“Not a penny more till she leaves that deadbeat”: I told my daughter to stand on her own two feet.
“As long as she stays married, she wont get a single pound from us.” I made it clearno more help unless she walks away from that layabout.
Every day, our house shakes with argumentsnot between my husband and me, but because of our son-in-law. The man my daughter married is bone idle, utterly irresponsible. He hasnt held down a proper job in over a year, just odd jobs here and there, then lazing about the rest of the time. My daughter bears the whole weight of the family, raising twin toddlers while on maternity leave. And him? He just exists.
Of course, my daughter cant work full-timethe twins need constant care. I offered to help, but on one condition. A firm one: not another penny unless she divorces that parasite. Helping her would just mean bankrolling *him*, and I wont fund someones laziness.
I never liked Oliver from the start. Hoped shed wake up, but nothey went ahead and married. Youth, love, rose-tinted glassesit all clouded her judgment. Now were left picking up the pieces.
My husband and I gave them Grandmas flat. It used to bring in a bit of extra pension money, but the young ones couldnt afford rent, so we handed it over. All I asked was for them to do a light refurbjust to make it decent for the kids.
Then Oliver showed his true colours:
“Im not doing that. Im not a handymanIm an intellectual. Hire professionals.”
With *what* money? He hasnt earned enough to buy a screwdriver. All he does is philosophise and moan about his bad luck. Work evenings? “No.” Weekends? “I need rest.” Hes got used to everything being handed to him.
When I called him out”Youre just lazy”he got huffy. “Youre unfair to me.” And my daughter? Instead of backing me up, she snapped:
“Now weve had another row because of you! Why cant you stay out of it?”
I stepped back but made it clear: she got herself into this, shed have to sort it out. No more handouts. But then I found out she was expecting twins, and my heart broke. I thought Oliver might pull himself togetherbut nothing. Everything fell on us. We did the repairs, scrounged up cots, even took her to doctors appointments. Him? Slouched on the sofa, glued to his laptop.
Emily tried her best, but I could see the penny droppingshed married a dud. Together, we patched up the flat, all DIY. Of course, *he* later bought a few knick-knacks in the salesbig deal. When youve a family, you step up. Him? Just a lodger in a house run by everyone else.
Then we found out how they were scraping by: theyd taken out a credit card. In secret. Then came the call:
“Mum, were drowning. Help us”
I was livid.
“Emily! You had kids with a man who cant even change a lightbulb! How did you think this would work?”
“Were just going through a rough patch”
“Rough patch? Youve got a home, parents carrying you. And him? Wont take a jobpays too low, commutes too far, hours dont suit!”
“Mum, you dont get it Hes looking! He just wont work for peanuts!”
“But you *live* on peanuts! You, the kids, *him*all on our backs!”
Im done. No more being a cash cow. I told her straight:
“No divorce? Then dont knock on our door. Not a penny. You chose himyou deal with it.”
She burst into tears.
“You want my kids growing up without a father?”
And I said what Id held back too long:
“Better no father than *that* example. A man who sponges off others.”
Im her mother. But I wont be a doormat. I want my daughter raising those kids with a *man*, not a millstone. I want her to respect herselfnot beg for help while he sips his tea in peace.
She hung up quietly, but one day, shell see.
