**Diary Entry**
I never said a single unkind word to her, yet she acts as if I’m a stranger. That’s how my daughter-in-law has pushed me away from my son and grandson.
My name is Margaret Williams. I’m sixty-two, and for years, I’ve carried the painful thought that I’ve become an outsider in my own son’s life. All because his wife—my daughter-in-law, Emily—has done everything to erase me from their family. And the worst part? I’ve never treated her with anything but kindness. Not a word out of place, not a gesture, not a hint of disapproval. Only warmth, care, and a genuine wish to be close. Yet in return? Silence. A wall of ice between us.
When my son, James, first told me he was getting married, of course I wanted to meet his future wife. I’d always imagined welcoming my son’s chosen bride as my own—with love, patience, and respect. But James hesitated then, awkwardly explaining,
*”Mum, Emily isn’t quite ready to meet you yet. She’s shy.”*
I understood. People are different, I thought. Maybe she’s reserved, maybe she needs time. But as the wedding plans unfolded, I couldn’t stay patient. I finally said to him,
*”Am I really going to meet your wife for the first time at the wedding? What sort of arrangement is that? I’m not some distant aunt!”*
Reluctantly, James persuaded Emily to visit. I waited, nervous, eager to make a good impression. I prepared a proper Sunday roast, set the table, even bought fresh flowers—anything to make her feel welcome. And yet… Emily barely spoke a word. No smile, no eye contact, not even a simple *thank you*. The entire evening, she barely uttered ten words. As if she’d been dragged there against her will. I blamed it on nerves, but my heart already sensed something was wrong.
After the wedding, they settled into their own place. Good for them—they took out a mortgage on a two-bedroom flat in Manchester. I kept my distance, didn’t interfere. They were happy—or so I thought. Then, eighteen months later, my grandson, Oliver, was born. My sunshine, my joy.
I hoped motherhood might soften Emily, thaw some of that coldness. Surely no woman could stay so distant once she held her own child. But things only got worse. Now, when I call to arrange a visit, Emily answers curtly:
*”We won’t be in. We’re away.”*
Then James later mentions they’d been home all day. It’s clear—she just doesn’t want me there.
Still, I tried. I brought Oliver toys, books, clothes. Dropped off fresh scones, biscuits, anything to ease their load—mortgages are hard, Emily was on maternity leave. But nothing changed. When I visit, Emily doesn’t even greet me properly. She vanishes into another room and shuts the door.
So I sit in the kitchen with James and Oliver. We chat over tea, play, laugh together. And Emily? As if we don’t exist. How can she be like this? I’ve only ever been kind. Never a harsh word, never a critical remark. Only praise, only offers to help. So why am I treated like a stranger?
Maybe she fears I’ll meddle. But I wouldn’t. All I ever wanted was to be part of their family—to share their happiness, to stand by them when times are tough. Where’s the harm in that?
Honestly, I don’t know what to do now. Going there hurts, but not seeing Oliver? That breaks my heart. I love my son. I love his family. But not everyone, it seems, wants my love.
Yet I won’t give up. One day, maybe Emily will open that door, step into the kitchen, sit down with us, and say, *”Come in, Margaret. We’re glad to see you.”*
If only I could wait that long.
