Guess what? We had to change the locks to stop my mother-in-law from treating our flat like her own.
My husband and I have been married for a year now, and ever since, his mother has struggled to accept that he chose a life outside her grand plan. Shed dreamed of him marrying some billionaires daughter, so he could live in luxuryand, naturally, take her along for the ride. Where she got these ideas, Ill never know. The truth is, were just an ordinary coupletightening our belts at first, taking out a loan, living in my old studio while renting out our new flat. Next goal? A car. Nothing extravagant, but were not starving either.
Yet she refuses to face reality, clinging to her fantasies. She wont give up trying to wreck our marriage, and her methods are, well, creative. Lipstick smeared on my husbands shirts, his clothes reeking of perfume, condoms “mysteriously” appearing in my handbag. Naturally, it led to rows, suspicion, shouting matches. Thankfully, we always uncovered the truthbut the damage lingered.
A few months back, my husband had to relocate temporarily to Manchester to set up a new branch for work. A great opportunity, so we agreed. He left, I stayed, and everything was fine until I noticed odd thingsobjects moved, cupboards rummaged through. At first, I thought hed popped back for something. When I called him, he was baffled, swearing he hadnt returned. An hour later, he rang back, his tone grim. He suspected his mother. Before his trip, hed given her our keys “just in case”and forgotten to take them back.
The next day, I took leave and had the locks changed immediately. I made it clear to my husband: if he handed out our keys again, hed be sleeping on the landing. That evening, everything was untouched. Confirmation it was her. Then, while checking the cupboards, I found a hidden camera tucked on a shelf.
I called my husband straight away. Silence, then laughterutter madness. I searched the flat, relieved to find nothing else. No drama, just a promise from him to handle it when he returned.
And then? The next day, my mother-in-law rang. Her keys no longer worked, so she wanted in. “Just popping round for tea,” she said. I told her I wasnt home, but wed have that tea another time. Half an hour later, my husband calledshed complained to him, insisting I was “gallivanting about” while the house stood empty.
We almost laughed. Started placing bets on her next excuse to get inside. She didnt disappointdaily calls about a misdelivered parcel, forgotten glasses, or just “bringing croissants.”
When my husband returned, she announced her “visit.” We were ready. She arrived with pastries, pretended to wash her handsthen bolted straight to the bedroom. We followed, catching her rifling through the wardrobe. Flustered, she stammered. My husband pulled the camera from his pocket.
Then came the meltdown. Shrieks about me cheating, deceiving her son, his naivety. The waterworks, the clutching her chest like she might collapse. Finally, she stormed out, the wounded martyr.
Honestly, it was award-worthy. No rehearsal, pure improvisation. But this was just one battlethe war isnt over. Still, we held our ground. Some lines are non-negotiable: family shouldnt be a stage for absurdity. And if you dont set boundaries, someone else will write your story for you.
