I dont know what to do. My son always sides with his wife even when shes wrong.
Im at my wits end, sobs sixtyyearold Margaret Hughes, tears blurring her voice. My son, Michael, always, absolutely always defends his wife. Whatever happens, whatever I say, he waves his hand and says, Mum, dont worry, Emily will sort it out. Shes not daft. He always finds an excuse for her, even when shes clearly in the wrong!
Emily, twentyeight, is Margarets daughterinlaw. She and Michael are raising a oneandahalfyearold boy, living in a modest terraced house they bought on a mortgage. Emily is on maternity leave; Michael is the sole earner. They get by, careful with every penny, but never wanting for anything.
The motherinlaw, however, cant stomach Emily at all.
When Michael first brought her home, I was stunned, Margaret recalls. Long, artificial nails, a tattoo up her neck, a skirt so short it might have been a runway piece, heels that seemed to pierce the floor. And those lips you could see theyd been glossed. I thought he was joking. My son could not possibly be seriously dating someone so frivolous, to put it gently.
A month later they were married. By Margarets account, even the wedding was a spectacleEmily in a leather skirt, a glittering top, makeup like a stage star. Yet Michael was happy, and Margaret chose to watch silently, not to interfere.
At first she barely spoke to her daughterinlaw, calling Michael a couple of times a month to ask how things were. Everything changed a year and a half ago, when Emily gave birth to a sonher grandson Sam.
I turned up on the second day after they left the hospital, and what do I see? she says. Emilys nails fresh as dawn. I told her, Emily, have you lost your mind? Thats dangerous for a baby! She answered, Everythings under control, Ive got this. I went to Michael and he snapped, Mum, mind your own business. And thats the pattern ever since. Whatever I say, I hear back, Dont meddle.
Margaret tried to parent her daughterinlaw with suggestions, remarks, scoldings, and only received indifference. Emily never apologised.
Id drop by, the house a mess, and say, Emily, make the little man some soup. He works. Shed reply, Michael never eats soup. How could he not? Hes fed! She just didnt feel like cooking. If she cooked properly, hed have both soup and borscht.
She tried to talk to Michael, but Michael always rose to defend his wife.
Mum, stop nagging. Were fine. Emilys a good mother.
A good mother? Margaret gasps. She never lifts her head from the phone! I havent seen her without a gadget for ages. She scrolls through Instagram even when the baby is in the room.
The final straw came on a playground.
I knocked on their doorsilence. I thought they were out. I walked to the small park by the house and saw Sam digging in the sand, while Emily sat on a bench, eyes glued to her screen. I moved closer and saw Michael standing by the fence. Suddenly the boy ran to me, grinned, called out Grandma! and Emilyshe didnt even turnran straight onto the road! Cars are rare there, but anything can happen.
Thank goodness, she whispers, voice trembling, there were no cars at that moment. I grabbed Sam, ran to Emily, and said, If you dont put that phone away right now Ill smash it on the pavement! Are you a mother or what?
Emily leapt up, snatched Sam, and fled. The child wailed, reaching for me, but she slammed the door shut and never opened it again.
I called Michael, Margaret continues, told him everything. He said, Mum, youve gone too far. Calm down. Emily can handle it. How can that be? I saw it with my own eyes! He doesnt believe me. Now they both ignore my calls, wont answer, wont open the door. Its been a month. I have no idea what she told him, but I just want my grandson safe.
She wonders:
Maybe hes right? Maybe I should have stayed silent? But I cant stay silent when a childs safety is at stake! Im a mother. Im a grandmother.
Now she is just a solitary woman with her phone switched off. The son she raised stands forever on his wifes side. Always.
