I came home to find my MIL soaking in my tub, using my candlelight, my gel, and my towel. That’s when I knew — she hadn’t moved in. She’d taken over.
So I smiled… and got creative.
I liked our life.
I really, really did.
There was something deeply satisfying about the way our apartment smelled like vanilla and order. The way the sun hit the kitchen counter at exactly 4 PM.
The gentle silence after work — no one talking, no TV blaring, just me and the soothing gurgle of my espresso machine.
Our space was calm. Predictable. Mine.
Then husband, Daniel walked into the laundry room with that cautious look husbands get when they know they’re about to ruin your day.
I was pulling socks from the dryer, feeling rather proud of my folding technique, when he cleared his throat.
“Babe… We need to take in my mom for a few days.”
I paused, holding one of his socks.
“Yeah, she’s fine.
But her building had a pipe burst. Whole apartment’s soaked. Just a week.
…The story doesn’t end here, it continues on the next page 👇
