Sometimes family isn’t a refuge but a source of endless trouble. Sarah from Manchester told me the story of her friend Emily, and it was enough to make your hair stand on end. If I didn’t know Emily personally, I’d have sworn it was made up. But it’s the absolute truth, and believe me, even your worst enemy wouldn’t wish a mother-in-law like hers upon you.
Emily and I used to work together at the local tax office. We became close sharing an office, and even after she went on maternity leave, we stayed in touch. We still meet up and catch up regularly. From the start, she’d complain about her mother-in-law, but honestly, I thought she was exaggerating. Most daughters-in-law grumble about theirs—it’s nothing new. But this was worse.
Take this for example. Her husband William’s mother, Margaret, at 60, decided she fancied a spa retreat. Naturally, as a pensioner, she didn’t have the money. Without batting an eye, she asked her son to take out a loan for her—for treatments, massages, her “health,” she said.
William, as you’d expect, was ready to jump in: “She’s my mum! She raised me!” Emily, eight months pregnant, barely talked him out of it. They were barely making ends meet as it was. But Margaret had a backup plan—she borrowed the cash from her nephew, promising he’d get it back… from William.
So William ended up owing £5,000 without even knowing. He found out when the nephew’s brother rang, asking when he’d settle the debt. Total shock. And Margaret? Acted like nothing happened. The spa retreat? Turned out—there wasn’t one. The money vanished. Where? No one knows.
Emily was furious. William suggested paying the debt… from her maternity pay. She refused outright. “We’re not paying off someone else’s debts. Not a penny!”
Margaret took offence. Blocked their numbers, stopped answering. Weeks passed. Then William needed some documents stored at her place. He went over… and found strangers there.
“Who are you?”
“We live here now. We bought the flat. And you?”
Turns out, Margaret had sold her only flat. Bought herself new crockery, clothes, curtains, paid off her nephew… and moved into a rented studio on the outskirts. No plan, no sense to it. Now, Emily reckons, she’s biding her time until the money runs out so she can turn up on their doorstep with a suitcase.
Emily’s terrified. They’ve just paid off the mortgage on their one-bed flat. The plan was to upgrade—get a two-bed, another mortgage. And now? A reckless mother who could wreck their stability in one summer.
They’ve already confronted her. Straight up told her: “If you turn up here to live, we won’t let you in. No more money. No more manipulation.” And Margaret? “It was my flat, I did what I wanted! I don’t need anything from you!”
That’s what she says now. While the money lasts. While the fridge is full. But later? She’ll be sobbing on their doorstep, reminding them who sang lullabies, who washed scraped knees.
Sarah asked a question I still don’t know how to answer:
“If she does show up with that suitcase—what then? Let her in? Turn her away? Let her move in for good? Rent her a place? Buy her a room since she sold hers?”
What would you do?
My friend Emily’s standing at the edge of a brutal moral dilemma. It’s not just about money. It’s about betrayal. About boundaries. About how the people closest to you can sometimes do the most damage.
Tell me—with a mother like that, who needs enemies?