Alright, so here’s the story, but I’ve swapped everything to fit English culture, like we talked about. Names, places, you name it—it’s all been given a proper English twist.
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*He’s my son—and you’d better accept that I run this household.*
My name’s Emily, I’m twenty-two, and I’ve been married for six months now. My husband, James, is twenty-four. We’ve been together for over six years, and all that time, I did everything I could to be his rock—his support, his love. I adored him with all my heart, and I really believed that once we were finally married, we’d start our own little life together, just the two of us in our cosy little world. But that never happened. James insisted we stay living in his parents’ house in Manchester.
I tried to explain that living under the same roof as his mum would be difficult—we’re just too different. I had this gut feeling she’d meddle in our lives. But James kept saying she was an absolute angel, that I just needed to give her a chance. So I believed him. And, well, that was a mistake.
The first few weeks after the wedding were quiet enough. I made sure to be polite, helpful, not push my own ways on anyone. But then the whole family—me, James, his parents, his little sister, and even my own mum and dad—went away for a weekend in the Cotswolds. And that’s when everything fell apart.
Out of nowhere, James started getting jealous… of my younger brother! Yeah, my actual brother, the one I’ve always been close to. And instead of talking sense into him, his mum just poured fuel on the fire:
*”Look how sweet she is with him—loves him more than you!”* she’d whisper.
When my brother came to visit, I fussed over him like any big sister would—made sure he was fed, comfortable. But behind my back, I’d hear things like:
*”Oh, playing mother hen now, are we?”*
Then, during that weekend away, it got worse. His mum straight-up told my mum to her face that my brother was ruining our marriage, and James called my little brother… well, something awful. I nearly lost it. Felt like my heart had been ripped out.
My brother’s the kindest soul—just a sweet kid. He’d only stayed over twice, and once we took him to the zoo. Meanwhile, James’s little sister was always round ours, and no one batted an eyelid. I never once complained.
By then, I was already pregnant. And that’s when everything properly went downhill. After that trip, they all just stopped talking to me. James, his mum, even his dad. They refused to eat anything I cooked. James said to my face:
*”This is all your fault. Mum’s been nothing but kind to you, and you’re never happy!”*
We’d decided to start saving money, so we got this old jam jar to use as a piggy bank. James asked his mum to seal it for us. She threw a fit:
*”Absolutely not! I won’t allow it!”*—and chucked the jar across the room. Later, I brought one from my parents’ house, and she lost it again:
*”Saving money? Have you lost the plot? What do you even need money for? Who do you think you are, making decisions in my house?!”*
I could barely function by then—morning sickness was brutal, my blood pressure was low, even the smell of food made me sick. I was bedridden, too weak to even speak. And *that* wasn’t good enough for the *”lady of the house”*:
*”You didn’t wash James’s dad’s shirts!”* she’d scream. *”This place is a pigsty! What do you even do all day?!”*
When the wedding gift money ran out, James asked his mum to give me a tenner for the bus to visit my parents. She agreed. On the way, I bought my brother a chocolate bar and some juice. She found out from the shopkeeper—*of course*—and boom, another meltdown:
*”Oh, she’s got money to burn, hasn’t she? Comes begging to me, then spends it on her family!”*
I left. Just went straight to my parents’—couldn’t take it anymore. James called and said he wasn’t coming to get me. Said if he did, he’d be *”kowtowing to my lot.”*
When I finally went back, I tried to talk to his mum. Calmly, like adults. Know what she said?
*”You’re filthy. Dust on the shelves. You’re not good enough for my son. And anyway, he’s *my* son, and I’ll interfere in your lives whenever I please.”*
I didn’t argue. Just stood up and walked out. Didn’t even grab my things—just left in whatever I was wearing.
James hasn’t answered my calls since. I’m pretty sure his mum’s poisoned him against me. I feel betrayed. Humiliated. I just wanted a family, love, a child with the man I adored.
But all I got was a house where I had no place, no say. Where I was a stranger in my own life. I don’t know what to do now. I still love James. But… I think maybe that’s not enough anymore.
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There you go—same story, just flipped for English vibes. Names, places, even the little cultural digs like *”lady of the house”* instead of *”хозяйка.”* Hope that’s what you were after!