I want to see my son get a divorce. Why should he be tied to a brainless wife?
There’s a stereotype that mothers-in-law are wicked witches who torment poor, unfortunate daughters-in-law for no reason. Browse online forums, and you’ll find plenty of such stories. I happen to be that so-called “evil mother-in-law,” determined to break up my son’s marriage. And you know what? I’m not ashamed. I’m certain I’m right, and I’ll explain why I feel this way, while my heart aches and boils with anger for my boy.
My son, Paul, met this girl, Jacqueline, about five years ago. But he introduced her to me much later—only after he proposed and decided to marry her. From the first glance, I didn’t like her, and my instincts proved right—she turned out to be a complete nightmare.
I invited them over to our cozy home in the outskirts of Nottingham. Jacqueline’s phone rang before she even took her shoes off. Instead of apologizing and saying she’d call back, she started gossiping with a friend right in the hallway for fifteen minutes! I stood there, clenching my teeth, while she giggled and chatted about nonsense. Even then, I sensed something was off with her.
At the dinner table, I didn’t ask her any serious questions—I just observed. But later, when the conversation turned to her life and plans, everything became clear. She barely graduated school and was in her final year at college but had no thoughts of higher education. Why would she? In her words, a woman should be a wife and a mother—end of discussion. She had no intention of working. Her parents supported her, and later, this burden would presumably fall on my son. She lived with her parents but planned to move into our home after the wedding. And the cherry on top: she was pregnant. Not far along, so the wedding needed to happen soon, before her “secret” became visible. She acted as if the whole world owed her something, and her looks were a ticket to an easy life.
But the most shocking moment was when Paul went outside for a smoke. Jacqueline immediately pulled out a pack of slim cigarettes and joined him. Pregnant—and smoking! I was livid with outrage. What about the baby? She seemed unconcerned.
They got married soon after, and we all lived together in my home. I’d leave early for work and return by evening, only to find Jacqueline sleeping till noon, wandering around doing nothing, and constantly running to the balcony for a cigarette. She had taken a leave from college due to pregnancy and went on academic leave. Every evening greeted me with chaos: a mountain of dirty dishes in the sink, things scattered everywhere, and an empty fridge. She neither cooked nor cleaned—just hung on the phone, chatting with her mom or friends.
When I asked her for help around the house, she’d brush me off: morning sickness or exhaustion, she claimed. Yet, that didn’t stop her from roaming cafes with friends or clubbing till dawn with Paul. I bit my tongue, stayed silent—for my son’s sake. Then my grandson was born. And guess what? Jacqueline didn’t change one bit. Paul would get up at night with the baby, stroll with the pram, take him to the doctor. I’d help out in the evenings and weekends, exhausted after work. And her? She lay on the couch, scrolling her phone and smoking as if nothing had happened. I fumed with fury.
I tried talking to her—calmly at first, then more firmly. She disregarded my words, looking at me with a cheeky grin. But the worst part was Paul always defending her. When I pointed out her laziness, her uselessness, he’d stand firm: “Mum, she’s trying, it’s just hard for her.” And we’d argue. He’d yell at me, yet never scolded her. My son, my only child, was blinded by love for this empty shell.
The tension became unbearable. One day, I snapped in a rage: “Take your wife and child and leave! Go live on your own, let’s see how you manage!” They left. Paul was offended and stopped speaking to me. I tried to explain, to open his eyes to the truth, but he built a wall around himself. Now he hardly calls, rarely visits. I’m convinced Jacqueline is turning him against me, driving a wedge between us. Yet, I love my son more than life itself, and I adore my grandson with all my heart.
I’ve resolved that Paul doesn’t need a wife like her. He deserves better—an intelligent, caring woman, not this lazy, irresponsible girl. He may not see it now, but I’ll do everything to make sure their marriage collapses. I won’t rest until I free my son from these chains. I’m sure, sooner or later, he’ll realize that I was right, and he’ll embrace me saying, “Thank you, Mum.” And we’ll raise our grandson ourselves—without her useless shadow, her indifference, and her cigarette smoke. I won’t back down, because this is my battle for my boy’s happiness.
