**A Mother-in-Law’s Feigned Illness**
In the quiet town of Chester, nestled beside the River Dee, Anna and her husband Oliver lived a peaceful life—until her mother-in-law, Margaret, turned their calm into chaos. What began as kindness soon tested the limits of their patience and the strength of their family bonds.
After their wedding, Anna and Oliver secured their own home. Their children had long since grown and moved on, leaving the couple alone in their spacious flat. Believing her mother-in-law’s loneliness was too much to bear, Anna insisted Margaret move in.
*“She’s family,”* Anna reminded Oliver. *“And she can help around the house.”*
Margaret often lamented how empty her own flat felt, especially at night when the silence pressed in. Without hesitation, Anna opened their doors, certain it would bring them all closer.
At first, it worked. Margaret threw herself into household chores—cooking with Anna, swapping recipes, keeping the flat spotless. Harmony settled over them, and Anna believed they’d found a perfect rhythm.
With Margaret’s help, Anna freed up time to pursue her passion: knitting bespoke jumpers for clients.
*“It’s not a fortune,”* she’d tell her friends, *“but every bit helps the family budget.”*
She even knitted Margaret a sweater, which her mother-in-law wore proudly, boasting to neighbours. For two years, peace reigned. Anna dared to think they’d struck the ideal balance.
Then, slowly, things shifted. Margaret began dodging chores—not outright refusing, but leaving dishes unwashed, floors unswept, dinners uncooked. Anna, returning from work, spent evenings scrambling to finish what should’ve been done.
*“I plan my time carefully,”* Anna sighed. *“Between the house and my orders, I’m stretched thin. Because of her, I’m falling behind.”*
Her knitting, once her joy and a steady income, was crumbling. Clients grew impatient. Deadlines slipped. The hours she once spent stitching melted away like frost in spring, replaced by exhaustion that weighed like stone.
Anna finally confronted Margaret, gently asking for the help she’d once given. But Margaret feigned ignorance.
*“I *do* help!”* she snapped. *“What more do you want?”*
Anna suggested clear divisions—she’d handle the housework alone—but instead of understanding, Margaret turned wounded. Like a child denied a toy, she ran to Oliver in tears.
*“Anna’s being cruel!”* she wailed. *“I try, and nothing pleases her!”*
Oliver, baffled, frowned at Anna. *“What’s gotten into you? Why pick on Mum?”*
Anna tried to explain, but Margaret twisted it into a performance. One day, she was *“ill”—*heart palpitations, dizziness—only to recover the second it suited her. Anna felt trapped: every time she relied on Margaret, the script repeated.
*“I stopped expecting anything,”* Anna admitted. *“I plan as if she’s not here. But orders are dwindling. Clients leave. And that hurts us all—my knitting helped pay our bills.”*
Then, curiously, as the money dried up, Margaret suddenly resumed her chores. The dishes gleamed. Dinner waited. Anna realised—this wasn’t help. It was manipulation.
*“Maybe she’s lonely?”* Anna wondered. *“We take her to the park, visit friends. But the moment I take a new order, she falls ‘ill’ again.”*
Now Anna stands at a crossroads. Margaret’s helping again—she could take more work. But what if the cycle repeats? Missed deadlines, angry clients, Oliver’s resentment?
*“I don’t know what to do,”* Anna whispers, staring at an unfinished jumper. *“If I refuse orders, we lose money. If I trust her, and she plays games again, I’ll break.”*
What should Anna do? Forgive Margaret and risk it? Or shoulder everything alone, sacrificing her craft? Is she overreacting—does Margaret truly need care? Or is this a game Anna can never win?
