My Story Is Different: My Mother-in-Law Knew Her Son Was Cheating on Me With the Neighbour – And Hid…

My story is a bit different, really.

You see, my mother-in-law knew perfectly well that her precious son was gallivanting about with the woman next doorand she kept that little nugget of information all to herself. I only cottoned on when the neighbour ended up pregnant, and suddenly the family were in far too deep for their usual keep calm and carry on routine.

After six years of marriagesix!everything unravelled spectacularly. Wed been living together, both working, no children yet. Not perfect by any stretch, but I genuinely believed we were solid. Every Sunday, without fail, wed head over to his parents house for lunch. Wed eat together, chat, Id potter about in the kitchen helping out. I felt part of the furnitureingrained in the house, in their lives.

Not once did it cross my mind that people could sit across the table, look you dead in the eye, and conceal a secret that could knock you flat. The neighbourlets call her Denisewas always around, never just a fleeting presence in the block. It was more like she was part of the family. Shed pop in unannounced, join us for meals, hang about until late. Did I suspect a thing? Not even faintly. I was brought up to believe that families had boundaries, that there are certain lines you simply dont cross. Couldnt have imagined such goings-on in a respectable semi-detached in Reading.

My mother-in-law, Margaret, was unflinchingly loyal to Denise, rushing to her defence if anyone dared utter a single critical word. If Denise needed anything, Margaret was first in line. And my husband well, he just always seemed available. I saw it, mind you. Sort of. But I shrugged it offNo point thinking the worst, Charlotte. Thats just being silly.

And then, a few months before the truth finally exploded in my face, things started to feel distinctly off. My husband became more of a ghost at home. Always off at his parents, fixing something, or working late. I never checked up on himIm not that sort of woman, really. But his mother started acting odd, suddenly chilly, almost awkward. Less chatty. I actually started to wonder, could she feel guilty about something?

Nothing could have prepared me for the way it all came out. One day, my husbands aunt called for a chat. She did that thing where she skirts around the point, asks about work, life, whether were still living togetherodd line of questioning, really. Then she hesitated and said, Do you know anything about next door?

I went cold. What exactly do you mean? I asked.

And there it was: Denise is pregnant. The father is your husband. Apparently, it was now the worst-kept secret in the family. Months of failed attempts to manage the situationno one had mustered the courage to tell me.

I put the phone down and just sat there on the edge of the bed, waiting for my husband to come home. When he finally waltzed in, I asked him straight: How long have you been seeing Denise? He didnt deny it. Not even a feeble protest. Just stared at his shoes and muttered, It wasnt planned How long? I pressed. Over a year, he admitted.

The ground might as well have swallowed me whole.

I asked: Who else knows? And then came the hammer blow: Mums known for months. That, more than anything, left me winded.

The next day, I marched right over to Margarets house. No warning, no polite knocking. I simply asked, Why didnt you tell me? She looked at me, completely unruffled, no tears or trembling lips. Cool as a cucumber. I wanted to avoid a scene. I thought hed sort things out with you, she said, as if shed simply forgotten to remind me about the bins.

I just stared. You thought hiding your sons affair was protecting me? She replied, I didnt want to ruin your marriage. And thats when it hit me: I was never really protected, just convenienteveryone quite happy as long as I played along, then quietly ushered to the side.

Then the entire family started their rescue mission: phone calls, explanations, telling me not to overreact, not to make a fusssuggesting the only problem here was my reaction. Like I was the one setting fire to the garden shed.

I signed the divorce papers as someone whod finally run out of strength. Not just because my husband had betrayed me, but because his entire family had, too.

Six years worth of Sundays spent with them: cooking, helping out, laughing, celebrating. Wholeheartedly believing I belonged. But the truth was, they looked me in the eyes all that time, knowing the full story, and not one of them said a word. Silence, every single Sunday.

Margaret didnt betray me when she first found outshe betrayed me every time she hugged me goodbye and assured me everything was absolutely fine, all the while her son was setting up house with someone else.

Thats the real sting, isnt it? Betrayal by your partner, you can work through. But the collective treachery of an entire family gathering around the roast potatoes? That changes you forever.

So, tell me: if your partners family knows youre being deceived but says nothingare they complicit, or is it just not their business? And what would you do in my shoes?