When my mother-in-law started insisting that my son visit her more often, I didn’t think much of it at first.
Normally, he went once a year. He never liked it. He’d complain for weeks beforehand and cling to me on the day he left. But my husband believed it was important to keep that bond alive.
I didn’t want my son to drift away from his grandmother, so I agreed.
The day he left, he cried.
I called him every evening. Each time, he said he was fine. He told me he’d made friends. That it wasn’t as bad as he thought.
I believed him.
When he came home, I opened my arms—ready to hug him.
He stepped back.
The look in his eyes stopped me cold. I had never seen such anger, such hatred, in anyone’s face before.
“I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!” he screamed.
I stood there, stunned.
Later that night, after he finally fell asleep, I pressed my husband for answers. The truth came out slowly—and painfully.
On his last day there, my MIL told my son that I didn’t want him anymore. That I had sent him away because he was a burden. She said I was happier without him and that he was only visiting because she cared enough to keep him.
She said it calmly. Convincingly. Repeatedly.
My son believed her.
My MIL had spent days undermining me, planting doubts, twisting every goodbye and phone call into proof that I didn’t love him.
The next morning, I sat my son down and told him the truth. I showed him messages. I held him while he cried. It took weeks—months—to undo the damage.
But some scars don’t disappear easily.
We cut contact with my MIL that day.
Family doesn’t get a free pass to hurt a child.
And I learned a painful lesson I’ll never forget:
Protecting your child sometimes means standing up to the people who claim to love them.
