A Terrifying Discovery in Mother-in-Laws Pot
Mother-in-law peeked into the pot and let out a horrified scream
Margaret woke at dawn and, as usual, made her way to the kitchen of her home in the outskirts of Manchester. To her surprise, her daughter-in-law was already bustling by the stove.
“Good morning,” smiled Anastasia, stirring something in the pot.
“Morning,” grumbled Margaret, wrinkling her nose. “What are you making?”
“Pea and mint soup,” replied her daughter-in-law without looking up. “Oliver adores it.”
“Pea and mint soup?” The mother-in-law sniffed suspiciously. “Does it normally smell like this?”
“How should it smell, then?” Anastasia shrugged, covered the pot, and left the kitchen.
Margaret wasted no time. She rushed to the stove, lifted the lid, and peered inside. What she saw made her gasp in horror.
“What on earth is this concoction?” she muttered, stepping back as if it were poison.
Anastasia returned with bowls and, noticing her mother-in-laws reaction, calmly explained,
“Its pea and mint soup, Margaret. The vegetables are from our gardenfreshly picked. Cooking with homegrown produce feels like a celebration.”
“A celebration?” scoffed the mother-in-law, crossing her arms. “That garden is nothing but a chore! Wasting time digging in the dirt when you could buy everything at the supermarket? I dont understand you.”
“I enjoy it,” Anastasia replied softly as she ladled the soup. The scent of mint, peas, and spring onions filled the kitchen. “The earth gives so much energy when you work with it.”
“Energy?” Margaret rolled her eyes. “Its a hobby for those with nothing better to do. Normal people” She cut herself off when she saw Anastasia still smiling, as if the jabs hadnt landed. “Whos all this for, then?”
“For us,” said her daughter-in-law. “For a few days. Oliver always has seconds.”
Margaret recoiled dramatically, as if the soups aroma made her ill.
“I wont eat this!” she declared. “The smell alone turns my stomach! What on earth did you put in it?”
Anastasia sighed, avoiding her mother-in-laws gaze. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Oliver entering the kitchen, watching silently.
Margaret couldnt fathom what had happened to her son. Just two years ago, Oliver had been a promising young IT professional in the city. Theyd visited galleries together, discussed new restaurants, dreamed of his career. Now, this countryside life, this garden, this plain Anastasia! Even her name made her bristle with irritation.
Oliver had always been a catchtall, clever, charming. How many well-bred girls had sighed over him! Why had he chosen this country girl and this little house in the middle of nowhere? Margaret hoped hed grow bored and return to the city. But months passed, and Oliver only sank deeper into this “rural idyll.”
She decided to act. Anastasias invitation was the perfect opportunity. The mother-in-law had a plan: remind her son who he truly was and pull him out of this countryside life before it was too late.
Oliver walked in, wrapped an arm around his wife, and turned to his mother.
“Mum, try the soup. Anastasia makes it perfectly!”
“Oliver, you know your father and I never ate these rustic soups,” Margaret retorted. “I remember you turning your nose up at pea soup as a boy. You called it old peoples food.”
Anastasia smiled despite herself, picturing a young Oliver pushing his bowl away. But now he was a man, and his tastes had changed.
“Mum, times change,” he replied, laughing. “Anastasias soup is a masterpiece. Try ityoull see.”
“A masterpiece?” The mother-in-law spluttered. “Oliver, you call a pot of peas a masterpiece? Real masterpieces are in theatres, in museumsnot in this slop!”
But as Oliver took a hearty spoonful, his contentment was undeniable. Margaret finally understood: happiness isnt found in grand gestures or perfect pedigrees. Sometimes, its simmering quietly in a humble pot, waiting to be shared.
