We had to swap the locks just to keep my motherinlaw from treating our flat like her own home.
My husband and I have been married for a year now, and ever since his mother has struggled to accept that he chose a path that doesnt fit her script. Shed always imagined him marrying a billionaires daughter so he could live in luxury and drag her into that glittering world. Where those dreams come from is a mystery. In reality we earn a modest salary, we tightened our belt at the start and took out a loan. We moved from my studio into a new apartment were renting now. Our next target is a carjust like most young couples: no extravagance, but were not starving either.
My motherinlaw, however, refuses to face the facts and clings to her fantasies, determined to wreck our marriage. Her tactics are oddly inventive: she smeared lipstick on my husbands shirts, left his clothes scented with feminine perfume, and I kept finding condoms stuffed in my bag. Naturally it led to arguments, mistrust, and shouting matches. We always uncovered the trick, but the damage lingered.
A few weeks ago my husband had to relocate for a few months to open a new branch in another citya career boost we both welcomed. He left, I stayed, and everything seemed fine.
A couple of days later I started noticing odd thingsitems moved, cupboards rummaged through. At first I assumed hed stopped by to collect something, since the office isnt far. I called him; he was surprised and swore he hadnt returned. An hour later he called back, his tone grim. He suspected his mother. Before his trip hed handed her our keys just in case and completely forgotten to ask for them back.
The next day I took a day off and ordered new locks straight away. I warned my husband that if he handed the keys to anyone again, shed be sleeping on the hallway floor. That evening everything was back in its place, confirming it was indeed her. While checking the closets I stumbled upon a tiny hidden camera perched on a high shelf.
I rang my husband instantly. He was silent for a moment, then burst out laughingpure absurdity. I inspected the flat once more, but found nothing else. No scandal. He told me to wait for his return so he could deal with it himself.
And guess what? The following morning my motherinlaw called. Shed realized the keys no longer worked and wanted to get in, asking if I was home for a cup of tea. I told her I wasnt, but we could share a tea sometime. Half an hour later my husband told me she had complained to him, saying I was nowhere to be found and the house was empty.
We almost laughed at it. We started betting on what excuse shed use next to force her way in. She didnt disappoint: she called several times a dayabout a misdelivered package, her glasses left here, or just to bring us croissants.
When my husband finally came back, she announced she was coming for a visit. We waited. She arrived with a bag of croissants, pretended to wash her hands, 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 pulled the hidden camera from his pocket and showed it to her.
Thats when things exploded. She started shrieking 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 an offended martyr.
Honestly, I felt like applauding. The performance was flawless, no rehearsal needed. But it was just another battle. I know the war isnt over, yet this time we didnt back down. We made it clear: our family isnt a stage for absurd theatrics.
