A Gift with a Side of Criticism: How the Mother-in-Law Tried to Spoil the Birthday
Penny had spent the entire day bustling around the kitchen—after all, it was her birthday. Everything had to be perfect: the salads, the starters, the main course. By early evening, the guests began arriving: her parents, her best mates, and, of course, her mother-in-law, Margaret Whitmore. The ladies happily pitched in, arranging dishes and setting the table. The evening promised warmth and laughter—until Margaret seized her moment.
“My dear daughter-in-law,” she began with a strained smile. “Happy birthday! To mark this special occasion, I’ve got something for you…” She stepped forward and handed Penny an envelope.
Penny opened it with a grin, but her face fell when she saw the contents—a voucher for a cooking class.
“I do hope you’ll finally learn to cook properly,” Margaret said, her voice dripping with frosty disapproval. “So next year, we won’t have to suffer through another meal.”
The room went silent. Penny stood rooted to the spot.
“Are you serious? You couldn’t even hold back on my birthday?”
“Easy now,” interjected William. “Sit down. I’ll handle this.”
He steered his mother into the kitchen. Nobody heard what was said behind that closed door, but Margaret soon left—taking the voucher with her. An awkward hush lingered over the table, though the guests eventually loosened up. Toasts were raised—to health, love, and, pointedly, patience.
By the end of the night, only Penny’s closest friends remained. The festive mood had fizzled.
“Pen, is your cooking really that bad?” asked Tanya.
“Come off it, I’m no Michelin chef, but it’s edible. Margaret just thinks if her precious boy isn’t at the stove, it’s rubbish.”
“Has she actually tried your food?” gasped Imogen.
“Hardly ever. Usually decides it’s awful before she even tastes it.”
And that’s when the plan took shape. Penny decided to run an experiment—to prove the problem wasn’t her cooking, but pure bias.
She and William hatched the scheme. He prepared the meal while Penny passed it off as her own. When Margaret arrived for dinner, she marched in ready for battle—only to be disarmed by the sight of a proper Sunday roast, perfectly plated.
“Well,” she muttered. “Suppose those lessons paid off.”
She took a bite. Even managed a grudging compliment.
“Not bad. Still not up to William’s standards, mind you, but at least the money wasn’t wasted.”
That’s when William pulled out his phone, queued up a video, and set it in front of her.
On screen, he was cooking the very meal she’d just praised.
“Mum, I’ve had enough of you belittling Penny. Tonight, you enjoyed *my* cooking. Which means you *can* like it. If you’re just determined to put her down, that stops now. No more complaints about her meals.”
Margaret went sheet-white.
“She’s turning you against me! I raised you better than this!”
“Mum, enough. You’re pushing me away, and it’s your own fault.”
She stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Months passed. No calls, no messages. William didn’t budge either. But eventually, Margaret caved—realizing she was losing her son. She rang, apologised. Slowly, she and Penny found a truce. The snide remarks didn’t vanish entirely, but they came far less often. Penny learned to let them roll off her back—for the sake of peace.
In the end, even the staunchest forts crumble when the truth stares you in the face.
