When my mother-in-law accused me of hiding a secret from my husband, she thought she had me cornered. But what she didn’t know was that the “evidence” she found was bait—and she’d just proven exactly what I wanted everyone to see. When my mother-in-law moved in, I tried to stay positive.
A smiling woman | Source: Pexels
“It’s just for a little while,” my husband, Mark, had said. “She’ll help around the house. Maybe even give us a break.”
I smiled, but deep down, I wasn’t so sure.
Jennifer—his mom—wasn’t exactly… low-key. She liked things her way. She liked to know everything.
The first few days were fine. She unpacked, made tea, and told stories I’d heard 10 times already. She was polite.
Almost too polite. A smiling woman drinking tea | Source: Pexels
Then I started noticing little things. My closet didn’t feel right.
My sweaters were stacked in a different order. My jeans, which I always folded just so, were off-center. My perfume bottle had moved a few inches to the left.
I stood there staring at it one morning. “That’s weird,” I said out loud. Mark looked up from his phone.
“What is?”
“I think someone’s been in our room.”
A confused young woman | Source: Pexels
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“My stuff’s been moved. Not a lot.
It’s just… different.”
He chuckled. “It was probably you. Or maybe the cat?”
“We don’t have a cat.”
“Oh.
Right.”
I crossed my arms. “Mark, I’m serious. My earrings were rearranged yesterday.
And now my perfume. It’s always in the center.”
An couple arguing | Source: Pexels
He raised an eyebrow. “You think my mom’s snooping?”
“I don’t know.
But it feels like someone’s going through my things.”
“She’d never do that.”
“You don’t know that.”
“She’s your mother-in-law, not a spy.”
I didn’t argue anymore. There was no point. But in my gut, I knew.
Jennifer was snooping. A thoughtful woman looking at the camera | Source: Pexels
I started keeping track. One day, it was my nightstand drawer.
I always kept my hand lotion on the right side, but one morning, it was on the left. Another day, my closet smelled faintly like her rose hand cream. I even found one of her long, silver hairs on a cardigan I hadn’t worn in weeks.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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