I Lost the Desire to Help My Mother-in-Law When I Discovered What She Had Done — But I Can’t Just Le…

I lost all inclination to help my mother-in-law when I discovered what shed done. Yet, I cant exactly abandon her, can I?

I have two children, both with different fathers. My eldest is my daughter, Beatrice, whos now sixteen. Beatrices dad pays child maintenance and stays regularly in touch with her. Even though my first husband has remarried and produced two more offspring with his new wife, he still remembers Beatrice. Theres no out of sight, out of mind with him.

My son, meanwhile, drew the short straw in the father department. Two years ago, my second husband fell ill rather suddenly and, three days after being admitted to hospital, he died. Even now, I sometimes fancy hell walk through the door at any moment, smiling and telling me to have a lovely day. Predictably, thats when I weep in the kitchen like some melodramatic extra from EastEnders.

During all this, I grew quite close to my late husbands mum, Irene. She was grieving, tooafter all, he was her only child. We stuck together, supported each other, and got through that absolute nightmare as a sort of grieving double act. We phoned and visited constantly, endlessly reliving memories of my late husband over endless cups of tea.

We even briefly toyed with the idea of sharing a flat, but, naturally, Irene changed her mind. Seven years shot by, as years do. All along, Irene and I got on like a house on fire; some wouldve sworn we were best mates.

I clearly remember, back when I was expecting my son, Irene muttering about paternity tests. No clue what inspired that outburstI suspect shed been watching too many tabloid talk shows on ITV, where people parade out shocking secrets about other peoples children. I told her she was talking absolute rubbish.

If a blokes doubting his own child, hes hardly going to be Father of the Year, is he? Id snapped.

Irene assured me she believed I was carrying her sons baby, absolutely. Instinct told me, once my son was born, shed be waving a test kit under my nose, but thennothing. Silence. Presumed trust.

This summer, though, Irenes health took a real nosedive. It all got a bit dire. So, I decided she should move closer to us, for her own good. I found an estate agent; the plan was to buy her a flat nearby.

Then Irene landed herself in hospital, and what with all the paperwork, I needed her late husbands death certificate for the estate agent. Since she couldnt do much from a hospital bed, I popped round to her flat to look for the document myself. After rifling through her files, I stumbled upon something eyebrow-raising: a paternity test. Turns out, when my son was just two months old, Irene had secretly arranged for a DNA test to confirm if my late husband was really his father.

To say I was gobsmacked would be an understatement. Irene hadnt trusted me at allnever mind our so-called friendship! Well, I didnt keep schtum. I told her outright what Id found. Now shes endlessly apologising, insisting it was the silliest thing shes ever done. But the whole thing still sits in my chest like a lead weight. I feel betrayed, franklythe secret, the years of pretending… it stings.

These days, Id rather not rush around helping Irene. Yet, I know she has no one else left. I certainly dont want to deprive my son of his gran, so, for his sake, Ill keep helping her out. Still, the warmth and trust that used to be between us? Well, sadly, that ships sailed and is heading for Norway.