The Mother-in-Law Who Feigned Illness for Attention
In the quiet town of York, in a cosy flat by the River Ouse, life for Emily and her husband James had been peaceful—until the drama began, starring none other than her mother-in-law. Their story serves as a reminder of how good intentions can sometimes test patience and family bonds.
After their wedding, Emily and James settled into their own home. Their children, long grown, had started families of their own, leaving the couple to enjoy their spacious flat alone. Believing her mother-in-law, Margaret Whitmore, struggled with loneliness, Emily invited her to move in.
“She’s family,” Emily told James. “And she’ll help around the house.”
Margaret often lamented how empty her flat felt, especially at night when the silence became unbearable. Without hesitation, Emily welcomed her in, certain it would bring them closer.
At first, things went smoothly. Margaret threw herself into chores—cleaning, cooking, and swapping recipes with Emily. It felt like mutual understanding and respect were blossoming. Margaret seemed grateful, and harmony filled the home.
With Margaret’s help, Emily found time to return to her hobby—knitting bespoke garments.
“It’s not a fortune, but every bit helps,” Emily told her friends, proudly showing off her creations.
She knitted jumpers for Margaret, who wore them proudly, boasting to the neighbours. For two years, there wasn’t a single quarrel, and Emily began to believe she’d struck the perfect balance.
But gradually, things changed. Emily noticed Margaret slyly avoiding chores. She never refused outright, but dishes piled up, floors went unswept, and dinner was left uncooked. Coming home from work, Emily spent evenings finishing what should’ve been done.
“I try to manage my time,” Emily sighed. “But because of Margaret, everything falls apart. Clients grow impatient, deadlines slip.”
Her once-joyful hobby, which brought in extra income, was now at risk. Emily disliked housework, but worse was the guilt when orders went unfinished. Time for knitting vanished like morning mist, and exhaustion weighed heavier each day.
Emily tried talking to Margaret. Gently, she explained she needed the help they’d once shared. But Margaret feigned confusion.
“I do everything!” she protested. “What more do you want?”
Emily suggested dividing tasks clearly—she’d handle the housework alone to avoid relying on Margaret. But instead of understanding, she was met with resentment. Like a child scolded, Margaret rushed to complain to James.
“Emily’s being cruel!” she cried. “I do my best, and still, she’s unhappy!”
James, without hearing Emily’s side, frowned in disbelief.
“What’s gotten into you? Why are you picking on Mum?”
Emily tried to explain, but Margaret turned it into a game. One day she’d “fall ill,” clutching her chest in feigned weakness; the next, she’d miraculously recover—just when it suited her. Emily felt trapped. Every time she counted on help, the cycle repeated.
“I stopped relying on her,” Emily admitted. “I plan as if she’s not here. But with fewer orders, clients drift away. It hurts us all—that knitting money helped with bills.”
Strangely, as income dwindled, Margaret suddenly resumed her chores. Dishes sparkled, floors gleamed, dinner appeared. Emily suspected manipulation—was Margaret seeking attention?
“Maybe she’s lonely?” Emily wondered. “We take her to the park, visit friends. But the moment I take new orders, she ‘falls ill’ again.”
Now Emily faces a dilemma. Margaret’s helping again—should she risk more orders? Or will history repeat—missed deadlines, frustrated clients, James’s disapproval?
“I don’t know what to do,” Emily murmurs, 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 break.”
What should Emily do? Forgive the manipulation and take the chance? Or sacrifice her passion to keep peace? Is Margaret truly in need—or is this a game where Emily always loses?
Sometimes, the hardest lesson is learning when kindness becomes self-sacrifice—and when to set boundaries before the heart pays the price.
