The past year has been the toughest of my life. After losing my job, my husband and I struggled to afford our flat. He carried all the expenses alone, but soon it became clear we needed help. We had to move in with my mother-in-law. For me, it was humiliating, but there was no choice.
From the start, living under her roof was a nightmare. She criticised everythingmy cooking, cleaning, even the way I spoke. Every time I dared to argue, shed snap, “If you dont like it, pack your bags and leave.”
I bit my tongue, but the anger festered. Then came the day my patience finally snapped.
It was her birthday. She insisted I cook dinner, bragging to her best friends about how her daughter-in-law would impress them. As usual, I avoided a scene. I bought quality ingredients, spent all day in the kitchen, and made spaghetti bolognese.
At first, everything seemed fine. Her friends smiled, laughed, and praised 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 storming back into the dining room. I grabbed a plate of spaghetti and dumped it over her head. She burst into tears while her friends cackled even louder.
I glared at them, my voice shaking with rage. “Thats what you deserve, you wretched woman! And as for you lotif you wont help pick the pasta out of her hair, get out of this house now!”
The laughter died. Eyes downcast, they scrambled for the door.
Heres what they saidand why I snapped. Share your thoughts below.
What I heard was my mother-in-law rasping, “It wont be much longer. Ive made her life hell, and my plans working.”
One friend chimed in, “My daughter still loves your son. Shes waiting for him to divorce. Dont worry, hell forget this wife soon enough.”
Another smirked, “What if the daughter-in-law gets pregnant? Hed never leave her then. Whats your plan?”
But the worst came from my mother-in-law herself. “Thats no trouble. Ive been slipping pills into her foodshe wont get pregnant. My son shouldnt waste his life on a useless woman.”
Those words hit harder than a slap. I marched back, grabbed the spaghetti, and let her have it.
The next day, my husband and I packed our things and left. We havent spoken to her since.
