My mother pretends to be ill to avoid work and lives off us.
Shes never had the slightest desire to work. While my father was alive, she never had to worryhe took care of everything, brought in the money, and she stayed at home, enjoying her role as a housewife. But now, after his death, she seems to believe its up to me and my wife to support her. And we disagree.
Mum married very youngjust nineteen. Dad, six years older, had already graduated, had a steady job, and earned enough to provide for a family comfortably.
She loved telling their love story as if it were a fairy talelove at first sight, that one look that changed everything, the sudden certainty he was the man for her.
I believed it until I turned fifteen. Then I realised the truth: Mum had never wanted to study or build a career. Marriage was her perfect solutiona ticket to an easy life with no responsibilities.
She fell pregnant quickly, had me, and declared she wanted to care for me full-timeno nursery, no nanny, no outside help. Dad, protective and proud to give her that life, agreed without question.
I never set foot in a nursery, but I wasnt a difficult child. Mum would leave me in a sandpit, and Id play quietly for hours. Shed hand me toys, and Id entertain myself without bothering her.
She never bothered to learn anythingno qualifications, no skills, not a single days work outside the home. A “professional housewife,” as she proudly called herself.
I never criticised her lifestyle. If Dad accepted it, it wasnt my place to judge.
But when he died, everything fell apart for her. She didnt arrange the funeral or handle the paperworkshe just lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, repeating, What am I going to do? How will I survive?
At first, I thought she was grieving. But slowly, I understoodit wasnt losing Dad that crushed her, but losing her financial comfort.
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 and one for me. But she wanted 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 couldwhy should I sacrifice my future so she could keep doing nothing?
My wife and I already pay 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 reluctantly, she found a job at a local corner shop. And thats when the tragedy began.
Every phone call was a sob story: Im exhausted! My legs ache! I cant keep going like this!
Every week, shed cry down the phone, begging for help, saying she couldnt take it anymore.
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 paid her rent, her groceries, her medicine. What else could we do?
But once she recovered, she suddenly discovered new health problems.
High blood pressure. Migraines. Back pain. Dizziness. Any illness 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, feeling guilty at the thought of leaving her to struggle.
Until I said enough.
This month, I reached my limit. I paid her bills, handed her £800, 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 a rich man to take care of her. At fifty-five, shes still got the looks for it.
So tell meam I being too harsh? Or have I finally made the right choice?
