My MIL’s Biggest Mistake Was Changing The Locks And Kicking Me And My Kids Out When My Husband Passed Away
My husband’s death broke me. However, my mother-in-law made things worse two days after his death. She changed the locks, evicted my children and myself, and left us without a place to live. Though she was unaware that she was committing the biggest mistake of her life, she believed she had won.
I wasn’t gullible about Ryan’s mother when I married him two years ago. Margaret never bothered to conceal her contempt for me; whenever I walked into a room, her eyes would always narrow a little, as though I had brought a foul odor with me.
Ryan would squeeze my hand beneath the dining table and whisper, “She’ll come around, Cat,” while his mother questioned him—and him alone—about his day in a direct manner.
However, she never showed up. Not to me, and definitely not to my children from my former marriage, Liam (7) and Emma (5).
I heard her conversing with her buddy in the kitchen over a Sunday meal at her place.
She muttered, “The children aren’t even his,” not realizing that I was coming with empty plates. “She trapped him with her ready-made family. Classic gold-digger move.”
Plates shook in my hands as I froze in the corridor.
His heartbeat was steady against my ear as he drew me in. “You and those kids are my world, Cat. Nothing and no one will come between us. Not even my mother.”
Ryan kept his promise. He purchased a lovely house for us in a community with tree-lined streets and nice schools, far enough away from Margaret that we didn’t have to visit her unless we so desired.
Under Ryan’s tutelage, Emma and Liam flourished. Since their biological father left when Liam was still in diapers, he has never attempted to take his place. Rather, he developed his own bond with them, based on bedtime stories, Saturday morning pancakes, and pillow forts.
I remarked, “You’re doing the tucking in tonight,” as I leaned against Emma’s room’s doorframe and observed Ryan carefully placing her stuffed animals around her.
“Mr. Whiskers always goes on the left,” Emma said gravely.
Ryan nodded gravely. “Of course,” he said. “He’s the guardian of the left side of the bed. Very important position.”
Ryan later put his arm over my shoulders and sat down with me on the couch after both children had fallen asleep.
“I spoke with Mom today,” he muttered.
I stiffened. “And?”
His tone was regretful but firm: “I told her she either respects my family — all of my family — or she doesn’t see me at all.” “I think she got the message.”
My head was resting on his shoulder. “I hate that you had to do that.”
He corrected me, saying, “I chose to. There’s a difference.”
Margaret remained at a distance for some time. She managed to be polite to me, sent birthday cards to the children, and arrived at Christmas with clumsily selected presents. Although it wasn’t warm, it was bearable.
The phone call that broke everything then arrived.
My phone rang when I was cutting vegetables for supper. At the kitchen table, the children were working on their schoolwork while amicably debating who had more arithmetic issues.
A voice from out of the blue said, “Is this Ms. Catherine?”
“Yes.”
“I’m calling from the hospital downtown. Your husband has been in an accident.”
The blade clanked against the countertop. “What kind of accident?”
The silence went on forever. “A car crash. It’s serious, ma’am. You should come right away.”
The drive to the hospital is not something I recall. I don’t recall requesting that my neighbor watch the children. All I can recall is the look on the doctor’s face as he came up to me in the waiting area and how I could tell before he spoke.
“I’m very sorry. We did everything we could,” he replied.
It seemed as though my heart would cease beating. Ryan had left. The one man who had ever loved me with all his heart and treated my kids like his own… disappeared.
My voice sounded distant, as if it were someone else’s. “Can I see him?”
With a nod, the doctor ushered me along an apparently endless hallway.
With the exception of the silence, Ryan appeared content, nearly sleeping. His chest did not rise and fall. No eyelids fluttering. Nothing but silence.
I put my hand on his. It was chilly.
I said, “You promised,” as tears fell upon our clasped hands. “You promised you wouldn’t leave us.”
The funeral was a haze of whispered condolences and black clothing. Margaret was seated across from me and the children in the front row. She didn’t cry. She embraced people with stiff dignity when they came up to her.
Every time someone new came around, Emma would cling to my hand and squeeze it with her tiny fingers. Beside me, Liam stood up, making a concerted effort to be the head of the household.
Margaret came up to us after the service. Her posture was tight, and her eyes were dry with a crimson ring.
Without introducing herself, she continued, “This is your fault,” in a low voice that was piercing.
I looked at her, unable to understand. “Excuse me?”
“My son is dead because of you. If he hadn’t been rushing home to you and those children, he’d still be alive.”
I went cold. According to the authorities, Ryan’s accident occurred on a section of roadway that is not close to our home.
