My mother pretends to be ill to avoid working and lives off us.
She never had the slightest desire to work. While my father was alive, she never needed to worryhe handled everything, brought in the money, and she stayed at home, relishing her role as a housewife. But now, after his passing, she seems to believe its my wifes and my duty to support her. And we disagree.
Mum married youngjust nineteen. My father, six years older, was already a university graduate with a stable job, earning enough to comfortably provide for a family.
She loved telling their love story as if it were a fairytalethe instant spark, the glance that changed everything, that sudden certainty he was the one.
I believed it until I turned fifteen. Then I understood the truth: my mother never wanted to study or build a career. Marriage was her perfect escapea ticket to an easy life with no responsibilities.
Pregnant soon after, she had me and declared she wanted to raise me full-timeno nursery, no nanny, no outside help. My father, protective and proud to give her that life, agreed without question.
I never set foot in a nursery, but I wasnt a difficult child. Shed leave me in the sandpit, and Id entertain myself for hours with toys, never bothering her.
She never bothered to learn a skill, take a course, or earn a single qualification. Not one day of work outside the home. A “professional housewife,” as she called it with pride.
I never criticised her lifestyle. If Dad accepted it, it wasnt my place to judge.
But when he died, her world collapsed. She didnt arrange the funeral, didnt handle the paperworkjust lay in bed staring at the ceiling, whispering over and over, “What will I do? How will I survive?”
At first, I thought she was grieving. But slowly, I realisedit wasnt losing Dad that crushed her. It was losing her financial safety net.
Hed left her some savings, but it was obvious the money wouldnt last forever.
Six months after his death, she had a “brilliant idea”: sell our three-bedroom flat and buy two smaller onesone for her, one for mebut with mine rented out so she could live off the income.
In her mind, it was perfect. In reality, it was delusional. The sale money would never cover two properties. And even if it didwhy should I sacrifice my future so she could keep doing nothing?
My wife and I are already paying off a mortgage. We cant afford to fund someone elses life. So I told her plainly, “Mum, youre an adult. Its time to work.”
She protested, but grudgingly, she found a job at a corner shop. And thats when the melodrama began.
Every phone call was a lament: “Im exhausted! My legs ache! I cant go on like this!”
Every week, she sobbed down the line, begging for help, insisting she couldnt take it.
Then last winter, she had a real accidentslipped on black ice and broke her leg. Two months in a cast, unable to move. Of course, her employer let her go. And who had to step in?
Us.
We covered her rent, her groceries, her prescriptions. What else could we do?
But once she recovered, she suddenly “discovered” new health problems.
High blood pressure. Migraines. Back pain. Dizziness. Any ailment you can name, she claimed to have it.
Doctors ran tests. Nothing serious. But she played the part so well we kept giving her money, guilt eating at us if we didnt.
Until I said enough.
This month, I reached my limit. I paid her bills, handed her a thousand pounds, and said, “Thats the last time. From now on, youre on your own.”
She burst into tears, called me a disgrace, accused me of abandoning her.
But honestly? I dont care. Shes perfectly healthy. If she wont work, she can find some wealthy man to take her in. At fifty-five, shes still got the looks for it.
So tell meam I being too harsh? Or have I finally done the right thing?
