Oh, you won’t believe this drama with my friend Emily and her mother-in-law. It’s like something out of a telly show!
So, Emily and her husband, James, lived in this lovely little flat by the Thames in Canterbury—quiet, peaceful, you know? Life was smooth until James’s mum, Margaret, came into the picture.
After the wedding, Emily and James got their own place straight away. The kids were grown and off doing their own thing, so it was just the two of them. But then Margaret started dropping hints about how lonely she was in her empty house, especially at night when the silence really got to her. Emily, being the sweetheart she is, thought, *Well, she’s family, isn’t she?* So she invited Margaret to move in, figuring she’d help around the house and keep things lively.
At first, it was brilliant. Margaret was all in—dusting, cooking, swapping recipes like she was on *Bake Off*. Emily even got back into her knitting side hustle, making cosy jumpers to sell. “Not exactly raking in millions,” she’d laugh, “but every little helps, right?” She even knitted Margaret a few cardigans, which the woman *loved* showing off to her bridge club. For two years, it was all sunshine and roses—no rows, no fuss.
But then? Oh, things took a turn. Slowly, Margaret started slacking off. Not outright refusing to help, but suddenly the dishes were piling up, the floors were grubby, and dinner? Nowhere to be seen. Emily was running herself ragged trying to keep up with work, the house, *and* her knitting orders. “I’m dropping the ball with clients,” she’d sigh. “My deadlines are slipping, and it’s stressing me out.”
She tried gently bringing it up with Margaret, but the woman played dumb. “*I do everything!*” she’d huff, all offended. So Emily suggested splitting chores fairly—she’d handle more if it meant no surprises. But instead of agreeing, Margaret ran straight to James, wailing, “*Emily’s being so mean!*” And James, bless him, just shrugged at Emily like *What’s got into you?*
Then the real games began. Suddenly, Margaret was “ill”—aching back, weak knees, the lot—but only when it suited her. The second Emily picked up extra knitting work? Boom, “miraculous” recovery. It was like clockwork. Emily felt trapped. “I’ve given up relying on her,” she admitted. “But now my orders are drying up, and that extra cash was *helping*.”
Here’s the kicker: the moment money got tight, Margaret was back to her old self—floors sparkling, dinner on the table. Emily twigged it then: this wasn’t about needing help. It was about *attention*. “Maybe she’s lonely,” Emily mused. “We take her out, we chat—but the second I’m busy? She’s ‘ill’ again.”
Now Emily’s stuck. Should she trust Margaret and take on more work, risking another meltdown? Or drop the knitting and lose that income? Is Margaret really just a lonely old dear, or is she playing some twisted game where Emily always loses?
Honestly? I’d be tearing my hair out. What would *you* do?
