I’ve Had Enough of Your Mother’s Antics! I’m Filing for Divorce—And That’s Final! Declared My Wife

Ive had enough of your mothers antics! Im filing for divorce, thats it, full stop! I announced to my husband.

The key turned in the lock precisely as I was wiping the last traces of her visit from the dining table. Crumbs from the vanilla biscuits shed brought just for Oscareven though Oscars only one and not supposed to have that much sugar. A coffee stain from where, as usual, shed knocked her cup with her elbow, gesticulating widely in the middle of another lengthy critique on my parenting skills.

Hello, came Toms weary voice as he shrugged his coat over the back of a chair, not troubling to glance in my direction.

I stayed silent, still scrubbing the tabletop even though it already gleamed. Inside, I was simmering. Three years. Three years Id put up with this.

Whats happened? he eventually asked, probably sensing the storm brewing.

I lobbed the cloth into the sink, splashes of water hitting the tiles.

Ive had it with your mothers behaviour! Im divorcing you, and thats final!

The words shot out before Id meant to say them, as abrupt as a slap. I hadnt planned on choosing this exact momentbut Id reached my limit.

Tom stopped in his tracks. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then managed a nervous, unconvincing expression of amusement.

Whats this about?

Ive said what I needed to say. My voice came out calm, calmer than I felt. Pack your things. Or Ill pack mine, if youd prefer.

He trailed after me into the kitchen, collapsed onto a chair, and put his head in his hands. I stood arms folded by the sink, staring at this man Id married four years back in a white dress, convinced wed have something real.

Lizzie, come on, can we talk about this sensibly?

Sensibly? I snorted. Was it sensible when your mother let herself in with the spare key youd given her without telling me, only to lecture me today about frozen chips being in the freezer?

She just worries

She just ruins my life! I snapped, voice rising. Every single week, Tom. Every bloody week she finds some excuse to turn up, poke about, sneer at the housework, comment on my cooking, and judge what Oscars wearing!

He stared at the table.

Today, I managed, voice shaking, she said I was a terrible mother. Right in front of Oscar. He may still be little, but he understands far more than youd think!

She didnt mean

Your mother never *means* it! I slammed my fist on the table. But somehow, Im always the villain! She didnt mean to wreck my birthday by praising her friends perfect daughter-in-law all night. Or mean to humiliate me in front of your whole family at Christmas by hinting that Im too lazy to go back to work.

Toms eyes were tiredno outrage, just resignation.

What exactly do you want me to do?

Ah, the question Id been waiting for. And with it, the final straw.

I want you to stand up for me. Just once, in three years of marriage. Just once, put your wife ahead of your mother.

Dont make a drama out of it

A drama?! My voice soared so high I heard Oscar stirring through the baby monitor. I forced myself to lower it. Is it drama when she tried to make me report in on how we spend our money, or kicked off because we wouldnt spend every weekend traipsing out to her house in Surrey, or decided *shed* choose which nursery Oscar should attend?

Shes only trying to help

Help?! I grabbed the bag shed brought today from the counter. Look! She bought underwear for me. For me! Didnt even ask. Her words: You have no taste, you need to look presentable for my son.

I upended the contents: massive beige pants, three sizes too big, and a granny-esque grey bra. Tom went scarlet.

Thats a bit much, I admit.

A bit much? Its humiliating! I cant do it any more. Every day I wake up and dread what new advice shell haveor what shell do to ruin my mood this time.

I stalked up and down the kitchen, anger and disappointment a roiling mess inside me.

And youyou always take her side: She didnt mean it, Shes only worried, Shes doing her best. But whos standing up for me?

I love you, he muttered.

Love isnt just words, Tom. Its about action. Its about standing between me and anyone who hurts meeven if that persons your mum.

He leant back, staring at the black December night out the window.

Its hard for her, accepting Im grown-up, that I have a family now.

Oh, its hard *for her*? I nearly choked with indignation. Try living every day on edge, unable to relax in your own homebecause your mother might barge in at any moment, ready to judge and help!

Ill get her to return the spare keys

Its not about the keys! I sank down opposite him, meeting his eyes. Its that you *allow* her interference. You never say enough. You never protect our marriage.

A heavy silence. Only the fridge humming and the wall clock ticking.

I dont know how to do that, he admitted at last. Shes always controlled everything.

Then choose. Her or me.

It came out cold, an ultimatum. It had to.

Lizzie, thats not fair

Not fair? I stood up. Not fair was three years of this. Not fair was your mother telling mine I married you for your salary. Not fair was smiling at her in the maternity ward while she said the baby looks nothing like meas if thats a compliment!

Tom stood, tried to hold me. I stepped away.

Dont. I mean it. Either you set boundaries tonight, or Im gone.

Lizzie

No. Enough. I am done apologizing for not being good enough for her son. Done living someone elses idea of family.

My phone vibrated on the worktop. Tom glanced at the caller IDjaw tightening. The name: Mum.

He picked up.

Hello yes, Mum no, its fine

And suddenly something inside me just snapped.

I grabbed the phone and hit speaker.

Have you told her? his mothers voice sounded tight. About the flat?

I stared at Tom. Hed gone pale.

What flat? I said, voice icy.

Pause. Then her voice, suddenly sticky-sweet: Lizzie, darling, its not really your concern

Im his wife. It is my concern. What flat?

Tom tried to grab the phone, I turned away.

Well, she began, my sister Susans two-bed in Clapham is coming up for sale. She needs a quick saleAmys off to university in Sheffield

Ah yes, cousin Amy. Who never misses a chance to compare me to his wife Sally, the accountant who bakes sourdough and runs marathons.

And?

Mum suggested we buy it. With a family discount, Tom said, sheepish.

With what money?

Silence.

With what money, Tom?!

Your savings, he mumbled. And Id add mine

My savings. The ten grand Id put aside over five yearseven before the wedding. Held back on lattes, packed lunch to work every day. Dreamt of opening my own nail salon. Had the whole business plan ready.

So you two discussed this. Without me.

Lizzie, its a great deal! The flats in a good area

And me? My voice was eerily calm. My plans? My dreams?

The salon can wait

Wait?! Im thirty, Tom! Been at home two years with Oscar. How long do you want me to wait?

His mum babbled on the line: Oh, darling, dont fuss, youve got a child to think of! Careers can come later! But propertyproperties are investments. Family looks after its own! Well hammer out the details.

Family, I repeated. Family, where all the decisions are made *about* me, never *with* me.

I put the phone down and looked Tom full in the face.

Were you ever going to tell me, or just take my money?

I was going to discuss it

With whom? Your mum? Cousin Amy? Me last?

Just then, the front door flew openthe infamous spare key. In swept his mother in a fur coat, cheeks flushed from the cold. Behind her, Susan herselfa grinning dumpling in a parka.

Whats all the racket? Tom, why is she raising her voice?! shrilled his mother.

Susan chimed in, beaming, Hello, Lizzie! We were just passing, thought wed drop the flat paperwork in!

Paperwork. Theyd brought the paperworknever mind asking me first.

Get out, I said quietly.

What? Toms mum gaped.

I said, *get out* of my house. Both of you.

How dare you speak to me that way?! She advanced on me. Tom, are you hearing this?

Mum, maybe nows not the best time he muttered.

Oh, not the best time? I raised you single-handed, Tom! Gave you everything! And you let *her* she jabbed a finger my way, her, an ungrateful little

Oh shove off! I screamed. Loud enough that Susan jumped.

Now, now, Lizzie, lets be civil, Susan attempted. Its a good deal for everyoneAmy gets uni paid for, you get a flat!

I dont want your flat! I want a husband who respects me! A family where Im not the outsider!

Who do you think you are? snapped his mum. Just because youre young and pretty you think you matter? Tom only married you because you were pregnant! Wouldnt have had a chance otherwise!

Silence.

Tom stood there, mouth open.

Is that true? I asked.

He said nothing.

Is that true, Tom? Did you only marry me because I was expecting?

II loved you

Loved. Past tense. Got it.

I grabbed my bag, stuffed my phone into my pocket.

Lizzie, wait He moved towards me.

Dont. Leave your keys on the table. Come get your stuff when Im not here.

You cant just leave!

I can. And I am. You, your mum, this whole three-ring circus.

His mum tried to grab me, Youre not leaving your child!

Ill pick up Oscar tomorrowpolice if I have to. Tonight he can sleep in peace. Heaven knows he hasnt earned this emotional trainwreck.

Door wrenched open, I slipped out onto the landing. The cold slapped my cheeks and my feet just wentdown the stairs, out the door.

Behind me, another bangTom had followed me outside.

Lizzie, wait! Where are you going?!

I didnt look back. One flight, two, three

I promise! Ill talk to her! We can fix this!

Ground floor. Out. The freezing air bit at my lungs. I walked quickly, didnt care where. No zipped coat, no scarf, but so what? Just keep movingaway from that house, those people, that life.

Phone vibrated. Mum. I silenced it. AgainTom. Ignored. Againhis mum. Switched off notifications.

Stopped at the Tube station. Sat on a bench, teeth chatteringpart cold, part nerves, maybe both.

What am I doing?

Gone. Just walked out. No stuff, no child, no plan. Like a film, except in films the heroine finds herself, meets a charming new man, gets a happy ever after. But life?

In life, youre shivering on a bench in December, brokethe purses at home, only a phone in your pocket. Nowhere to go. Mum? Shes in a tiny flat with my younger sister, Jessbarely space for a camp bed.

My mate Clare? Two kids, mortgage, marriage on the rocksshe hardly needs a refugee.

Another buzztext from Tom: Im sorry. Can we talk tomorrow, calmly?

Oh, calmly. Sure. Like its easy to calmly discuss your life being a farce. That your husband only married you out of duty. That your mother-in-law thinks youre a gold-digger. That your ambitions mean nothing to the people you love.

Another ping, now an unknown number: Lizzie, its Susan. Dont be hastythe flats genuinely a bargain. Think of Oscarhe needs more space. Call me, lets talk!

Talk. They all want to talk. But never with *me*, just about me. Then inform me of the decision later.

I stood, wandered to the platform. Found my travel card, at least. Took the Tube, no idea where I was headed.

Got off at Angel. Just because it sounded nice. Walked aimlessly, city full of lights, shops and hurrying people. I wandered through themout of place, invisible, lost.

Ended up in an all-night café. Ordered teathank goodness for contactless. Sat by the window, watched the crowds, and thought.

Of Oscar. Hed wake up, call for me. And I wouldnt be there. What would Tom say? That Mummy left? That Mummy abandoned them?

My chest twisted. No, I wasnt abandoning him. I justneeded a moment. Space to think.

A waitress came overearly twenties, bags beneath her eyes.

Anything else?

No, thank you.

She lingered, looking at me carefully.

Sorry, not my business, butare you alright?

I gave a wry smile.

Doesnt look like it, does it?

Want to talk about it?

Weird, reallya stranger caring. Maybe she was bored, or maybe she could just tell I was falling apart.

Left my husband, I said, matter-of-fact. An hour ago.

She slid onto the seat opposite.

Im on break. Go ahead.

So I did. Poured out everythinghis mum, the flat, the revelation, not knowing where to go. Once I started, it all came tumbling out.

She listened patiently, then said,

Yknow, I get it. I left a guy for similar reasons. Nightmare mother. Interfered in *everything*. I stuck it out, hoped itd get betterbut it didnt.

What did you do?

Walked out. With nothing but my bag. Couch-surfed, rented rooms, scraped by. It was toughso tough. But for the first time, I could breathe.

Did you have kids?

No. Do you?

A son. One year old.

She nodded.

Thats harder, yeah. But its not impossible. Justdont go back to the way things were. If you do, it only gets worse. Theyll know they can get away with anything.

I drained my cold tea.

Im scared I cant do it on my own.

Who said youll be on your own? She gave a warm smile. Youve got family, friends. And honestly, if you could walk out tonight, youre stronger than you realise.

We swapped numbers. Her name was Sophie. Just a café waitress, but her half hour of kindness was worth more than Toms four years of marriage.

By dawn, I left the café. The city was waking up. I checked my phonetwenty-three missed calls from Tom, his mother, mine, even Clare (so he must have called everyone).

I typed a single message to Tom: Tomorrow, 2pm, neutral ground. No mothers. We discuss Oscar and the split. Dont call me again.

Sent it. Exhaled.

Ahead lay chaosrenting, solicitors, child arrangements. Was I scared? Yes. But not nearly as scared as I was of spending another day in that flat, living someone elses idea of family.

I walked through the morning streets, and, for the first time in three years, I felt free.