When I married Jake, I thought I’d escape the mother-in-law horror stories. I’m Lily, and I was sure his mom, Susan, and I would get along. How wrong I was. At first, Susan was all warmth—hugs and smiles—but her eyes had a spark of mischief. She was tolerable, but with a hint of trouble. For years, I kept our contact minimal, which kept the peace. As a new wife, I tried to win her over, cooking family dinners and hosting gatherings. But Susan’s sharp remarks and fake compliments stung, though Jake never noticed. To him, she was just being Mom.
After our wedding, we left for a dreamy honeymoon, trusting Susan with our apartment keys to check the mail. Our place was our pride, decorated with love and a few IKEA struggles. When we got back, my heart sank. The kitchen was a mess—pots jumbled, utensils misplaced. The living room felt like a stranger’s house, rearranged completely. Worst of all, precious photos and keepsakes were gone, even some personal items. I cried, showing Jake. He was furious about the invasion. He called Susan, who claimed she was “just organizing.” Her tears fooled Jake, but I saw her true colors.
Jake suggested we fix the apartment, tackling the kitchen himself. But Susan hadn’t taught him how to organize, and it was chaos. That’s when I realized this was about control, not help. One day, while Jake was out, Susan stopped by. Her smug grin said she loved the havoc she’d caused. That smile lit a fire in me. I don’t usually seek revenge, but I waited for my moment. A week later, Susan got sick and landed in the hospital—nothing serious, but enough to keep her away. Jake got her house keys, and I saw my chance.
I made a copy of her key, telling myself it was a backup. While Jake was busy, I took time off work and slipped into Susan’s house. It felt risky, but I was ready. I rearranged her kitchen, tossing out old dishes as a “favor.” I shuffled her closets, moved pictures, and tweaked her bathrooms, but left the living room alone to avoid suspicion. When we brought Susan home, I played the caring daughter-in-law. “I cleaned your mom’s place for a fresh start,” I told Jake. He was touched, clueless about my plan. We spent the day cleaning her house, then drove to pick her up.
Susan looked weak but sharp. At her house, she froze, eyeing the living room. “Where are my photos?” she snapped. Jake looked confused. “What, Mom?” I said calmly, “We just cleaned, Susan.” She stormed to the kitchen, yelling, “What did you do?” Jake said, “We just mopped and dusted.” I offered tea, but she shouted, “Stay out of my kitchen!” I told Jake, “Maybe I’m upsetting her. I’ll go.” He nodded, puzzled. As I left, I gave Susan that same smug nod. She knew. Later, Jake said she accused me of wrecking her house. I acted worried, saying, “Maybe her memory’s slipping.” He sighed, agreeing it was tough for her. Driving home, I wondered if I’d gone too far. But Susan’s meddling was about power. Sometimes, you have to push back. Was I wrong? What would you do?
