My husband has been living with his “ailing” mother for six months now and shows no intention of returning home. He accuses me of refusing to understand him.
He moved in with his mother half a year ago, and she keeps pretending to be unwell. There were times before when he’d stay with her for three weeks, but this is beyond absurd now. Yet he still claims I won’t sympathise or lend a hand.
How am I supposed to help a mother-in-law who feigns illness just to ruin our marriage? She ties her son to her in the simplest way—by pretending to be helpless. I’ve lived with that woman before. Thank you, but I won’t make that mistake twice.
His mother took the news of our marriage to William bitterly. She never hid her disapproval, though she avoided outright quarrels, wanting her son to see her as a good mother. Still, she constantly provoked me and held grudges.
I didn’t rise to it, especially since we rarely spoke. I had my own flat, where William and I lived together—something else she resented. It’s 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 my husband’s mother hatched another plan. She’s not the first to think of it: pretending to be gravely ill, in need of constant care.
William, who’d never faced such manipulation from her before, became overly sympathetic, spending all his time at her place. The “poor old dear” had so many ailments, she could’ve been a medical marvel. Hospitals would’ve fought over her as a case study.
She suffered from high blood pressure and low blood pressure, chest pains, backaches, creaky knees, and fainting spells. It took me a while to realise it was all an act. At first, I thought stress was to blame—her precious boy had moved in with another woman, after all.
The first time she fell “seriously ill,” and William had been staying with her for a week, I packed a bag and went to help. I thought it was genuine. That first day, she played the part convincingly.
But by the second day, I noticed all her symptoms vanished the moment William left. She’d suddenly be cheerful, perfectly fine—until he stepped through the door again, and then she’d slump back into frailty.
I told my husband what I’d seen, but of course he didn’t believe me. She was too convincing. Still, I refused to humour her. I packed my things and went home.
William returned days later, saying his mother had improved. Clearly, my leaving had been the price for her “recovery.” But weeks after, she was at it again—suddenly too weak to function.
It infuriated me. Every time she took a turn for the worse, William moved in indefinitely. She’d only “recover” when I suggested calling a doctor. No healthy person falls ill so often—there had to be a reason.
The moment she suspected a doctor might visit, she’d rally. And once William was sure his beloved mother was out of danger, he’d come back to me.
This has gone on for six months. At first, there was a legitimate reason—she’d had knee surgery. She’d fallen two years prior, and the doctor recommended the operation to prevent future complications.
William stayed with her while she recovered, as any devoted son would. I didn’t object—she genuinely needed help then.
But a week passed, then a month, and still he didn’t return. His mother pretended she hadn’t healed. She could walk but spun tales of collapsing when he wasn’t there, barely managing to stand.
For half a year, he’s lived with her, believing every word. No doctor has found anything wrong—the surgery was a success, she walks fine. Not running marathons, but she doesn’t need a cane. But what do doctors know?
I’ve given him an ultimatum: come home for good or collect his things, because I’ll file for divorce. Now he accuses me of not loving him, of failing to understand. He’s not with a mistress, he says—he’s tending to his mother, who needs him desperately.
All my friends ask why I’m still waiting. It’s obvious, they say—we should divorce. And perhaps they’re right. Even I’ve finally accepted it, though I held out hope his common sense would prevail until the very end.
