My husband has been living with his supposedly “ill” mother for six months now and has no intention of coming home. He accuses me of not understanding him.
He moved in with his mother half a year ago. She keeps pretending to feel unwell. Before this, he’d stay with her for a few weeks at a time, but now it’s gone too far. He even blames me for refusing to sympathise or help in any way.
How am I supposed to help a mother-in-law who’s faking illness just to ruin our marriage? She’s tying her son to her in the simplest way possible—by pretending to be helpless. I’ve lived with that woman before. Thanks, I won’t make that mistake again.
His mother took it painfully when she found out James and I were engaged. She never hid her disapproval, though she avoided open conflict because she wanted her son to see her as the perfect mother. Still, she constantly tried to provoke me and held grudges.
I didn’t let her get to me, especially since we didn’t interact much. I had my own flat, where James and I lived together. His mother wasn’t pleased about that, either. It must be hard to control a son who’s no longer under your thumb—or a daughter-in-law who doesn’t bend over backwards to please you.
But his mother had another idea. She’s not the first to think of it, either. She decided to act as if she were seriously ill and needed constant care.
James, who’d never dealt with this kind of manipulation from her before, became overly sympathetic and spent all his time at her place. The “poor old woman” had so many ailments she could’ve been a medical case study. Hospitals would’ve fought over her.
She suffered from high blood pressure, low blood pressure, chest pains, backaches, knee creaking, and even fainting spells. Still, it took me a while to realise she was faking. At first, I thought stress was to blame. Her precious boy had moved in with another woman, so of course her body was rebelling.
The first time his mother “fell seriously ill” and James stayed with her for a week, I packed a bag and went to help. I thought it was serious. On the first day, she played the part well.
But after two days, I noticed her symptoms vanished the moment James left. She’d suddenly feel fine, even cheerful. Yet as soon as he walked back in, she was ill again.
I told James what I saw, but he didn’t believe me—no surprise, since she’s such a convincing actress. I wasn’t buying it, though. I packed my things and went home.
James returned a few days later, saying his mother had recovered. Apparently, my leaving had filled her with so much joy she couldn’t hide it—her price for winning. But a few weeks later, she started the act all over again.
It infuriated me. Every time she “fell ill,” James moved in for an indefinite stay. She only “recovered” when I suggested calling a doctor. Healthy people don’t get sick that often—there had to be a reason.
The moment his mother thought a doctor might get involved, she miraculously improved. Still, James refused to leave until he was sure his beloved mum was safe. Only then would he finally come home.
This has been going on for six months. At first, there was a legitimate reason—she’d had knee surgery. Two years ago, she took a bad fall, and the doctor recommended an operation to prevent future issues.
James stayed with her during recovery, as any loving son would. I didn’t object—she genuinely needed help then.
But a week passed, then a month, and he still didn’t come home. His mother pretended she hadn’t healed. She could walk, but she spun him tales about collapsing and barely managing to get up while he was at work.
For six months now, James has lived with his mother, believing every word. No doctor has found anything wrong—her surgery was successful, she walks fine. She can’t run, but she doesn’t need crutches. But what do doctors know?
I finally gave James an ultimatum—either come home for good or collect his things because I’ll file for divorce. Now he accuses me of not loving him or understanding. He’s not off with some mistress, after all—he’s helping his poor mother.
My friends keep asking why I’m still waiting. It’s obvious—we should divorce. But I suppose I’ve realised that now, too. I held on too long, hoping my husband would come to his senses.
