Mother-in-Law vs. the Mop and the Frying Pan: Once She Turned Us Away, Now She Invites Us—But on Her Terms
Five years ago, I married William. It was a calm, mature decision made out of love, with complete confidence that we could handle any challenge. But even before the wedding, when we went to tell his mother our plans, her first reaction was like a bucket of ice water:
“Don’t expect any help from me. And you certainly won’t be living with me! I’m used to running my own home, and I won’t be stepping aside for anyone!”
William and I exchanged glances. I was especially surprised. After all, during his university years, at his mother’s insistence, he’d moved out of her flat into rented accommodation—supposedly to make life easier for everyone. So, after the wedding, we carried on living in that rented flat, saving up for our own place.
Meanwhile, his mother had a spacious three-bedroom flat in central London, inherited from her parents. Her father had died young, and her mother lived with her into old age. William’s parents divorced when he was about six; they’d only been married five years. As she once admitted to me:
“I wasn’t made to be a housemaid. I despise cleaning, cooking, and laundry. I’m not a servant—I’m a woman! I should live for myself!”
After the divorce, she moved back into her parents’ home, where her mother handled everything. William’s grandmother cooked, cleaned, and looked after both her daughter and grandson because his mother claimed she was “too busy with work” and “building a career.” Even when his grandmother grew frail, the housework never shifted to my mother-in-law. She never gave an inch.
Then William’s father died. They’d stayed in touch. His flat was divided between William and his stepmother, who was reasonable—she agreed to sell her share, and we bought her out. We moved in, settled down, and had our son. Then everything changed.
When Oliver was just six months old, William slipped and broke his leg badly. The fracture was complicated. He lost his job, money grew tight. I couldn’t work—tiny baby, barely mobile husband, mortgage payments, debts to the stepmum. We cut back everywhere. Reluctantly, William called his mother:
“Mum, maybe we could stay with you for a bit? Six months. We’ll rent our place out, get back on our feet…”
Her reply was instant and icy:
“Absolutely not! I’ve got Margaret living here! She helps me around the house, does everything—you’ll just get in the way!”
Margaret was her elderly cousin—childless, alone, formerly living in the countryside until her cottage burned down. My mother-in-law had taken her in… to cook, clean, and do laundry. Margaret had become a live-in maid. And my mother-in-law didn’t hold back:
“You live under my roof, eat my food—go find a job! You’re not freeloading here!”
I felt sorry for Margaret. She looked worn down, exhausted, but never complained. Then—she vanished. Six months later, William said:
“Guess what? Margaret’s run off! Found a bloke with his own place—left without even saying goodbye.”
We were happy for her. A kind, gentle woman who deserved respect, not shouts and chores. But now, my mother-in-law was alone. Who’d scrub her dishes and vacuum now?
Then—out of the blue—she called. Herself!
“Fine, move in with me. Rent your place out. But here’s my condition: Emma (that’s me) does everything! Cleaning, cooking, laundry, ironing. Well? You’d be living here rent-free!”
When William repeated her words, I burst out laughing.
“You told her no chance, right?” I asked.
“Of course,” he nodded. She was offended. Said she’d hire a cleaner.
Let her. We’re both working now—I’m back from maternity leave, Oliver’s in nursery. We’ve got our own home, our peace. I won’t be a servant to a woman who’s dodged responsibility her whole life, happy to ride on her own mother’s back.
A few days later, she rang again, naively asking, “So… you’re really not changing your minds?”
No, we’re not. And I wonder—soon, she’ll retire. She won’t afford a cleaner then. Who’ll she beg? Or maybe, just maybe, she’ll pick up a mop, a pan, a broom—and finally learn to live like a grown-up.
Time will tell.
