I want my son to get a divorce. Why would he need such a clueless wife?

There’s a stereotype that mothers-in-law are wicked witches who torment their poor, helpless daughters-in-law for no reason. If you browse internet forums, you’ll find countless such stories.

And here I am: that “evil mother-in-law” who not only criticizes her daughter-in-law but is also determined to destroy her son’s marriage. And you know what? I’m not ashamed. I’m sure I’m right, and now I’ll explain why I feel this way—as I try to contain my anger and heartbreak over my son.

My son, Michael, met this girl, Emily, about five years ago. But he introduced her to me much later—only after proposing and deciding to marry her. From the moment I saw her, I didn’t like her, and later I realized my intuition hadn’t failed me—this girl turned out to be a complete nightmare.

I invited them to our cozy apartment in a suburb of Chicago. Emily didn’t even get a chance to take off her shoes before her phone rang. Instead of excusing herself and saying she’d call back, she started chatting with a friend right there in the hallway.

Fifteen minutes! I sat there trying to swallow my irritation while she giggled and talked nonsense. Even then, I knew something was off about her.

At the dinner table, I didn’t ask serious questions—I just observed. But later, when the conversation turned to her life and future plans, everything became crystal clear. She barely made it through high school, is now in her final year of college, and has no intention of going for a master’s degree. Why would she?

As she puts it, a woman should just be a wife and mother—period. She doesn’t plan to work. Right now, her parents are supporting her, and later, that burden will probably fall on my son’s shoulders.

She lives with her parents but plans to move into our apartment after the wedding. And the cherry on top: she’s pregnant. It’s still early, so the wedding has to happen fast before her belly gives away the “secret.”

She acts like the world owes her something, and that her beauty is a golden ticket to an easy life.

But the worst part came when Michael stepped out onto the balcony for a smoke. Emily immediately pulled out a pack of slim cigarettes and followed him. Pregnant—and she smokes! I was absolutely furious. What will happen to the baby? Clearly, she didn’t care.

They got married soon after and moved in with me. I would leave for work early in the morning and return in the evening, while Emily slept until noon, wandered around the house doing nothing, and regularly smoked on the balcony.

She took academic leave from college because of the pregnancy. Every evening I came home to chaos: a sink full of dirty dishes, stuff thrown everywhere, an empty fridge. She didn’t cook, didn’t clean—just spent all day on the phone, talking to her mother or her friends.

When I asked her to help around the house, she made excuses—she felt nauseous, or she was tired. But that didn’t stop her from going to cafes with her friends or clubbing with Michael at night. I gritted my teeth and kept silent—for my son’s sake.

Then the baby was born. And guess what? Emily didn’t change one bit. Michael got up at night with the baby, took him for walks, took him to the doctor. I helped in the evenings and on weekends, exhausted after work. And her? She lay on the couch, glued to her phone, chain-smoking like nothing had changed. It made my blood boil.

I tried talking to her—first calmly, then more firmly. She ignored me, looking at me with a smug expression. But the worst part was that Michael always defended her.

When I pointed out her laziness and uselessness, he became stone-faced: “Mom, she’s trying, it’s just hard for her.” And we argued. He yelled at me, but never said a word against her. My son—my only son—was blinded by love for this empty girl.

The tension in the house became unbearable. One day, I couldn’t take it anymore and exploded in anger: “Take your wife and child and leave! Let’s see how you manage on your own!” They left.

Michael got upset and stopped talking to me. I tried to explain, to show him the truth, but he built a wall between us. Now, he barely calls and doesn’t visit. I’m sure Emily is turning him against me, digging a trench between us. And I love my son more than life itself, and I adore my grandson with all my heart.

I’ve made a decision: a wife like her is not right for Michael. He deserves someone better—an intelligent, caring woman, not this lazy and irresponsible girl.

Even if he doesn’t see it now, I’ll do everything I can to break up their marriage. I won’t stop until I free my son from these chains. I’m convinced that sooner or later, he’ll realize I was right, hug me, and say, “Thank you, Mom.”

And we’ll raise the baby ourselves—without her meaningless shadow, her indifference, and her cigarette smoke. I won’t give up, because this is my fight for my son’s happiness.