The son refuses to let his mother move in because there can only be one lady in the house—and that lady is me.

Thats simply not right! After all, shes his mother! He can certainly bring her into his own home! Such declarations fly from the mouths of those closest to my husband. Im fairly certain my friends feel the same way, but no one dares tell me face to face. The reason for this is, of course, my mother-in-law situation.

Doris is eighty-three, weighs more than fifteen stone, and shes ill more often than shes well. Why dont you have Doris live with you? My cousin asked me years ago, Its great you help her daily, but what if something happens at night? Shes struggling on her own. After all, your David is her only lifeline.

Its clear as day that Nans care will fall to her solitary son, his one wife, and her single grandson. Doris hasnt left her flat in five years. Her legs hurt, her weight makes mobility impossibly hard. It all started thirty years ago. Back then, my mother-in-law was lively, young, healthy, and frankly, quite bossy.

Who have you brought me here? Davids mum declared, outraged. I gave up my life for this?

After those charming words, David and I strolled in silence to the bus stop. At that time, his mother lived in a posh country estate, in an enormous, beautiful house. Her husband held an impressive position, so Doris lived splendidly, even long after he passed away. That day, David caught up with me and walked me home. I was incredibly lucky with my husband: he didnt blindly obey his mum. He respected his elders, yes, but he tried to reassure me and explained that his mum was just a bit prickly.

Once we married, we started saving for a place of our own. David left for work and didnt come back for six months. Hed thrown himself into his job. After a few years, we managed to buy a house and even finish fixing it up. We managed it, somehow. We didnt visit Doris all that often. She took every opportunity to spread nonsense about me to David and everyone she knew. Apparently, I forbade my husband from helping his mother. How exactly? Who knows.

She decided to move to London, but the money from selling her house wasnt enough. She hinted we should chip in, promising that the flat would one day go to our son, her grandson. But at the solicitors, she suddenly declared the flat should be left to her, as a friend had warned her that grannies often end up homeless this way. Next, she said shed leave it to whoever took care of her in her old age. She wanted to rule the roost! She insisted wed cheat her and leave her penniless.

Its been nearly twenty years since then. Everyone at the solicitors could hear her moaning and groaning we all wanted to disappear under the carpet. We decided to drop it. She moved almost immediately and didnt let us do so much as a lick of paint. Doris lived there for a month before she began complaining everything was old, falling apart, breaking down. Of course, the blame fell squarely on me: Id found her the wrong flat and was scheming to cheat her.

Doris adored her cousins children, but ignored her own grandson. She even pretended not to remember his birthday! A few years back, my mother-in-laws health took a turn for the worse. Shed put on so much weight she could hardly move around the flat. I brought her healthy meals from the doctor’s prescriptions. Doris, however, cursed and refused to eat, insisting only her cousin fed her properly and that I starved her.

Last year, my husband started pleading with me to bring her to our house. According to him, Mum had seen the light and understood she needed to listen to her doctor.

Fine, I agreed, But I set some ground rules: the kitchen would be exclusively mine, Id cook, decide what we all ate, and there would be no cousins visiting.

My mother-in-law was outraged and refused to come clearly she thought shed arrive and immediately take charge. But theres only room for one lady of the house! Me. So instead, I had to visit her, clean, cook, and even spend the night. Meanwhile, her favourite cousin showed her concern with nothing but phone calls.

Doris moaned over the phone that I starved her: I wouldnt bring her cakes or smoked sausages. She begged me to visit and bring biscuits. But her cousin, apparently, had such a jam-packed schedule, she kept postponing her visits despite living three times closer than me! Shed pop round just once a month and bring her some unhealthy treats while I slogged away day after day.

One day, Doris called her cousin, complaining her necklace and cross had disappeared. She announced both of us had visited, but was dead certain Id taken them.

Without commentary, I placed her meal on the table, handed her the necklace and cross which had fallen behind the bedside cabinet, and left. At home, I recounted everything to David and told him I was done. I suggested sending Doris to a care home. David agreed.