When my mother-in-law moved in during her home renovation, I thought the constant criticism of my cooking was bad enough. But when my meals started vanishing while my husband and I were at work, and she denied being the culprit, I knew I had to find a way to expose her.
A few months ago, my mother-in-law, Gwendolyn, decided to renovate her house, starting with her kitchen. She ripped out perfectly good cabinets and tore up the old linoleum floor without thinking twice.
Construction worker demolishing a kitchen for renovation | Source: Midjourney
The issue is that she didn’t bother to budget for any of this chaos. The renovation turned into a money pit quickly. Even worse, the contractor kept finding new problems, adding expenses left and right. Additionally, some of their work required her to be away, as it was dangerous for her health.
Unfortunately, her bank account was drying up faster than a puddle in the desert.
My husband, Sammy, and I sat at our kitchen table, staring at his phone as she explained this little situation. First, she detailed all the new things she was adding to the renovation, like a better sink, and then she revealed what she wanted from us.
Construction worker pointing at something during a renovation | Source: Midjourney
“I just can’t possibly afford a hotel while the work gets done,” Gwendolyn said, using just the perfect amount of desperation in her voice to convince Sammy. “And you know how sensitive my sinuses are. I simply can’t stay in one of those budget motels.”
Just as I expected, my husband gave me that pleading puppy-dog look he always got when his mother needed something. With a deep breath, I nodded. “Of course, Gwendolyn, you can stay with us,” I said, already regretting the words as they left my mouth.
Man in his 30s with a pleading look sitting at a kitchen table where there’s a phone | Source: Midjourney
“Oh, wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I knew I could count on my darling boy. And you too, of course, Paulina.”
After she hung up, I told Sammy I wanted to set some ground rules in writing. I wanted to protect us. Luckily, he agreed. I printed out some boundaries and stipulations for her stay and asked her to sign them.
Gwendolyn wasn’t too pleased about signing anything, but she didn’t have another option. Besides, we figured her stay would be a few weeks, tops. But, oh boy, were we wrong.
Woman holds pen while reading a paper that says “Rules” | Source: Midjourney
The weeks stretched into months, with no end to the renovation in sight. Each update from the contractor brought new delays and complications.
But that wouldn’t be a problem if Gwendolyn’s attitude wasn’t so terrible. From the moment she arrived with her four massive suitcases, it was like living with a critical, nitpicking tornado.
Nothing I did was good enough. Every meal I cooked became an opportunity for her to remind me of my apparent shortcomings, and she always managed to do it when Sammy wasn’t around.
Woman in her 30s standing in a kitchen looking upset while an older woman in the background holds dishes | Source: Midjourney
One evening, I’d spent hours making a pot roast with all the trimmings. The kitchen smelled amazing, and I’d even used my grandmother’s secret recipe. After I turned off the stove, Gwendolyn peered into the pot and wrinkled her nose.
“Oh dear,” she said, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Are you sure that’s cooked through? Poor Sammy, having to live with someone like you! How can anyone eat THIS?” She shook her head slowly. “In my day, we knew how to properly care for our husbands.”
Woman in her 50s looking down at a pot on the stove in the kitchen with disgust | Source: Midjourney
I gripped the mixing spoon so tight my knuckles turned white. “The meat thermometer says it’s perfect,” I replied through clenched teeth.
“Well, those things aren’t always reliable,” she sniffed, poking at the meat with a fork. “And really, Paulina, did you have to use so much garlic? Sammy won’t like it.”
Actually, this was one of my husband’s favorite dishes, but I let it go. It was easier. But eventually, her nagging about housework pushed me to my breaking point.
Pot roast cooking on a stove with a meat thermometer | Source: Midjourney
It happened during yet another dinner where she’d spent 20 minutes describing how her bridge club friend Martha made the same dish, only “so much more flavorful.”
“If you don’t like my cooking,” I said, setting down my fork with a small clatter, “then you’re more than welcome to buy your own groceries and make your own meals.”
I expected World War III to break out right there in our dining room. Instead, Gwendolyn dabbed her lips with her napkin and smiled. “What a wonderful idea,” she said sweetly. “I’ll start tomorrow.”
Woman in her 50s dabs napkin on mouth during dinner | Source: Midjourney
I frowned but continued eating.
For a few days, everything seemed fine. We had separate shelves in the fridge and separate cabinets for dry goods. But then things started getting weird.
I’d come home from work, exhausted and starving, only to find that the leftovers I was counting on for dinner had vanished into thin air.
The first time it happened, I thought I was losing my mind. The roast chicken I’d meal-prepped the night before was gone. Even the fruit bowl I’d filled that morning was almost empty.
Cut up fruit in a bowl in a fridge | Source: Midjourney
My husband and I were both working long hours at our jobs, so there was only one possible culprit. But every time I tried to bring it up, Gwendolyn denied eating anything.
One evening a few days later, after discovering my leftover piece of lasagna gone, I cornered her in the kitchen. “I’ve noticed that the food I cook keeps disappearing,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Do you have any explanation for that?”
Again, she had the same excuse. “You must be imagining things. You and Sammy probably just ate it and forgot,” she said, patting my hand condescendingly.
Woman in her 50s patting the hand of a woman in her 30s in the kitchen | Source: Midjourney
I knew it was her and considered why she might be hiding it. Perhaps, her money issues were worse than I thought, and she was too proud to say anything.
Well, she wasn’t too proud to live with us this long while insulting everything I did, so I shook off any sympathy I felt and focused on how I could find proof of her stealing.
That’s when I remembered her allergy to nuts and lactose intolerance. As any good host, I had gotten rid of nuts and bought oat milk for the duration of her stay, but enough was enough.
view from the top, a cinematic, dramatic photograph of a 50-year-old woman’s hands patting a younger woman’s hand, background is a kitchen counter, afternoon light, vivid colors –ar 3:2
I ran a quick errand later, stopping by the grocery store on my way home.
The next morning, I got up early and made a special casserole that I knew smelled too delicious to resist.
Into it went a generous amount of real heavy cream and a healthy sprinkle of crushed cashews. Still, I wrote a big label in red marker: “DANGER! Contains nuts and dairy!” and stuck it right on top of the dish.
I also told her about it. “Don’t eat this,” I warned Gwendolyn before leaving for work. “It will make you sick!”
Woman in her 30s in work clothes in the kitchen pointing at someone like a warning | Source: Midjourney
She barely looked up from her morning paper. “For the last time, I’m not the one touching your food,” she replied with a sniff. “Remember, we agreed to keep things separate.”
I nodded, but I knew she would eat it. When I got home later that day, the scene that greeted me was hilarious, but I had to contain my amusement.
Gwendolyn stood in our kitchen, practically vibrating with rage. Her face had turned an alarming shade of red, and angry hives covered her whole body, which she kept scratching frantically.
Woman in her 50s with red hives on her face from an allergy in the kitchen | Source: Midjourney
Meanwhile, I set my purse down on the counter, taking my time. “My goodness,” I said calmly. “What’s going on here?”
She whirled around, pointing a shaky finger at the half-empty casserole dish. “You!” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “You tried to kill me with that food!”
“But I thought you said you didn’t eat my meals?” I asked, tilting my head slightly. “Also, I warned you. Did you even read the label?”
The look of realization that crossed her face was priceless. Her eyes widened in horror as she fumbled in her purse for her EpiPen. She quickly injected it into her thigh.
Woman in her 50s holding prescription anti-allergen medication in the living room | Source: Midjourney
A second later, Sammy walked in. As he loosened his tie, he looked from his red-faced, panicked mother to me and frowned. “What’s all the commotion?” he asked.
“Your wife,” Gwendolyn gasped out between wheezes, “tried to kill me!”
Shaking my head, I explained everything calmly. “I made a casserole with nuts and dairy. I labeled it clearly and warned her not to eat it because I know about her dietary restrictions. She still did it.”
I pointed to the label, still stuck to the container.
Container of food on top of kitchen counter that says “Danger, contains nuts and dairy” | Source: Midjourney
Before Sammy could respond, Gwendolyn let out a groan and clutched her stomach. She bolted for the bathroom, leaving us standing in the kitchen.
“I’ll sue you for this!” her voice carried through the bathroom door. “You deliberately tried to poison me!”
When she finally emerged, looking pale and disheveled, I was ready. I pulled the document she had signed months earlier from one of the kitchen drawers.
A woman in her 30s is holding a folded paper that reads “Rules” | Source: Midjourney
“I think you’ve forgotten about our first agreement, the one you signed when you came here,” I said, holding it up. “We weren’t charging you rent, but you agreed to split the utilities, and,” I paused for effect, “not to touch our food or groceries unless we were having dinner together.”
I pointed to the clause in question, which she’d initialed herself.
Woman in her 30s pointing at a piece of paper in her hands in the living room | Source: Midjourney
“At first, we shared meals because it was nice to sit together and have the same food,” I continued, raising one eyebrow at her. “But you decided you didn’t like anything I made, so this rule had to be followed.”
“But–” she blubbered, but Sammy chimed in.
“Mom, she’s right. You agreed,” he said, crossing his arms. “Paulina has been more than nice, even though you’ve been difficult. Admit it was your fault for not heeding her warning, and from now on, stop eating our food unless we specifically want to share.”
Man in his 30s with arms crossed looking disappointed in the living room | Source: Midjourney
Gwendolyn’s face turned an even brighter shade of red… this time from shame. She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again, but no words came out.
Then, she stomped to the spare room and stayed there until morning. Surprisingly, her house renovations magically sped up after that incident, and she was out of our house in only a week.
During that time, though, she didn’t complain at all. She barely talked to us. She made her own meals, and we even shared some dinners, where I assured her that nuts and dairy weren’t involved.
Woman in her 50s in the kitchen cutting ingredients with concentration | Source: Midjourney
One time, Gwendolyn actually complimented my chicken with caramelized onions. “This is… good,” she’d said grudgingly, grabbing another serving.
I smiled, a little proud of myself. Maybe, you were never too old to learn a good lesson.
The day she left, she surprised me with a hug and a quiet, “Thank you, Paulina. For everything.”
I smiled and told her she could visit any time. We would always be there to help. Just for the record, I wasn’t proud of what had to be done to get to that point. But you have to stand up for yourself, especially with relatives who can’t appreciate what you do for them.
Woman in her 30s on the front porch waving with a smile | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
Poor Man Houses Family in His Old Trailer during Storm, Finds Dozen of Boxes near Home Next Day – Story of the Day
Adam and his family sit down for dinner with the radio on—only to be interrupted by a severe weather warning. As the night progresses, the storm worsens, forcing the family to take refuge in the dilapidated trailer in their yard.
Adam took out bowls from the cabinet to set the table for dinner. In their modest kitchen, Maggie, his wife, was perfecting a fish stew on their two-plate stove.
“Parsley with fish stew, yes or no?” she asked.
“Yes, my mom used either parsley or coriander,” Adam replied.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
Maggie reached for the parsley in the yellow pot on the windowsill. She loved growing her herbs and vegetables. She called it her weekend hobby. But Adam knew the real reason was that they would always have some fresh vegetables she could cook for their meals. That way, their family would always have food.
He set the table and took out some bread, listening to the laughter from the kids’ room.
Adam smiled, then winced, remembering his twisted ankle from work. He worried about his boots that had landed in a puddle of water at the construction site; he needed them dry for work, or he’d be in the office room, doing paperwork, and face reduced hours and pay. He also needed to buy Maggie’s epilepsy medication.
“Dinner is ready. Can you get the kids?” Maggie asked, distracting him from his thoughts.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
“Of course. Maybe we can listen to some music during dinner?”
Maggie smiled and turned on the radio.
In the kids’ room, Emma, 8, was lying on her bed, and Charlie, 5, was coloring a dinosaur drawing.
“Did Emma draw that?” Adam asked Charlie.
“I did, Dad,” Emma said, sitting upright. “I finished my homework early and drew it for Charlie so he can color it.”
Adam praised her effort and called them to dinner, reminding them to wash their hands first.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
In the kitchen, Maggie had served the stew and bread. She lit two candles, making the simple setup a little special for their children. Adam watched her steady herself against a chair.
“Are you okay, Mommy?” Emma asked as she sat down.
“I am,” Maggie replied. “It’s just been a very long day, and I’m ready for bed.” She went back into the kitchen to get a pitcher of water.
“But you have to eat first, Mommy!” Charlie said, breaking off a piece of bread.
“And that’s exactly what Mom is going to do,” Adam said firmly. The last time she skipped a meal, her blood pressure had dropped so low that Adam had to take her to the clinic.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“Are you okay?” he asked Maggie.
“I just feel this intense pressure in my head,” she said. “The last time this happened, there was that huge storm. So, we’re probably going to get a storm tonight. That’s all.”
Adam believed her–after Maggie was diagnosed with epilepsy, she had read most of the books in the town’s library related to it. And since then, she has become really good at managing it. If Adam had to think about it, she had very few seizures since she started her epilepsy research.
“But you’re feeling fine, otherwise?”
“Yes. I’ll just have to be careful if there’s any lightning, that’s all,” she said, returning to the table.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
“So, tell us about school,” Maggie asked the kids as she sat down.
“I have an upcoming science project. We can make a tornado or a volcano,” Emma said.
“Dad, how do we make a tornado?” she asked Adam.
“We could try to make a structure out of steel wool,” he suggested. He always enjoyed doing projects with the kids.
As they ate, rain began, and the radio’s music was interrupted by a severe weather warning.
“A tornado warning is in effect…take cover immediately. Stay indoors. Do not go outside. Keep windows closed shut. This is a dangerous and unpredictable situation, folks.”
Maggie and Adam exchanged worried glances, concerned about their weak roof.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
“Dad, what’s happening?” Emma asked.
“There’s a storm warning, but we’re prepared,” Maggie told Emma.
They finished dinner in silence.
***
Adam looked outside the kitchen window at the intensifying rain. “At least my head predicted this one,” Maggie quipped, washing dishes.
Adam was concerned about the roof and his ankle pain.
“We’ll be fine, Adam,” Maggie said, noticing his worried expression. “We just need to keep the children calm.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
Adam glanced outside again, noting the worsening weather conditions. He needed to hold a family meeting immediately.
***
“Okay, family meeting,” Adam said, sitting beside his children. “We’re going to sleep in our clothes tonight, not pajamas.”
“Why?” Charlie asked.
“You heard the weatherman,” Adam replied. “We need to be ready for anything.”
“Exactly,” Maggie added.
A few hours later, Maggie and Adam had gotten the children into their most comfortable but warm clothes and were asleep in their bedroom. Maggie wanted the whole family to sleep in one room.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Adam awoke in the middle of the night and walked around the house. The power had gone out a while ago, so he used his old, reliable flashlight. He was grateful for the fact that Maggie was asleep with the children as well. He wasn’t sure how they would handle Maggie having a seizure at this moment when the thunder and lightning had started.
As Adam stepped into the children’s bedroom, he could hear dripping. He raised his flashlight at the ceiling and noticed a growing leak. “Damn it,” he muttered, placing a bucket under the leak. But the situation was bad. The roof could collapse at any moment.
Waking Maggie, he showed her the worsening situation. “We have to get out, right?” Maggie asked, alarmed.
“I’ll clear out the trailer,” Adam decided as Maggie gathered food and water.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Adam braved the storm to reach the trailer, struggling against the wind and rain. Once inside, he began preparing it as a temporary shelter.
Adam had received the run-down trailer from a friend. He wanted to fix it for family road trips but didn’t have the money for it. Over time, the trailer became storage for tools and miscellaneous items.
While trying to make space for his family, Adam noticed the mold inside the trailer. He didn’t want to bring his kids into such an environment, but he didn’t have a choice. His ankle pain worsened due to the rain and cold, but he kept going.
Meanwhile, Maggie watched him clear the clutter from their trailer. She knew he was in pain from a swollen ankle. When Adam returned, they awoke Emma and Charlie and rushed to the trailer.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
Adam, shielding Emma from the rain, led the way. Maggie followed with Charlie. Adam then returned to the house for towels, clothes, and other necessities.
In the trailer, Maggie made the beds while Emma and Charlie watched the storm.
“Come here,” she called them.
“When Dad comes,” Emma said, pouting.
Maggie couldn’t blame them. Although the house was just across the lawn, having been in the wind and rain had made them realize the severity of the situation.
***
“There he is!” Emma exclaimed as Adam returned, soaked.
Adam, in pain, struggled with his boots. Maggie helped him take them off, wishing she could do more. The family settled in as the storm raged.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
After his family fell asleep, Adam watched their house succumb to the storm. There was nothing he could do to save their home. Seated in the driver’s seat, he dozed off.
The next morning, the rain was gone, and the sun shone brightly. Adam and Maggie looked out of the trailer at their damaged home.
“We’ll fix it,” Adam reassured Maggie, despite financial worries.
“Where is the roof?” Emma asked, seeing the damage.
“It was the storm, honey,” Adam explained.
“Adam, what’s that?” Maggie asked, pointing to a pile of boxes sitting right next to the trailer door, covered by a tarp.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
Adam opened the boxes one by one and found water, food, and essentials. He even found painkillers in one of the boxes.
Meanwhile, Maggie found a message among the supplies, and it read:
“The library was untouched by the storm. Come here when you’re ready,” it said.
Deciding to investigate, the family walked to the library. When they arrived, they saw people milling around. Inside were tables set up with different items if people needed them. There was a play area for kids, too.
“I was so worried,” Diane, Maggie’s friend and the librarian, said as she approached them. “I heard that your side of town was hit the most by the storm!”
“It was pretty bad,” Maggie told her. “We stayed in the trailer until it calmed down. But we saw that most of our roof had caved in this morning.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Unsplash
“Oh no!” Diane exclaimed, clutching Maggie’s hand.
“I’m going to take the kids to the play area,” Adam told them and took them away.
“Adam is really stressed out by the whole thing,” Maggie said.
“I understand,” Diane told her. “Did you get the boxes?”
“That was you?” Maggie asked, holding onto her hand tighter.
“Yes, but I asked my son to drop it off because I had to set up here,” Diane explained.
“Thank you, Di,” Maggie said.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Maggie’s eyes welled up. Having someone looking out for them meant that Maggie and Adam could take a moment to breathe. They could sit back knowing their children were safe in the library, surrounded by adults and other children in the same situation. And for that, Maggie was grateful.
“Listen, I know you’re probably stressed about where to go,” Diane said. “But you must know that my home is open to your family. And it’s not just a temporary place until you find something else. You can stay for as long as you need, Maggie. I mean it.”
Maggie nodded and pulled Diane into a hug.
“I wouldn’t know how to thank you,” Maggie said against Diane’s hair.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“You could help me cook,” Diane said, grinning. “You know I hate cooking.”
Maggie laughed.
Meanwhile, Emma and Charlie found other children from their school and ran to play in the library area dedicated to them. Adam stood alone, watching them and grinning when a nurse approached him.
“Sir, do you need anything?” she asked.
“Uh,” he paused. “Actually, yes. My ankle,” he said. “I twisted it at work yesterday, and I’ve been on my feet ever since. Do you think you can look at it?”
“Of course, come with me,” she said.
Adam let himself be led by the nurse to another corner of the library where the medical supplies were. She examined his ankle.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“Oh, boy,” she said. “This must hurt.”
“Like hell,” he agreed.
After the nurse had taken care of Adam’s ankle, she released him with strict instructions. “I know you want to get to your wife and children, fine. But find them and sit down,” she said.
Adam thanked her and left.
When he found Maggie, she was sipping on some tea with Diane.
“Adam, Diane brought the boxes,” she said.
“Diane,” he said, sitting down next to them. “Thank you. But how can we repay you?”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“By staying with me until your home is sorted. My son is leaving to return to university on Monday, so I’ll be alone again. Your family will bring my home some joy.”
Adam smiled and took her hand. “Thank you,” he said. “Truly.”
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If you enjoyed reading this story, you might like this one about a couple who brought home their adopted son only to find him nursing a strange baby in his room the next day.
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