Changing the Locks to Keep My Mother-in-Law Out
Guess what? We 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 a year now, and his mother still hasnt accepted that he made a choice that didnt fit her grand plan. Shed dreamt of him marrying some billionaires daughter so he could live in luxury and take her along for the ride. Where she got these ideas, Ill never know. The truth is, were just like any young couplemodest incomes, careful budgeting, and saving up for our first car. Were comfortable, not starving, but certainly not rolling in wealth.
But she refuses to face reality. Instead, shes been creatively sabotaging our marriagesmearing lipstick on his shirts, dousing his clothes in perfume, even planting condoms in my handbag. Every time, it led to arguments and suspicion before we figured out it was her doing. The damage lingered, though.
Recently, my husband had to spend a few months in Manchester to set up a new office branch. A great career move, so we agreed. He left, I stayed, and everything was fineuntil I started noticing odd things. Objects moved, cupboards rummaged through. At first, I thought hed popped in to grab something, but when I called, he swore he hadnt been back. An hour later, he rang again, voice grim. He rememberedbefore his trip, hed given his mum our spare keys just in case and forgotten to ask for them back.
The next day, I took leave from work and had the locks changed immediately. I warned my husbandif he handed out our keys again, hed be sleeping on the doorstep. That evening, nothing was disturbed. So it *was* her. I searched the flat and found a tiny camera hidden on a shelf.
I called my husband straight away. He went silent, then burst out laughingutter madness. I checked the rest of the place, but thankfully, that was it. No drama, just his promise to handle it when he got back.
Then, of course, his mum called the next day. She mustve realised her key didnt work and asked if I was home so she could drop in for tea. I said no, but wed catch up soon. Half an hour later, my husband textedshed complained to him that I was who-knows-where and the house was empty.
We started joking about it, even placing bets on her next excuse to get inside. She didnt disappointdaily calls about a misdelivered parcel, forgotten glasses, or just bringing us pastries.
When my husband returned, she announced she was visiting. We were ready. She arrived with a bag of croissants, pretended to wash her hands, then darted straight to our bedroom. We followed, of course, and caught her rifling through the wardrobe. Stumbling over her words, she froze when my husband pulled the camera from his pocket.
Then came the meltdown. Screaming that I was cheating, lying, that he was blind to it all. She even threw in fake tears and a heart attack for good measure before storming out like some wronged saint.
Honestly, it was almost impressive. A performance like that, completely unrehearsed. But this was just one battle. I know the war isnt over. Still, we held our ground this time. Some lines shouldnt be crossedfamily doesnt mean free rein to meddle.
