Some women get welcomed into their husband’s family with warmth. I got polite insults wrapped in fake smiles and backhanded compliments. Still, nothing prepared me for the betrayal I found waiting after one routine business trip.
I’m Megan, 33, and I work in corporate marketing.
I split my time between strategy meetings, business trips, and managing a team that’s mostly younger than me but somehow still calls me “mom.” I actually like my job. It gives me independence, and honestly, I worked my butt off to get here.
I’ve been married to Greg for four years now. He’s 36, works in finance, and somehow still can’t find the laundry hamper.
But he’s sweet, has a laugh that makes people laugh back, and has been my best friend since we were twenty-somethings fumbling through downtown L.A. dive bars.
But before you get too comfortable, let me tell you about his mom. Lori.
She’s the kind of woman who smiles without warmth.
You know the type: a smile that stretches too wide and lingers just a bit too long, like it’s painted on for show. She wears pastel cardigans, pearls to casual brunches, and always smells like jasmine and judgment. From the very beginning, she made her stance clear — I wasn’t good enough for her “perfect Gregory.”
It started subtly.
“Greg likes his shirts folded a certain way,” she’d say, while slowly pulling each one from the laundry basket I’d just finished.
She’d smooth them out like I’d crumpled them on purpose.
Another time, she sniffed at the roasted chicken I’d made and offered kindly, “You don’t really cook, do you? I can teach you how to make something edible. Greg always loved my lemon chicken.”
Thanks, Lori.
I’ll just go scream into the oven now.
At first, I let it roll off. I had a job, a life, friends, and a routine that didn’t revolve around getting her approval. I told myself: she’ll come around, eventually.
That was laughably naïve.
Apparently, my independence, along with the audacity to leave town for work, only made her hate me more.
Two months ago, I left for a two-week conference in Chicago. Before flying out, I did all the ‘good wife’ things. I prepped meals, left a schedule for our dog sitter, and even gave Lori our spare key, just in case there was an emergency.
Spoiler alert: there wasn’t an emergency.
But when I got back, something was off.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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