I thought marrying Lucas would bring joy, but his mom, Diane, brought trouble instead. I’m Zoe, and I hoped we’d skip the mother-in-law drama. I was wrong. Diane was charming at first—hugs and smiles—but her eyes hinted at mischief. She was tolerable, but only barely. For years, I kept our contact minimal, which kept things calm. As a new wife, I tried to win her over, cooking meals and hosting family gatherings. But Diane’s sharp remarks and fake compliments cut deep, though Lucas never noticed. To him, she was just being herself.
After our wedding, we left for a blissful honeymoon, leaving Diane our apartment keys to check the mail. Our place was our sanctuary, built with love and a few IKEA fights. When we got back, my heart broke. The kitchen was a disaster—pots jumbled, utensils misplaced. The living room felt foreign, completely rearranged. Worst of all, precious photos and personal items were gone. I cried, showing Lucas. He was furious about the invasion. He called Diane, who claimed she was “just helping.” Her tears convinced Lucas, but I saw through her.
Lucas suggested we fix the apartment, tackling the kitchen himself. But Diane hadn’t taught him how to organize, and it was a mess. That’s when I realized this was about power, not care. One day, while Lucas was out, Diane stopped by. Her smug smile said she loved the chaos she’d caused. That grin lit a spark in me. I don’t usually seek revenge, but I waited for my moment. A week later, Diane got sick and landed in the hospital—not serious, but enough to keep her away. Lucas got her house keys, and I saw my chance.
I made a copy of her key, telling myself it was a precaution. While Lucas was busy, I took time off and slipped into Diane’s house. It felt daring, 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 Diane home, I played the caring daughter-in-law. “I cleaned your mom’s place,” I told Lucas. He was touched, clueless about my plan. We spent the day cleaning her house, then drove to pick her up.
Diane looked weak but sharp. At her house, she froze, eyeing the living room. “Where are my photos?” she snapped. Lucas looked puzzled. “What, Mom?” I said calmly, “We just cleaned, Diane.” She stormed to the kitchen, yelling, “What did you do?” Lucas said, “We just mopped and dusted.” I offered tea, but she shouted, “Stay out of my kitchen!” I told Lucas, “Maybe I’m upsetting her. I’ll go.” He nodded, confused. As I left, I gave Diane that same smug smile. She knew. Later, Lucas said she accused me of ruining her house. I acted worried, saying, “Maybe her memory’s slipping.” He sighed, agreeing. Driving home, I wondered if I’d gone too far. But Diane’s meddling was about control. Was I wrong? What would you do?
