The year had been the toughest of my life. After losing my job, my husband and I could barely keep up with the rent. He was shouldering all the bills, but soon it became clearwe needed help. So, we moved in with my mother-in-law. For me, it was humiliating, but we had no choice.
Right from the start, living under her roof was a nightmare. Nothing I did pleased hernot my cooking, my cleaning, even the way I spoke. And every time I dared to push back, shed hit me with the same line:
*”If you dont like it, youre free to pack your bags and leave.”*
I bit my tongue, swallowed my anger, but inside, it was simmering. Then came the day my patience finally snapped.
It was her birthday. She insisted *I* cook the entire mealwanted to show off to her best mates how her daughter-in-law could whip up a feast. I played along, not wanting a scene. Bought the finest ingredients, spent the whole day in the kitchen, and made a proper spaghetti bolognese.
When her friends arrived, everything seemed fine at first. They smiled, laughed, even complimented my cooking. For a second, I wondered if Id been too harsh about them. But then I stepped into the kitchen and overheard their whispers.
What I heard sent me storming back into the dining room, grabbing the nearest plate of pasta, and dumping it straight onto her head. She burst into tears instantly, while her mates cackled even louder.
I glared at them, fury boiling over, and shouted:
*”Thats what you get, you miserable old bat! And as for you lotif youre not here to clean spaghetti off her head, get out of this house right now!”*
They fell silent, eyes down, and scurried out like startled hens.
Now, let me tell you *exactly* what they saidand why I snapped.
I heard my mother-in-law hissing:
*”Wont be long now. Ive made her life hell, and my plans nearly done.”*
One of her friends added:
*”My daughter still fancies your son. Shes waiting for him to divorce. Dont worry, hell forget this one quick enough.”*
Another smirked:
*”What if the girl gets pregnant? He wont leave her then. Whatll you do?”*
But the worst part? My mother-in-laws reply:
*”Oh, thats no trouble. Ive been slipping pills into her foodmake sure she *cant* get pregnant. My boy shouldnt be tied to a useless woman like her.”*
Those words hit harder than a slap. So I marched back in and served her a hot plate of revengespaghetti style.
The next day, my husband and I packed our bags and left. We havent spoken to her since.
