**Diary Entry**
I can’t believe it’s come to this.
Thomas and I had been together for two years—happy, in love, planning our future. Eventually, we decided to marry. His mother, Margaret, had always been pleasant, even kind to me. I respected her, listened to her advice, and never argued. She seemed pleased about our relationship—always warm, never giving me any reason for conflict. I thought I was lucky.
She even helped organise the wedding. My parents could barely scrape together a modest gift—finances have always been tight for them. Margaret took care of everything—the venue, the car hire, all of it. I thanked her sincerely, believing we’d become almost like family.
But everything changed just days after the wedding.
“Well, dears,” she said over dinner, “I’ve done my part. Raised my son, gave him an education, set him up in life, and now I’ve seen him married. Don’t take it the wrong way, but I’d like you to move out of my flat within the month. You’re a family now—you should stand on your own feet. That’s important. Yes, it’ll be hard, but that’s life. Learn to budget, find solutions, make grown-up decisions. I want to finally live for myself.”
It took me a moment to process her words. My face burned; my heart pounded. Then—a cold dread. Just yesterday, we were her “darlings,” and now she’s calmly throwing us out? And from the sound of it, she has no intention of ever playing the doting grandmother…
“If you were hoping I’d babysit, don’t,” she added calmly. “I’m a mother, not a free nanny. I’ve devoted my life to Thomas. Now I want what’s left of it for myself. My door will always be open—for tea, for holidays. But don’t expect endless support. One day, you’ll understand.”
I sat there, blinking back tears. Thomas and I hadn’t even settled in—we were still in her flat. And now what? Packing boxes and the street? Renting? Drifting? All this from a woman I thought of as a second mother…
I was furious. It felt like betrayal. Comfortable in her three-bedroom place, all alone! While we’d be scrambling for space. Worse, Thomas has a stake in that flat—it’s where he grew up. And now he’s just supposed to leave? What about grandchildren? Don’t grandmothers dream of cuddling babies, passing down love and wisdom? She just dismissed it outright.
Thomas, to my shock, didn’t argue. Instead, he immediately started looking for a new place and a better-paying job. He said his mother was right—we were adults and needed to build our own life.
I kept wondering: why? Why was she being so cold? Couldn’t she have waited a few months? Or helped us find somewhere? My parents can’t support us, but I’d hoped his mother would be there. Turns out, I was wrong.
Now we’re packing. And every evening, I wonder—was she right? Or was she just tired of pretending?
What would you say?…
