We finally had to replace the locks to stop my motherinlaw from treating our flat like her own home.
My husband and I have been officially married for a year, and ever since his mother has struggled to accept that he chose a partner who doesnt fit the script she imagined. Shed always pictured him marrying a billionaires daughter, drifting in luxury, and pulling her into that golden world. Where those ambitions come from is a mystery. In reality we earn an ordinary wage, we tightened our belt at the start, took out a loan, live in my former studio and now rent a new apartment. Our next target is a carjust like most young couples: no extravagances, but not starving either.
My motherinlaw refuses to face the facts and clings to her fantasies, determined to sabotage our marriage. Her tactics are downright inventive: she smeared lipstick on my husbands shirts, left his clothes scented with feminine perfume, and I kept finding condoms in my purse. Of course this sparked arguments, suspicion, and shouting matches. We always uncovered the trick, but the damage lingered.
A few months ago my husband had to relocate temporarily to another city to launch a new brancha career opportunity we both accepted. He left, I stayed, and everything seemed to be running smoothly.
A few days later I noticed odd thingsobjects shifted, closets rummaged through. At first I assumed my husband had returned briefly to collect some belongings, since the city isnt far. I called him; he sounded surprised and swore he hadnt come back. An hour later he called back, his tone grim, suspecting his mother. Before his trip he had handed her our keys just in case and simply forgot to retrieve them.
The next day I took a day off and had the locks changed immediately. I warned my husband that if he handed the keys to anyone again, hed be sleeping on the hallway floor. By evening everything was back in its place, confirming it was indeed her. While searching the cupboards I discovered a tiny hidden camera perched on a high shelf.
I called my husband straight away. He was silent for a moment, then burst out laughingpure absurdity. I inspected the apartment for anything else, but found nothing. No scandal. He asked me to wait for his return so he could handle it himself.
The following morning my motherinlaw phoned, obviously realising the keys no longer worked and wanting to get in. She asked if I was home to drop by for tea. I replied I wasnt, but that we could share a cup sometime. Half an hour later my husband told me she had complained to him, claiming I was nowhere to be found and the house was empty.
We laughed about it, betting on what excuse shed use next to force entry. She didnt disappoint: she called several times a daypretending a misdelivered package, claiming she left her glasses at our place, or simply offering croissants.
When my husband finally returned, she announced, without preamble, that she was visiting. We waited for her. She arrived with a bag of croissants, pretended to head for the sink, then slipped straight into the bedroom. We followed, of course, and caught her rummaging through the wardrobe. She stammered when she saw us. My husband produced the hidden camera from his pocket and showed it to her.
Thats when things escalated. She started screaming that I was cheating, that I was lying to her son, that he was naïve. She even staged tears and a fake heart attack. In the end she stormed out, slamming the door like a wounded martyr.
Honestly, I wanted to applaud the performancea show without rehearsal. But it was just a battle. I know the war isnt over, yet this time we didnt back down. We made it clear that our family isnt a stage for absurd dramas.
