**Diary Entry – 15th March**
Today, my husband came back from his mothers house, sighed, and suggested we do a paternity test for our two-year-old daughter. Not for me, he muttered. For Mum
For six months before our wedding, she kept telling her son, Dont marry hershes not right for you! My hands shake as I write this, fury bubbling under my skin. Too prettyshell cheat on you! We used to laugh it off, joking that Oliver shouldve married a tortoise if he wanted to avoid betrayal. But now? Theres nothing funny about it. Not anymore.
I dont see myself as some stunning beautyjust an ordinary woman from a quiet London suburb. Slim, well-groomed, dressed simply. Ive always had standards in love, always respected myself. Why his mother, Margaret, decided I was some flighty temptress is beyond me. But shes turned my life into a waking nightmare.
Weve been married four years, with a daughter. Im on maternity leave, my days spent cooking, cleaning, and changing nappies. The only people I see? Other mums at the park. But Margaret wont let up. She treats me like some character out of a cheap detective drama, convinced Im unfaithful.
Shes always watching me, I sigh, blinking back tears. Calling to check up, turning up unannounced, trying to control my every move. At first, I laughed it off. Told Oliver, wed joke about it. But its exhausting! Ive snapped so many times, weve rowed. Shed back off for a while only to start all over again.
The first real scandal came a few months after the wedding. Margaret barged into my office without warning. No call, no reason. Just to check: Does she *actually* work here? Or is she lying to my son while running off with lovers?
I dont even know how she got in! I fume. We have securityvisitors have to sign in. I nearly fainted when the receptionist brought her over: Someone here to see you. I asked, Margaret, what on earth are you doing here? And she just said, Wanted to see where you work. While scanning the room! Our office is open-plan, everyone at their desks. God knows what shed have done if I had a private office
The receptionist, Emily, later told me Margaret had grilled her with questions. How long has she worked here? Does she arrive on time? Who does she talk to? Anyone special? Emily added, confused, I told her you were married! I was livid. That evening, I erupted at Oliver: Your mothers crossed a line! Sort this outits madness! Shed have checked under my desk for a secret lover if she could!
Oliver seemed to have a stern word with her. A fragile peace settled. Margaret called in the evenings, asked about our day, even sent over homemade scones. I dared to hope the storm had passed. I was wrong.
The next incident happened during my pregnancy. On sick leave, I was napping at home, phone off, when a violent banging jolted me awakesomeone hammering on the door, ringing the bell nonstop. I nearly jumped out of my skin, thought the building was on fire! I recall. Peeked through the peephole Margaret! Face twisted, pounding the door like a madwoman. I was too scared to open it. Called Oliver: Get here nowI dont understand! He made it in twenty minutes. The whole time, she just stood there, waiting
We screamed at her. I threatened to call the police or a psychiatric hospital if it happened again. Keep her away from me! I demanded. The quiet returned for a while.
I gave birth to our daughter, but Margaret refused to even meet her. Why? Because Olivers family only ever had boys. A girl, she claimed, was proof of infidelity. I didnt even entertain that rubbish, I say flatly. I dont speak to her anymore. Oliver sees her once a month, without us. Fine by me. Id never trust her with my child.
The worst came later. One evening, Oliver came home from his mothers, grim-faced, and suggested a paternity test. Not for me, Eleanordont be daft, he stammered. Its for Mum. To shut her up once and for all! Shes driving me mad with this
I let out a bitter laugh. For *her*? My voice trembled with rage. Or do you believe her nonsense? Shell never stop. Even with three tests, shed say we faked the results! I wont play her game. End of.
Its just a test he pressed.
Why bother? I stared at him, tears burning. *I* know who my daughters father is. Do you? If you need proof, fine. But first, we divorce. I wont stay with a man who doesnt trust me!
The words hung like a guillotine. Trust between us is crumbling, poisoned by his mother. I feel like Im standing on the edge, watching our marriage slip awayand I dont know how to pull it back from the brink.
