**Diary Entry – 12th October**
Had to change the locks to stop my mother-in-law from treating our flat like her own.
My husband and I have been married for a year now. All this time, his mother has refused to accept that her son didn’t follow her grand plan. She’d dreamed of him marrying some tycoon’s daughter so he could live in luxury—and drag her along with him. Heaven knows where she got such ideas. In reality, we’re just an ordinary couple: we tightened our belts, took out a mortgage, and now live in my one-bed flat while renting out the new one. Next step, a car. Like most young couples—nothing extravagant, but we’re not on the breadline either.
Yet she clings to her fantasy, trying to wreck our marriage with increasingly mad schemes. Lipstick stains on his shirts, women’s perfume on his clothes, condoms “found” in my handbag—each time sparking rows and doubts. We always uncovered the truth, but the damage lingered.
A few weeks ago, my husband was sent to Manchester for two months to launch a new branch—a career boost we couldn’t turn down. Once he’d left, I settled back into routine. Until I noticed things out of place—wardrobes rummaged through. At first, I thought he’d popped back, as it’s not far, but he swore he hadn’t. An hour later, he rang again, grim. His mother still had a spare key—given to her “just in case” before a trip and never taken back.
Next morning, I took the day off and called a locksmith. Made it clear to my husband: hand out keys again, and he’d be sleeping on the landing. That evening, everything was untouched—proof it was her. I checked the wardobes and found a tiny camera hidden on the top shelf.
My husband went silent when I told him, then laughed hollowly—shock, I suppose. I turned the flat upside down but found nothing else. No drama yet; he asked me to wait till he got back to confront her.
The very next day, she called. The key didn’t work, so she “fancied popping round for tea.” I said I was out but we’d reschedule. Within half an hour, my husband rang—she’d already complained I was “gallivanting about” leaving the place empty.
We started joking about what excuse she’d try next. And she did, daily: a parcel wrongly delivered, her glasses left behind, or just “bringing some scones.”
When my husband returned, she announced a visit instantly. We waited. She handed over the scones, then made a beeline for the bedroom instead of the loo. We followed, catching her elbow-deep in the wardrobe. My husband pulled the camera from his pocket and held it up.
Then the performance began. She shrieked about my supposed affairs, called him blind, even clutched her chest like a tragic heroine before storming out in high dudgeon.
Honestly? I nearly gave her a standing ovation. Not a single rehearsal for that melodrama. But it’s just one battle. The war isn’t over. Still, I’m glad we stood our ground—our marriage isn’t her stage for absurdity.
**Lesson:**
