The day my ex-mother-in-law showed up and even tried to take my daughters cradle with her.
When I told my ex-mother-in-law that I was separating from her son, she didnt even flinch. In that sharp, clipped voice that only mothers-in-law can perfect, she declared, Then well come tomorrow to collect my sons things.
And she didjust as promised, only it felt more like an invasion. My ex turned up with his brother and some mate, like a removal team sent on a mission. I stood there, holding my baby, as they emptied the house like professional bank robbers.
Please, leave the television, I pleaded, clutching my daughter as tightly as I could. Its for the baby she likes to watch her shows
He looked at me as though Id asked for a kidney. Thats MY television, he replied, and unplugged the wires with overly dramatic flair.
They took EVERYTHING. The bed, the table, chairs, even the wonky mirror in the bathroom that was falling off anyway. The place was so empty my voice echoed. All that remained was my daughters cradle, a rickety chair, and metrying not to fall apart so my baby wouldnt see me cry.
And then, the cinematic moment: with the van packed full outside, my ex stepped into the empty room and saw me standing therea castaway in my own home.
Tell me not to go, he suddenly begged, with those pitiful puppy-dog eyes.
I looked at him, took a deep breath, and with every ounce of dignity I had left, said, No.
He left with absolutely everything. Well, almost. He spared the set of chairs and the oven wed bought together. How generous.
That night I cried, staring at the bare walls. But I was PROUDI would sooner die than beg him for a single fork.
A year later
The doorbell rang. There she was. My ex-mother-in-lawturning up to visit her granddaughter (and Im the Queen of England). I opened the door with my best soap-opera smile.
Do come in, Mrs. Watson, I said, stepping aside.
Oh, the face she made.
The house was bursting. New sofas (alright, borrowed from my family, but she didnt know that), a full dining set, a living room suite, a MASSIVE flat-screen TV on which my daughter watched her cartoons in HD, curtains, carpets, even paintings on the walls.
I see youve made yourself at home, she stammered, jaw on the floor.
Yes, Mrs. Watson, I replied, pouring her tea from MY brand new set. A year is plenty of time when youre not busy looking after drunks.
She spluttered on her tea. I WON.
Because, it turned out, in the same time Id spent enduring her son and his tipsy antics after family dos, I had, on my own with a baby, filled this house with love, sweat, and furniture that no one could take from me.
My daughter played happily on the rug with her new toys. My ex-mother-in-law eyed the whole scene as if shed stepped through the looking-glass. And I sipped my tea, thinking, Thank you for taking everythingyou gave me the perfect reason to prove what Im really made of.
Now tell me: have you ever had that moment of deep satisfaction, when someone who doubted you realises you didnt just survive without themyou THRIVED?
