There was a knock at the door. I opened it, and there stood my mother-in-law, drenched to the bone, her eyes swollen from cryingturns out, the other woman had taken every last penny.
Fifteen years ago, Oliver and I got married. Back then, his mum made it crystal clear wed never be friends. I accepted it. We built our life together, but kids didnt come easy. Ten years of waiting, hoping, praying until life finally blessed usfirst came Henry, then Emily.
Life wasnt unkind. Oliver climbed the ladder as a director at a big firm. I got to focus on the kids, take maternity leave, and dive headfirst into family life. My own mum lived far away in another city, so there was no help on that front. And my mother-in-law? Well, in fifteen years, her attitude toward me didnt budge an inch. To her, Id always been a “gold-digger,” some clever girl whod stolen her son. In her dreams, Oliver shouldve married the “right sort”the one shed picked for him. But he chose me.
We carried on, raising the kids, me ignoring her icy glares. Until one day, everything fell apart.
I remember every detail of that day. Wed just got back from a walk, the kids were kicking off their shoes in the hallway, and I went to put the kettle on. Thats when I spotted a note on the side table. Just stepping closer sent a chill down my spine. The house felt oddly empty. Olivers things were gone.
Scrawled in messy handwriting, the note read:
*”Forgive me. It happenedI fell for someone else. Dont look for me. Youre strong, youll manage. Its for the best.”*
His phone was off. No calls, no texts. Hed just vanished. Left me alonewith two little ones clinging to me.
I didnt know where he was or who this “someone else” was. Desperate, I rang his mum. I wanted answers, some shred of comfort. Instead, I got:
“This is all your fault.” Her voice dripped with smugness. “I always knew itd end like this. You shouldve seen it coming.”
I was speechless. What had I even done? Why did they hate me so much? But there was no time for blameI had the kids and barely any money. Oliver hadnt left a single pound.
I couldnt workno one to watch the children. Then I remembered an old side gig, proofreading uni essays. Thats how we scraped by. Every day was a battle just to put food on the table. Six monthsnot a word from Oliver.
Then, one autumn evening as I tucked the kids in, there was a frantic knocking at the door. Whod be round this late? Neighbours?
I opened itand nearly stumbled back.
It was my mother-in-law. A mess, soaked through, her face streaked with tears.
“Can I come in?” she whispered, and without thinking, I stepped aside.
We sat in the kitchen. Between sobs, she told me everything. Olivers “new love” was a con artist. Shed emptied his accounts, saddled him with debt, and vanished with anything of value.
Oliver was left with nothing. The womans flat was a lie, their futurea fantasy. Even his mum had lost everythingshed remortgaged her place for him, and now the bank was threatening to evict her.
“Weve got nothing left,” she whimpered. “Help me please Ive nowhere to go”
She looked at me like a beaten dog, begging to stay, even just for a few days.
I clenched my fists. My head throbbed with questions. I remembered every cruel word, every look of disdain, all those years feeling like an outsider in my own family. And now she wanted my help?
Part of me wanted to throw it back at her. Say, *”You figure it outsee how it feels!”* But another partthe one that still believed in love, in kindness, in my childrenwouldnt let me be that cruel.
I stayed silent. My eyes burned.
What to choose? Revenge or mercy?
While I decided, I got up, made tea, and set a cup in front of her.
Because sometimes, being human means choosing not with your heart, but with your conscience.
