I want my son to get a divorce. Why should he be stuck with such a brainless wife?
Theres a stereotype that mothers-in-law are wicked witches who torment their poor, helpless daughters-in-law for no reason. Scroll through online forumsyoull find plenty of such stories. And here I am, that very “evil mother-in-law,” not just nitpicking but dead-set on breaking up my sons marriage. And you know what? Im not ashamed. Im certain Im right, and Ill explain why, while anger and heartache for my boy boil inside me.
My son, James, met this girl, Emily, about five years ago. But he only introduced her to me much laterafter hed already proposed. From the first glance, I didnt like her, and as it turned out, my gut was rightshes an absolute nightmare.
I invited them over to my home, our cosy flat in the outskirts of Manchester. Emily hadnt even taken her shoes off when her phone rang. Instead of apologising and saying shed call back, she started nattering away with a friend right there in the hallway. Fifteen minutes! I stood there, gritting my teeth, while she giggled over some nonsense. Right then, I knew something was off.
At dinner, I didnt grill herjust observed. But when the conversation turned to her life and plans, it all became clear. She barely scraped through school, is in her last year of college, and has no intention of university. Why bother? According to her, a womans place is as a wife and motherend of story. She has no plans to work. Right now, her parents support her, but soon, I suppose, that burden will fall on James. She still lives at home but plans to move into our flat after the wedding. And the cherry on top? Shes pregnant. Early stages, so the wedding has to be quick before her “little secret” shows. She acted like the world owed her something, as if her looks were a free pass to an easy life.
The worst came when James stepped out for a smoke on the balcony. Emily immediately pulled out a pack of slim cigarettes and followed. Pregnantand smoking! I nearly choked on my outrage. What about the baby? She didnt seem to care.
Soon, they married, and we all lived together in my flat. I left for work early, came back late, while Emily slept till noon, loafed around doing nothing, and kept sneaking out to smoke. She got a medical note from college and took a leave of absence. Every evening, I came home to chaos: a sink full of dishes, clothes strewn about, an empty fridge. She never cooked, never cleanedjust glued to her phone, gossiping with her mum or friends.
When I asked her to help, shed wave me offmorning sickness one day, exhaustion the next. Yet she still managed café trips with friends or late-night clubbing with James. I bit my tonguefor his sake. Then the baby came. And guess what? Emily didnt change one bit. James was up at night with the baby, pushing the pram, taking him to check-ups. I helped evenings and weekends, exhausted from work. And her? Lounged on the sofa, scrolling her phone, smoking like it was nothing. It made my blood boil.
I tried talking to hercalmly at first, then firmly. She brushed me off with a smirk. But the worst was James always defending her. When I pointed out her laziness, her uselessness, hed shut me down: “Mum, shes trying, its just hard for her.” And wed argue. Hed shout at menever a word of criticism 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! See how you manage on your own!” They left. James 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 Emilys poisoning him against me, driving a wedge between us. And yet, I love my son more than life itself, and I adore my grandson with all my heart.
Ive made up my mind: James doesnt need a wife like this. He deserves bettersomeone smart, caring, not this lazy, irresponsible girl. He might not see it yet, but Ill do whatever it takes to end this marriage. I wont stop until I free him from these chains. One day, hell realise I was right, hug me, and say, “Thank you, Mum.” And well raise that boy rightwithout her shadow, her neglect, or her cigarette smoke. I wont back down, because this is my fight for my boys happiness.
