**Diary Entry**
Every day, our home rattles with argumentsnot between my husband and me, but because of my son-in-law. The man my daughter married is endlessly lazy and irresponsible. He hasnt worked properly in over a year, picking up only odd jobs here and there, then wasting the rest of his time doing nothing. My daughter carries the entire burdenraising their twin toddlers while on maternity leave, while he simply exists.
Of course, she cant work full-timethe twins need constant care. I offered to help, but under one strict condition: not a single penny more until she divorces that parasite. Helping her would, in a way, mean supporting *him*. And I refuse to bankroll anyones laziness.
I never liked Oliver from the start. I hoped it would pass, that shed wake up. But nothey got married. Youth, love, illusionsit all clouded her judgment. Now, we deal with the fallout.
My husband and I gave them my late mothers flat. It used to be rented out, our only extra income in retirement, but the young couple couldnt afford rent, so we handed it over. All I asked was a bit of refurbishingjust enough to make it decent for the children.
Then Oliver showed his true colours:
I wont touch that. Im no handymanIm an intellectual. Hire professionals.
With what money, I ask you? He hasnt earned enough to buy a screwdriver. All he does is philosophise and whine about bad luck. Work evenings? Out of the question. Weekends? Thats time to rest. Hes grown used to everything being handed to him.
When I called him a layabout to his face, he sulked. Youre unfair to me. And my daughter? Instead of backing me up, she snapped:
Thanks to you, weve argued again. Why do you interfere?
I decided to step backbut not without warning her clearly: if she chose this mess, shed have to live with it. Dont come begging later. But when I found out she was expecting twins, my heart broke. I thought Oliver might finally step up. No. It all fell on uswe finished the flat, found cots, even took her to doctors appointments. Him? Still sprawled on the sofa, glued to his laptop.
Emily tried her best, but I could tell she was realising what shed married. Together, we patched up the flat, doing everything ourselves. Later, he bought a few trinkets on saleas if that excused anything. When you have a family, you act like a man. Him? Just a lodger in a home others built.
Then we discovered how they were scraping by: secret credit cards. Then came the call:
Mum, we cant manage. Please help
I was livid.
Emily! You had children with a man who cant change a lightbulb! How did you think this would work?
Its just a rough patch
What patch? Youve got a home, parents carrying you both. And him? No jobs ever good enoughtoo little pay, too far, wrong hours!
Mum, you dont understand Hes looking! He wont work for peanuts!
Peanuts are how people live! You, your children, himall on *our* backs!
Ive had enough. No more being their cash cow. I told her:
Unless you leave him, forget our help. Not another pound. If you stay, then cope alone.
She burst into tears.
You want my children growing up without a father?
And finally, I said what Id held back too long:
Better no father than one like *that*. A man who lives off others.
Im a mother. But I wont be a doormat. I want my daughter raising her children with a partnernot dead weight. I want her to respect herself. Not beg for help while he sips his tea in peace.
She hung up quietly, but I knowone day, shell understand.
