One afternoon, my husband returned from his mothers house, sighed deeply, and suggested we take a paternity test for our two-year-old daughter. “Not for my sake,” he said, “but for my mothers.”
Long ago, my husband came back from his mothers, let out a heavy sigh, and proposed a paternity test for our little girl. “Not me,” he insisted, “its for my mother.”
“…Half a year before our wedding, she kept telling her son: ‘Dont marry her, she doesnt deserve you!'” recalls Margaret, now thirty, her voice trembling with hurt. “Shes too prettyshell stray!” Back then, we laughed it off, joking that Thomas shouldve picked a ‘mermaid’ instead, so thered be no doubt. But now? Theres no laughter left. None at all.
Margaret never thought herself a great beautyjust an ordinary girl from the outskirts of Manchester, careful with her appearance like any other. Slender, well-kept, dressed modestly, shed always been discerning in love and knew how to command respect. Why her mother-in-law, Mrs. Winifred, decided she was flighty and unfaithful remained a mystery. Yet that woman turned Margarets life into a waking nightmare.
Married four years, they had a daughter. Margaret was on maternity leave, her days an endless cycle of cooking, cleaning, and nappies. The only people she spoke to were other mothers at the park. But her mother-in-law wouldnt relent. Convinced Margaret was cheating, she watched her like a detective from some cheap telly drama.
“Shes always spied on me!” Margaret sighs, her eyes welling up. “Phoning, checking, dropping by unannouncedtrying to control my every move. At first, I played along, told Thomas, and we laughed. But its exhausting! Ive lost my temper more than once, and weve had terrible rows. Shed quiet down for a bit, then start up again, worse than before.”
The first scandal came months after the wedding. Mrs. Winifred appeared suddenly at Margarets workplaceno warning, no reason. She wanted proof: did her daughter-in-law really work there? Or was she lying to her husband, pretending to be at the office while meeting lovers?
“Ive no idea how they even let her in!” Margaret recalls, her voice shaking with fury. “The building has securityvisitors need appointments. I nearly fainted when the receptionist brought her over: Youve a visitor. I asked, Mrs. Winifred, what are you doing here? And she said, I came to see where you work. Then she stared around like a hawk! The office is open-plan, everyone at their computersnothing hidden. God knows what shed have done if Id had a private office.”
Later, the receptionist, Catherine, confessed the woman had grilled her. How long had Margaret worked there? Was she ever late? Who did she talk to? Was there anyone special in the office? “She kept saying, Shes married, she has a husband!” Catherine added, baffled. Margaret was livid. That evening, she unloaded on Thomas: “Your mothers gone too far! Talk to herthis isnt normal! She didnt crawl under the desk looking for a lover, but who knows if she wanted to!”
Thomas seemed to have a stern word with his mother. There was a truce. Mrs. Winifred only called in the evenings, asked how things were, sent homemade cakes. Margaret began to hope the storm had passed. She was wrong.
The next incident came when Margaret was pregnant but still working. Off sick with a cold, she slept at home, her phone off, until violent banging and the doorbell ringing nonstop jolted her awake. “I thought it was a fire or an emergency!” she remembers. “Peeked through the peepholeand there she was! Face like thunder, kicking the door and pressing the bell. I was too scared to answer. Rang Thomas: Get here now, I dont know whats happening! He arrived in twenty minutes. And she waited the whole time, right outside!”
They both scolded Mrs. Winifred. Margaret threatened to call the police and a psychiatrist if it happened again. “Keep her away from me!” she demanded. And again, there was calm.
Margaret gave birth to a girl, but her mother-in-law wouldnt even look at the baby. Later, the reason became clear. She didnt believe it was her granddaughter. “Of coursesince Im running about, how could the child be Thomass?” Margaret laughs bitterly. The logic? In her husbands family, only boys were born. A girl, to Mrs. Winifred, was proof of betrayal. “I ignored the madness,” Margaret says. “I dont speak to her. Thomas visits once a month, alone. Maybe its for the best. Id never trust her with my daughter.”
But the worst was yet to come. One evening, Thomas returned from his mothers, took a deep breath, and hesitantly suggested the paternity test. “Not for me, Margaret, truly!” he protested, waving his hands. “Ive no doubts. Its for her! To put her mind at rest, once and for all. Shes gone mad, and I have to hear it!”
Margaret laughed, a hollow sound. “For her?” she repeated, voice shaking with rage. “Might as well admit you believe her! You know shell never stop. We could do three tests at different clinics, and shed say the doctors were bribed and the results faked! I wont dance to her tuneit ends here!”
“Its just a test,” Thomas insisted.
“Why bother?” Margaret stared at him, holding back tears. “I know who her father is. Do you? If you need proof, fine. But first, we file for divorce. I wont live with a man who doesnt trust me.”
Her words hung in the air like a verdict. Trust in their family was shattered, all because of a mother-in-law whose poison had seeped into their lives. Margaret stands on the edge, unsure how to pull them back from the brink.
