I want to drive my son to divorce. Why on earth does he need such a brainless wife?
Theres this stereotype that mothers-in-law are wicked witches who torment their poor, helpless daughters-in-law for no reason. Scroll through any forum onlineyoull find plenty of stories like that. And here I am, that very “evil mother-in-law,” not just nitpicking at my daughter-in-law but dead set on wrecking my sons marriage. And you know what? Im not ashamed. I know Im right, and Ill tell you why, while fury and heartache for my boy boil inside me.
My son, Oliver, met this girl, Poppy, about five years ago. But he only introduced her to me much laterafter hed already proposed and decided to marry her. I took one look at her and knew something was off, and as it turned out, my gut was spot onthis girl was an absolute nightmare.
I invited them over to my cosy house in the outskirts of Manchester. Poppy hadnt even taken her shoes off when her phone rang. Instead of excusing herself, she stood in the hallway giggling with a friend for fifteen solid minutes! I stood there, grinding my teeth, while she nattered on about absolute nonsense. Right then, I knewsomething wasnt right with her.
At the table, I didnt grill herjust watched. But when the conversation turned to her life and plans, it all became clear. She barely scraped through school, was in her last year of college with no intention of going to university. Why bother? According to her, a womans job was to be a wife and motherend of story. She had no plans to work. Her parents bankrolled her now, and soon, I suspected, that burden would fall on Oliver. She still lived with Mum and Dad but planned to move into our place after the wedding. And the cherry on top? She was pregnant. Still early days, so the wedding had to be rushed before the “secret” was too obvious. She acted like the world owed her everything, as if her looks were a free pass to a life of leisure.
The worst came when Oliver stepped out for a smoke on the patio. Poppy whipped out a pack of slim cigarettes and followed him. Pregnantand smoking! I nearly choked on my indignation. What about the baby? She didnt seem to care.
Soon, they married, and we all lived together in my house. I left for work early, came back in the evening, and Poppy? Slept till noon, lazed about doing nothing, and kept sneaking out for a smoke. She got a doctors note for her pregnancy and took a break from college. Every evening, I was greeted by chaosa mountain of dirty dishes, clothes strewn everywhere, an empty fridge. She didnt cook, didnt cleanjust glued to her phone, yammering to her mum or mates.
When I asked her to help, shed wave me offmorning sickness one day, exhaustion the next. But that didnt stop her from gallivanting around cafés with friends or staying out clubbing with Oliver till dawn. I bit my tonguefor his sake. Then my grandson was born. And guess what? Poppy didnt change a bit. Oliver was the one up at night with the baby, pushing the pram, taking him to the doctor. I helped evenings and weekends, exhausted from work. And her? Lounged on the sofa, scrolling her phone, smoking like it was nothing. I was fuming.
I tried talking to hercalmly, then firmly. She just smirked, ignoring every word. Worst of all, Oliver always defended her. When I pointed out her laziness, her uselessness, hed dig his heels in: “Mum, shes trying, its just hard for her.” And wed argue. Hed shout at menever a word of reproach for her. My son, my only boy, blinded by love for this empty-headed girl.
The tension became unbearable. One day, I snapped: “Take your wife and child and get out! Live on your ownlets see how you manage!” They left. Oliver was furious, stopped speaking to me. I tried to make him see the truth, but he shut me out. Now he barely calls, never visits. Im sure Poppys poisoning him against me, driving a wedge between us. But I love my son more than life itself, and I adore my grandson with all my heart.
Ive made up my mind: Oliver doesnt need a wife like her. He deserves bettersomeone smart, caring, not this lazy, irresponsible girl. He might not see it yet, but I wont rest until their marriage crumbles. I wont stop until hes free of her. One day, hell realise I was right, hug me, and say, “Thanks, Mum.” And well raise my grandson togetherwithout her shadow, without her neglect and cigarette smoke. I wont back down. This is my battle for my boys happiness.
