Emma Hid a Recorder in Her Mother-in-Laws House to Listen to Her Conversations
Emma and James had been married for two blissfulwell, mostly blissfulyears. They adored each other, but tension simmered thanks to Emmas increasingly frosty relationship with her mother-in-law, Margaret Thompson.
Emma was the picture of sweetness, always bending over backwards to please, especially when it came to her new family. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, she couldnt shake the feeling that Margarets polite smiles hid thinly veiled disdain. The older woman never outright criticised her, but the sharp glances, pointed silences, and backhanded compliments left Emma feeling like an unwelcome guest. Every Sunday roast ended with her fighting back tears.
James, Im certain your mother hates me, she confessed one evening, her voice wobbling.
Her husband sighed, setting down his newspaper. Not this again, love. Shes just reserved. You know how tough it was raising me alone after Dad passed.
I get that, but why do I feel like shes slagging me off the moment I leave?
Youre imagining things, James insisted.
Im not! Remember when she was whispering to your Aunt Patricia? She called me clumsy and said I wasnt her cup of tea!
James rubbed his temples. You dont even know if she was talking about you. How about we catch a film tomorrow?
But Emma wasnt having it. She *knew* Margaret looked down on her family, even if shed never say it to her face.
After yet another agonising family dinner, she decided enough was enough. On her next visit, she smuggled in a voice recorderpurchased months earlier for uni lecturesand tucked it discreetly between tea towels in the kitchen. She played the dutiful daughter-in-law, helping with the washing-up, none the wiser.
The next day, she returned under the guise of forgetting her scarf and snatched back the device. Hands shaking, she played the recording for James that evening.
Listen to this, she said, pressing play.
What is it? A Dictaphone? James frowned.
At first, just domestic sounds: the kettle boiling, cutlery clinking, mindless small talk. Then came Margarets voice, sharp as a knife, on the phone:
I dont know what my son sees in her! She cant even make a proper roast! And her familygoodness, their tea tastes like dishwater! Her mothers as scatterbrained as she is!
The recording went on, each barb worse than the last. When it ended, Emma stared at James, eyes blazing.
See? I was right.
James shifted uncomfortably. His mother was out of line, but he couldnt condone Emmas tactics. Shes always been blunt Maybe it was just a bad day.
Blunt?! Emma scoffed. You call insulting my family *blunt*? If you wont stand up for me, weve got bigger problems. She stormed out, leaving him shell-shocked.
Hours later, he rang his mother. You need to apologise to Emma.
SHE RECORDED ME?! Margaret shrieked. Ill report her to the police! And her universitysneaky little snake!
Mum, stop! James cut in. Do you even hear yourself?
Oh, I hear perfectly! That girls banned from this house! And youtaking her side over mine? Well settle this tomorrow! She hung up. James tried calling back, but shed turned her phone off.
He rushed to her house, but she refused to open the door.
Realising her plan to drive them apart, James chose his wife. Over the next weeks, he visited Margaret sparingly, putting his marriage first. Fuming, his mother retaliated by banning Emma and gossiping to the neighbours.
But James had stopped listening.
