I cook for you, clean, wash, dress you. Why do you hate me so much?
My life in a quiet village near York has become an endless nightmare. I, Margaret, have lived under the same roof as my mother-in-law, Edith Whitmore, for years, and she has turned my days into pure misery. Today, my patience snapped. I asked her the question that has haunted me for years: “Why do you hate me so much?” No answer came—only a cold silence and her scornful glare. My soul is torn apart by pain, and my heart screams at the injustice.
That day, as usual, I was cleaning the house. I vacuumed, mopped the floors, trying to make everything spotless. Then Edith, lounging in her armchair, deliberately crumbled her biscuits onto the freshly cleaned floor. I froze, unable to believe it. She meant to do it, not even bothering to hide her spite.
“Mum, why would you do that? I saw you!” I cried, fighting back tears.
She looked at me with contempt and sneered, “So what? Clean it again. It won’t kill you.”
With a smirk, she returned to her ancient newspaper, rereading the same articles for the hundredth time. Swallowing my hurt, I picked up the dustpan and brush and cleaned up after her. But inside, I was boiling. I slipped into another room to keep from snapping, then retreated to the garden—working outside usually calmed me. But the sting of her words and actions ate at me like poison.
“Why do you hate me so much?” I finally burst out later, standing before her. “What did I do to deserve this? I cook for you, clean, wash, dress you! My daughter, Emily, helps you all the time! Why do you despise me?”
She didn’t even turn. No words, no glance—just icy indifference. I sobbed, unable to hold it in any longer. Finishing the cleaning, I moved to the laundry, but tears kept falling. My life had become an endless loop of humiliation, and I didn’t know how to break free.
My husband, Emily’s father, died years ago. She was only eight. Right after the funeral, Edith declared, “You’ll stay here. Don’t even think of leaving. I won’t have the village saying I threw you out.”
I agreed because I had nowhere else to go. My sister lived with her two children at my parents’ house, and there was no room for Emily and me. I foolishly hoped that over time, Edith and I might find common ground. But no miracle happened. In public, she acted proper, but at home, she tormented me. She never let me forget that I was to obey her.
“You’re useless! Who would want you? No man would glance at you, not with a child in tow! You’ll live here with Emily, and when I die, you’ll get this house. But if you don’t do as I say, I’ll leave it to my nephews, and you’ll be out on the street!”
I was afraid of her threats and endured it. I did everything so Emily would never go without. Meanwhile, Edith—now in her nineties—lives merrily. Her health is unnaturally strong, and she spends her entire pension on herself, demanding I buy her expensive treats and delicacies. I realized too late that agreeing to live with her was a mistake. Years of degradation have broken me.
My Emily is finishing university and soon marrying a wonderful man. They’ll live in his home, and I pray her life will be happy. But I ache for myself, for the life I’ve wasted. I gave everything for my daughter and mother-in-law, and in return, I got only scorn and loneliness. How do I find the strength to escape this hell?
