Three years ago, my mother-in-law kicked me out with my child. And now, shes shocked I wont speak to her.
Im thirty, living in London, raising my son, and doing my best to build a stable life. But deep down, that pain hasnt faded. Because three years ago, a woman I once saw as family threw us out without a second thought. And now? She cant fathom why Ive gone silent. Worseshes offended by it.
Oliver and I met in our first year at uni. A proper whirlwind romanceno games, no messing about, just straight into seriousness. Then, surpriseI got pregnant. Despite the pill, the test showed two lines. There was fear, panic, tears but abortion was never an option. Oliver didnt run. He proposed, and we got married.
The problem? We had nowhere to live. My parents are up near Manchester, and Id been in student digs in London since I was seventeen. Oliver, meanwhile, had lived alone since he was sixteenhis mum, Margaret, had remarried and moved to Bristol with her new husband, leaving Oliver her two-bed flat in Croydon. After our wedding, she graciously let us stay there.
At first, things were fine. We studied, worked odd jobs, and waited for our baby. I cleaned, cooked, pinched every penny. But everything changed when Margaret started visiting. Not for chatsfor inspections. Shed open cupboards, check under the sofa, remove her gloves to swipe a finger along the windowsill. Pregnant, I was still racing around with a mop to please her. But no matter how hard I tried, nothing was ever good enough.
*Why isnt the hand towel centred? *Crumbs on the kitchen mat! *Youre not a wife, youre a disaster! *her nitpicking never stopped.
When our son Charlie was born, it got worse. Barely any strength to sleep or breastfeed, yet she demanded surgical-level cleanliness. I deep-cleaned three times a weekstill not enough. One day, she snapped:
*Ill be back in a week. If I see so much as a speck of dust, youre out.*
I begged Oliver to talk to her. He tried. Margaret wouldnt budge. When she returned and spotted her old boxes on the balconyones Id left untouched because they werent mineall hell broke loose.
*Pack your things and go back to your parents! Oliver can choose: stay with you or here.*
And Oliver didnt betray me. He came with me to Manchester. We lived with my parents. Hed wake at six, go to lectures, work shifts, come home late. I scraped by with online gigsbarely made a penny. Money was tight; we counted every pound, lived off egg and pasta. Without my parents, we wouldnt have survived. Or without each other.
Slowly, things improved. We graduated, found jobs, rented a place in London. Charlie grew up; we became a proper family. But the wound stayed.
Margaret still lives alone. The flat she booted us from sits empty. She calls Oliver now and then, asks about her grandson, demands photos. He answers. He doesnt hold a grudge. I do. To me, its betrayal. She shattered us when we were most vulnerable. Left us defenceless.
*Its my flat! I had every right!* she says.
Maybe she did, legally. But what about decency? A heart? Where were those when we were stranded at the station with a baby and two suitcases?
Im not petty. But I dont owe forgiveness. And I wont set foot in her life again.
