I want my son to get a divorce. Why does he need 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 determined to break up my sons marriage. And you know what? Im not ashamed. I know Im right, and Ill explain why while anger and pain for my boy still burn inside me.
My son, Oliver, met this girl, Gemma, about five years ago. But he only introduced her to me much laterafter hed already proposed and decided to marry her. I disliked her from the start, and as it turned out, my gut was rightshes an absolute nightmare.
I invited them over to my cosy house in the outskirts of Manchester. Gemma hadnt even taken her shoes off when her phone rang. Instead of excusing herself or saying shed call back, she started chatting with a friend right there in the hallway. Fifteen minutes! I stood there, gritting my teeth, while she giggled and gossiped about nonsense. Right then, I knew something was off.
At dinner, I didnt grill herI just watched. But when the conversation turned to her life and plans, everything became clear. She barely scraped through secondary school, was in her last year of college, and had no intention of going to university. Why bother? According to her, a womans only role is to be a wife and motherfull stop. She had no plans to work. Her parents supported her now, and soon, that burden would fall on Oliver. She still lived with them but intended to move into our house after the wedding. And the cherry on top? She was pregnant. Still early, so the wedding had to be quick before the bump gave her away. She acted like the world owed her everything, as if her looks were a free pass to an easy life.
The worst part came when Oliver stepped out for a smoke. Gemma pulled out a pack of slim cigarettes and followed him. 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. I left for work early and came home to chaos: dishes piled in the sink, clothes strewn everywhere, an empty fridge. She slept till noon, lounged around, and kept sneaking out for a smoke. She dropped out of college, claiming pregnancy complications. Every evening, I found the same messno cooking, no cleaning, just endless phone calls with her mum or mates.
When I asked her to help, she brushed me offmorning sickness, exhaustion. Yet she still went out to cafés or clubbed with Oliver till dawn. I bit my tonguefor his sake. Then my grandson was born. And guess what? Gemma didnt change a bit. Oliver woke up for night feeds, pushed the pram, took the baby to check-ups. I helped evenings and weekends, exhausted from work. And her? Lazing on the sofa, scrolling her phone, smoking like nothing was wrong. It made my blood boil.
I tried talkinggently, then firmly. She smirked and ignored me. Worse, Oliver always defended her. When I pointed out her laziness, hed snap, “Mum, shes tryingits just hard for her.” We argued. He shouted at me but never at her. My boy, my only son, blinded by love for this useless girl.
The tension became unbearable. One day, I exploded: “Take your wife and child and get out! Lets see how you manage alone!” They left. Oliver stopped speaking to me. I tried to make him see the truth, but he shut me out. Now he barely calls or visits. Im sure Gemmas poisoning him against me, driving a wedge between us. But I love my son more than life itself, and I adore my grandson.
Ive decidedOliver doesnt need a wife like her. He deserves better: a smart, caring woman, not this lazy, selfish girl. He might not see it yet, but I wont stop until their marriage falls apart. Ill free him from her chains. One day, hell understand, hug me, and say, “Thanks, Mum.” And well raise my grandson rightwithout her neglect, without her smoke hanging over us. I wont back down. This is my fight for my boys happiness.
