For 27 years, my husband and mom could barely stand each other, but neither would tell me why. At her funeral, I heard him whisper that their secret would stay buried beneath her red maple forever. That night, I took a shovel to her yard—and what I found made me call the police.
My husband and my mother hated each other for twenty-seven years.
I used to say they were like oil and water, but even that sounds too harmless.
Oil and water can sit in the same glass without making Christmas dinner unbearable.
Joe and Mom couldn’t.
I could probably count the number of pleasant conversations the two of them had shared without hands because the answer was zero.
My husband and my mother hated each other
One Thanksgiving, Mom looked across the table at Joe and asked, “Are you still doing contract work?”
Joe put down his fork.
“I own the company, Margaret.”
“I know.” Mom took a slow sip of wine. “I’m making conversation.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“I’m making conversation.”
I kicked him under the table.
Our daughter, Emily, who was sixteen at the time, looked between them and muttered, “And people wonder why I like eating in my room.”
***
Later that night, I cornered Joe while he was putting on his coat.
“Why do you let her get to you?”
“And people wonder why I like eating in my room.”
He laughed without humor.
“Because she tries.”
“She does it because you react.”
“No. She does it because she hates me and thinks that gives her permission to treat me like dirt.”
“She doesn’t treat you like dirt.”
She does it because she hates me
He gave me a look.
“Fine. Sometimes she does. But you aren’t exactly warm with her.”
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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