“I cry because my son has cut me out of his life”: My daughter-in-law destroyed my family.
Ladies, it hurts me even to write these words, but I can’t keep it inside any longer. My son—the only child I carried, raised, and cared for—now acts as if I don’t exist. And it all started when she came into his life: his wife, my daughter-in-law. I still don’t understand what I did wrong. Where did I stumble? How could my own child turn away from his mother so coldly?
I raised him alone. There were men in my life, but none were right—some took advantage of my kindness, others just vanished. Maybe it’s my personality, or maybe I just wanted love so badly that I mistook anything for it. In the ’90s, I worked multiple jobs, scrimping on myself just so my son could have everything. I pushed through exhaustion, never sparing myself, losing sleep night after night.
Then someone came along who felt like salvation. Married, yes—but he helped. Most importantly, he got my son a job at an oil company. He supported us, emotionally and financially, when no one else would. Because of him, my son became an engineer, finished college, trained, and built a career. I always believed in him, even when he dreamed of starting his own business instead of settling for a factory wage. I gave him money, even when I was down to bread and water.
Then he brought home a girl. Pretty, but she struck me as a bit shallow. She got pregnant quickly. I was thrilled—I’d have a granddaughter! I helped plan the wedding. A friend gave them money for rings, but that’s when I first felt uneasy. She picked a ring that cost more than the entire budget, without consulting anyone. I gently suggested they choose matching, modest rings instead. She glared at me with such hatred. From that moment, I became her enemy.
I stayed quiet. Endured it. I even bought them a car so my son could earn extra after shifts. Then everything fell apart. They sold the car, money grew tight. Her parents started taunting him: “What kind of man can’t provide for his family?” Soon came the divorce. My son turned to drink, lost his license. I pulled him out of that pit. Helped him. He started a business. The moment money returned, so did she. And he let her. But he started avoiding me.
The business is in my name—because of his debts. He pays it off slowly. Then he took up gambling, hoping to win back everything: his wife, his family, stability. I gave him more money—for staff, rent, expansion. He promised it would work out. I believed him. Then he demanded more—that I quit my job to help him. I did. Gave myself entirely. Now I just wait for them to remember me. Often, they don’t. I can’t even buy my granddaughter gifts—I’ve got nothing. They only call when they need something.
He gave me a car—sleek, modern. But I can’t afford to fuel or insure it—he won’t give me the money. Sometimes he takes it, returns it broken. Once, when I urgently needed to go somewhere, it wouldn’t start. And I’m still paying off the loan for his last car—under my name. At first, he covered it, then stopped. And me? I stay silent. Because I’m his mother.
I gave them a share of my flat. They don’t invite me for holidays—not Christmas, not birthdays. Once, I visited him at work. He shouted at me, said I embarrassed him. Why? I don’t drink. I’ve written for literary journals, joined writers’ groups, read books, worked my whole life. I’m not some troublemaker off the street.
Sometimes I just apologize—for everything. I don’t even know what for. Just, “Sorry if I did something wrong.” Now? I’m blocked. Can’t call. Can’t text. Left in silence, and I feel like I’m losing my mind. I sit by the window, watch strangers’ children pass, and wonder: what did I do wrong? Why has my son—my everything—decided I’m no longer needed?
I cry from a pain I can’t voice or escape. Cry because the one who should be my rock is now the farthest person on earth. All I have left are memories and hope. Hope that one day, he’ll remember me holding his hand when he was scared. Standing by him when the world was against him. And he’ll understand—a mother doesn’t betray. A mother just loves.
