The Mother-in-Law Who Cried Illness
In the quiet riverside town of Chester, nestled along the banks of the River Dee, Emily and her husband, David, lived a peaceful life—until the drama unfolded, with David’s mother at its center. Their story is one where good intentions became a test of patience and family bonds.
After marrying, Emily and David bought their own home. Their children had long grown up and started families of their own, leaving the couple alone in their spacious flat. Thinking his mother, Margaret Whitmore, was too lonely to bear, they invited her to move in.
“She’s family,” Emily told David. “And she’ll help around the house.”
Margaret often lamented how empty her flat felt, especially at night when the silence pressed in. Without hesitation, Emily welcomed her, certain it would bring them closer.
At first, all was well. Margaret threw herself into chores—cleaning, cooking, swapping recipes with Emily. It felt like mutual respect had settled between them. Margaret seemed grateful, and harmony filled the home.
With her mother-in-law’s help, Emily found time to return to her passion—knitting custom orders.
“It’s not thousands, but every bit helps,” she’d tell her friends, proudly showing off her creations.
She knitted Margaret a few jumpers, which the older woman wore with pride, boasting to the neighbors. For two years, there were no arguments, and Emily began to believe they’d struck the perfect balance.
But slowly, things soured. Emily noticed Margaret dodging chores with sly excuses. Plates piled up unwashed, floors unswept, dinners unmade. After work, Emily spent her evenings finishing what her mother-in-law had neglected.
“I try to manage my time,” Emily sighed. “But because of her, everything falls apart. Clients get upset when I miss deadlines.”
Her beloved hobby—once a source of joy and extra income—was now at risk. Emily loathed housework, but even worse was the guilt of letting customers down. Time for knitting slipped away like sand through her fingers, exhaustion growing heavier with each passing day.
Emily tried to talk to Margaret, gently asking for the help she’d once given. But Margaret feigned ignorance.
“I do everything!” she snapped. “What more do you want?”
Emily suggested clearly dividing chores—she’d handle them all to avoid relying on Margaret. Instead of understanding, she got resentment. Like a child denied a toy, Margaret ran to David.
“Emily’s being cruel!” she wailed. “I try so hard, and she’s never satisfied!”
David, quick to take his mother’s side, stared at Emily in disbelief.
“What’s gotten into you? Why are you attacking Mum?”
Emily tried to explain, but Margaret turned it into a game. One day, she was “ill,” clutching her chest in weakness—the next, miraculously “recovered” when it suited her. Emily felt trapped. Each time she counted on help, the cycle repeated.
“I stopped relying on her,” Emily admitted. “I plan as if she’s not here. But my orders are dwindling—clients leave. That hurts us all, since the knitting money went into our budget.”
Strangely, once earnings dropped, Margaret suddenly pitched in again. Dishes gleamed, floors shone, dinners appeared. Emily suspected manipulation—was this all for attention?
“Maybe she’s lonely?” Emily wondered. “We take her to the park, visit friends. But the moment I take a new order, she’s ‘sick’ again.”
Now Emily faces a choice. Margaret’s helping—should she take more orders? But what if the cycle restarts? More missed deadlines, frustrated clients, David’s disapproval?
“I don’t know what to do,” Emily whispers, staring at an unfinished jumper. “If I turn down work, we lose money. But if I trust her and she plays games again, I’ll drown.”
What should Emily do? Forgive the manipulation and risk it? Or sacrifice her passion to keep control? Is she overreacting, or is this a game where she’ll always lose?
