**Diary Entry – 12th June**
I never thought I’d be writing this, but I’ve reached my breaking point. My mother-in-law, Margaret, has spent years comparing me to her daughter, and now she’s moved on to our children. I’ve had enough.
I’m Emily, married to Richard for eight years. From the start, Margaret made it clear I’d never measure up to her daughter, Charlotte. At first, I bit my tongue, but now she’s crossed a line—snide remarks about my son, Oliver.
We married fresh out of university, scraping by in a small flat outside Manchester. Every penny went into savings. When Margaret found out we were renting, she exploded. *”Why waste money? You should’ve stayed with me and saved for a home!”* For four years, she acted like we’d committed a crime.
Then Charlotte married. She refused to live with her in-laws too—yet Margaret praised her. *”Good for them! No one should be stuck with a mother-in-law.”* Richard was stunned. *”Mum, why were we wrong, but Charlotte’s decisions are perfect?”* Her reply crushed me: *”Her mother-in-law would’ve made their lives hell.”* I nearly shouted, *”And you think you’ve made mine easy?”* That was the moment I knew—I’d always be second-best to Charlotte.
Charlotte herself isn’t terrible, but she’s inherited Margaret’s sharp tongue. I avoided arguments, but Margaret thrived on them. When we both fell pregnant—nearly at the same time—the comparisons worsened. *”Charlotte’s so responsible, starting a family young. You’re just burdening my son.”* Each word cut deeper. At dinners, Charlotte got the choicest portions—*”Eat up, love, you need strength”*—while I was scolded: *”You’ve put on too much weight. What will the doctors say?”* Never mind that my weight was perfectly normal. Eventually, I stopped visiting, claiming exhaustion.
Our boys were born a week apart. Margaret immediately declared Charlotte’s son the spitting image of Richard, while Oliver supposedly *”took after no one.”* I ignored it, too wrapped up in motherhood—until she started comparing them outright. *”Charlotte’s boy is sitting up already! You must not be stimulating Oliver enough.”* When I enrolled him in nursery, she called me neglectful. *”Dumping him off while Charlotte raises hers properly.”* Even Richard noticed the favouritism.
Oliver’s four now, and it’s only gotten worse. I’ve stayed quiet for years, but this isn’t just about me anymore. Oliver deserves better than to grow up feeling lesser. I’ve tried to keep peace, but Margaret’s poison is spreading. If Richard won’t confront her, I will. I’m done being the bigger person.
Some lines shouldn’t be crossed. And when it comes to my son, I’ll burn every bridge to protect him.
