A Surprising Encounter at the Market with My Ex-Mother-in-Law: Shes Unrecognisable!
One Saturday at the market, I bumped into my ex-mother-in-law. Shed changed so muchshe looked older. I hurried over, greeted her, and we got talking about life. She didnt complain about her son, but it was clear things werent easy. She said goodbye but insisted I call her the next day. I feel sorry for herI lived in her house for ten years and was treated well. Later, her son brought home a new wife, saying shed be better than me.
I lived with my husband in his mothers house for a decade. James had insisted we didnt need to buy a placehis mum had no one else, and the house would be ours eventually. His words rubbed me the wrong way; it wasnt right to say such things. When I first moved in, I saw his mother was kind and gentle, full of warmth.
After we married, James changed completely toward me. Even our sons birth didnt bring us closer. It felt like we werent really a couple. His mother was the only one I could talk to honestly. Out of respect, I never spoke ill of him, but she understood. She helped with our boy for yearstaking him to nursery, then school, always cooking for us.
Ten years passed, and out of nowhere, James said he wanted a divorce. He refused to leave the house, claiming it was his. So I had to go. For the first time, his mother stepped in, begging him to reconsider, to think of our son. But it was no usehed made up his mind. I packed my things and left. He remarried quickly. Now I rent a room from an elderly woman.
Moneys tightI earn just enough to get by. My son and I live under someone elses roof. The landlady isnt cruel, but shes hard to please, always finding fault. We eat meals in our room to avoid her.
Then, at the local market, I saw my ex-mother-in-law again. Her eyes were full of sorrow. She didnt complain, but I could tell she wasnt happy at home either. We talked openly, and she asked me to call her. Id take her in if I couldshes good company, and wed help each other. But Ive no home of my own. The next day, I dialed her number, my hands trembling. She answered with a soft, familiar voice, and we talked for nearly an hourabout small things, about the past, about the boy she still tucked into bed every Friday without fail. A week later, she showed up at my door with a suitcase and a quiet smile, saying James and his new wife had no use for her anymore. The landlady grumbled at first, but when she saw how neatly my mother-in-law folded laundry, how she baked bread every Sunday, she stopped complaining. We eat together now, all three of us, in our little room, and for the first time in years, it feels like home.
