I used to be called a snake and a lazybones by my mother-in-law. Now she treats me like a saint, rings me almost every day begging for forgiveness. But I don’t believe a single word she says. I’ve got just one thing to say: ‘You deserve it! Reap what you sow!’
So, in 2017, I married Peter. We studied together, met in our first year of university. After finishing our bachelor’s degrees, we tied the knot. I wasn’t from the city; I came to London from a small village.
Since we were still students with no money, we decided to live with my mother-in-law, Margaret. She had a three-bedroom flat in the city centre with a nice renovation. I agreed to this adventure – we’d save faster for our own place rather than rent. But Margaret didn’t accept me. She didn’t hold back from saying she wanted a better woman for her only son: ‘You’re an unwashed village girl. The city has different rules, my dear. Did you think you’d marry my son to get your hands on the flat? Not a chance!’
Although by then I’d found a job as an assistant at a translation bureau. After work, I tried to clean the house and cook something. But I could never please my mother-in-law. ‘What’s that slop?’ ‘It’s soup, freshly made.’ ‘You probably used to make such soup for the pigs!’ Peter didn’t even try to reason with his mother because he was terrified of her. He was scared she’d throw us out.
But our troubles didn’t end there. Over a year, we managed to save a decent sum, but every penny went into renovating Margaret’s flat. We bought a new fridge, microwave, sink, extractor hood, and cabinets. She didn’t throw away the old fridge; she moved it into our bedroom, where we stored all our food. Once I took a piece of butter from her – she kicked up such a fuss, as if I’d robbed her!
I lived in that madhouse for another three years. When the pandemic hit, everything fell apart. Peter lost his job and stayed home all the time. I worked remotely; they provided a work laptop. But Margaret still found fault: ‘Is that work? Get up and wash the dishes!’ ‘In a minute, I just need to finish these documents.’ ‘And what about cooking? Look at Peter, he’s lost weight! You’re a terrible housewife!’
I couldn’t take it anymore. I packed my things and went back to my parents in the village. Peter rang me only once after that – he asked me to make peace with his mother. So we got divorced. Thank God, I worked hard and managed to buy a flat in London. Recently, I also got myself a car. Now I live in London, I’ve opened my own translation bureau, and I have wonderful staff.
Then, just a month ago, my mother-in-law unexpectedly called: ‘Rosie, you’re so clever. I heard you have a good job. I always said you’d go far in life.’ I was speechless, remembering how she used to ‘praise’ me. ‘Well, thank you…’ ‘Are you still not remarried?’ ‘No, why do you care?’ ‘Peter is pining away without you. Maybe you two could meet?’ As it turned out, after the divorce, Peter never found anyone – neither a woman nor a job. All these years, he lived off his mother, barely scraping by on odd jobs. I suppose Margaret heard about my business and flat, so she decided to ‘make peace’. Now she calls nearly every day.
I got fed up and decided to put an end to this ridiculous conversation once and for all. ‘You know, you probably forgot how you called me an unwashed village girl, how you criticised my cooking. How you even scolded me for working!’ ‘That was ages ago. Water under the bridge.’ ‘No, it doesn’t work like that. God punished you for it! You look after your little boy yourself and find him a suitable woman. Because I’m just the unwashed village girl!’
I don’t feel the least bit ashamed that I sent her packing. My former mother-in-law, I should say. She destroyed our family herself, and now she wants to make amends? Thanks, but as they say – you can’t step into the same river twice.
