**Diary Entry 14th June**
This past year has been the hardest of my life. After losing my job, my husband and I couldnt keep up with the mortgage. He was covering everything alone, but it wasnt enough. We had no choice but to move in with my mother-in-law. For me, it was humiliating, but there was no alternative.
From the start, living under her roof was unbearable. Nothing I did was rightnot my cooking, cleaning, even the way I spoke. And every time I dared push back, shed throw the same words at me:
*”If you dont like it, pack your bags and leave.”*
I bit my tongue, but the anger festered. Then came the day my patience snapped.
It was her birthday, and she demanded I cook dinnerwanted to show off to her friends how well her daughter-in-law could host. I played along, bought decent ingredients, and spent hours making spaghetti bolognese.
At first, the evening went smoothly. Her friends smiled, laughed, even complimented the food. For a moment, I wondered if Id misjudged them. But when I stepped into the kitchen, I overheard whispers.
What I heard sent me back to the dining room, where I grabbed the nearest plate of spaghetti and dumped it straight onto her head. She burst into tears while her friends cackled like hyenas.
I glared at them, shaking with rage. *”Serves you right, you miserable cow! And you lotif youre not here to scrape pasta off her, get out of my house!”*
They clammed up, eyes down, and scurried out like rats.
**What they saidand why I snapped**
Her raspy voice carried from the kitchen: *”Wont be much longer. Ive made her life hell, and the rest of my plans falling into place.”*
One friend chirped in: *”My daughter still fancies your son. Shes waiting for him to leave her. Dont worryhell forget this one quick enough.”*
Another sneered: *”What if the little wife gets pregnant? He wont walk out then. Whats your plan for that?”*
But it was my mother-in-laws reply that broke me: *”Already sorted. Ive been slipping contraceptives into her meals. My boy wont be tied to some worthless girl.”*
Those words hit harder than a slap. So I served her dinnerright over her head.
The next morning, my husband and I packed our things and left. We havent spoken to her since.
**Lesson learned:** Some bridges need burning. And sometimes, spaghetti is best served coldon someone elses head.
