I’m determined to get my son to divorce. Why should he be stuck with such a thoughtless wife?
There’s a stereotype that mothers-in-law are wicked witches who torment their poor, hapless daughters-in-law for no reason. Browse through online forums, and you’ll find plenty of such stories. And here I am, that so-called “evil mother-in-law” who isn’t just picking on her daughter-in-law but is resolutely set on breaking up her son’s marriage. You know what? I’m not ashamed. I’m convinced I’m right, and now I’ll explain why I feel this way while my anger and pain for my boy simmer inside me.
My son, Paul, met this girl, Emily, about five years ago. But he introduced her to me much later—only after he proposed and decided to get married. From the first glance, I didn’t like her, and as it turned out, my instincts didn’t betray me—this young woman was a true nightmare.
I invited them to my home, our cozy flat in the suburbs of Manchester. Emily hadn’t even taken off her shoes when her phone rang. Instead of apologizing and saying she’d call back, she started chatting with her friend right in the hallway. Fifteen minutes! I stood there, jaw clenched, while she giggled and babbled over some nonsense. Even then, I sensed something was off with her.
At the table, I didn’t ask her any serious questions—I just observed. However, when the conversation shifted to her, her life, and future plans, everything became clear. She barely finished school, is in her final year of college, but doesn’t even think about higher education. Why bother? According to her, a woman’s role is to be a wife and mother, period. She has no intentions of working. Her parents support her now, and soon, this burden might fall on my son. She still lives with her mum and dad but plans to move into our flat after the wedding. And the cherry on top: she’s pregnant. It’s still early days, so the wedding needs to happen quickly before the bump gives away her “secret.” She behaved as if the world owed her something and her looks were a ticket to an easy life.
But the most terrifying moment came when Paul stepped out to smoke on the balcony. Emily immediately pulled out a pack of slim cigarettes and joined him. Pregnant—and smoking! I could barely breathe from indignation. What about the child? Apparently, that didn’t concern her.
Soon they got married, and we started living together in my flat. I left for work early in the morning and returned in the evening, while Emily slept till noon, then wandered around doing nothing and often sneaked off to the balcony for a smoke. She got a note from the college about her pregnancy and took academic leave. Every evening greeted me with chaos: a mountain of dirty dishes in the sink, clothes scattered everywhere, and an empty fridge. She neither cooked nor cleaned—just hung on the phone, chatting with either her mother or friends.
When I asked her to help around the house, she’d brush it off: either morning sickness or tiredness. Yet that didn’t stop her from gallivanting with friends at cafes or dragging Paul to nightclubs until dawn. I gritted my teeth but stayed silent—for my son’s sake. Then my grandson was born. And guess what? Emily didn’t change one bit. Paul was the one getting up at night, walking with the pram, taking the baby to the doctor. I helped in the evenings and weekends, exhausted after work. And Emily? She lay on the sofa, scrolling through her phone, smoking as if nothing had changed. I shook with anger.
I tried talking to her—calmly, then more firmly. She ignored my words, looking at me with a smug smirk. But the worst part was that Paul always defended her. When I pointed out her laziness and her uselessness, he stood up for her: “Mum, she’s trying. It’s just hard for her.” And we argued. He’d shout at me but not say a word of reproach to her. My son, my only boy, blinded by love for this empty-headed girl.
The tension at home became unbearable. One day, I couldn’t hold back and blurted out in anger: “Take your wife and child and get out! Live on your own, and we’ll see how you manage!” They left. Paul was offended and stopped talking to me. I tried to explain, to open his eyes to the truth, but he built a wall between us. Now he hardly calls, rarely visits. I’m sure it’s Emily turning him against me, driving a wedge between us. Yet I love my son more than life itself and adore my grandson with all my heart.
I’ve decided: Paul doesn’t need such a wife. He deserves better—a smart, caring woman, not this lazy, irresponsible girl. Even if he doesn’t see it now, I’ll do everything I can to ensure their marriage crumbles. I won’t stop until I’ve freed my son from these chains. I’m certain that sooner or later he will realize I was right, embrace me, and say, “Thank you, Mum.” And we’ll raise our grandson ourselves—without her worthless shadow, without her indifference and cigarette smoke. I won’t back down because this is my battle for my boy’s happiness.
