She looked at me with contempt and snapped, “So what? Clean it again. It won’t kill you!”
With a smug smirk, she went back to her old newspaper, the same one she’d read dozens of times. Swallowing my hurt, I picked up the brush and dustpan and cleaned up after her. But inside, I was boiling. I walked into another room to keep from snapping, then headed to the garden—working outside was the only thing that calmed me. But the sting of her words and actions gnawed at me like poison.
“Why do you hate me so much?” I finally burst out later, standing before her. “What have I done to deserve this? I cook for you, clean, wash, dress you! My daughter, Sophie, helps you all the time! Why do you despise me?”
She didn’t even turn. No words, no glance—just icy indifference. I broke down sobbing, unable to hold back anymore. Finishing the cleaning, I started the laundry, tears still streaming down my face. My life has become an endless cycle of humiliation, and I don’t know how to escape it.
My husband, Sophie’s father, died years ago. Our daughter was only eight at the time. Right after the funeral, Margaret declared, “You’ll stay with me. And don’t even think of moving. I won’t have the village gossiping that I threw you out.”
I agreed because I had nowhere else to go. My parents’ home was already full—my sister lived there with her two kids, and there was no room for Sophie and me. I foolishly hoped Margaret and I might grow to understand each other. But that never happened. In public, she acted decently, but at home, she tormented me. She constantly insisted I obey her.
“You’re useless! Who’d ever want you? No man would look twice at you, especially with a child! You’ll live here with Sophie, and when I die, you’ll get the house. But if you don’t do as I say, I’ll leave it to my nieces, and you’ll have nothing!”
I feared her threats and endured it all. I did everything so Sophie would never go without. Meanwhile, Margaret, now in her nineties, thrives. She’s in perfect health, spending her entire pension on herself, demanding I buy her expensive groceries and fine treats. I realised too late that agreeing to live with her was a mistake. These years of humiliation have broken me.
Sophie is finishing university and will soon marry a wonderful man. They’ll live at his place, and I truly hope her life turns out happy. But it hurts so much—for myself, for the years I’ve wasted. I gave everything for my daughter and mother-in-law, and in return, all I got was contempt and loneliness. How do I find the strength to break free from this hell?
