During a visit to her mother-in-law, Macy endures relentless mocking of her cooking, appearance, and how she treats her husband. When she finally stands up for herself, she becomes the villain. However, an unexpected find in her father’s house reveals reasons behind it all, changing her perspective.
On an empty road on a sunny holiday evening, a car cruised along. Inside, behind the wheel, was Chandler, a cheerful man with a perpetual smile on his face.
He was steering with one hand while carefully scrolling through his playlist with the other.
Concentrated on two tasks, his gaze constantly shifted between the road and the player. The bright sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow on his face.
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Next to him sat his wife, Macy. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, and her eyes stared straight ahead, avoiding Chandler.
Her face was a picture of irritation, her lips pressed into a thin line. The tension in the car was palpable, almost as if a cloud of unease hung over them.
After what seemed like ages, Chandler finally settled on a song. “Take Me Home, Country Roads” by John Denver filled the car.
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Chandler’s smile widened, and he nodded his head in time with the music.
“Almost Heaven…” he began to sing, glancing at Macy, hoping she would join in. His voice was warm and inviting, filled with the hope that the music might lighten her mood.
But Macy remained silent, her eyes fixed firmly on the passing scenery outside. Her irritation only seemed to deepen.
Seeing her reaction, Chandler, undeterred, turned up the volume a little, the familiar tune growing louder.
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Macy’s face tightened, and she turned away even more, pressing herself against the car door as if trying to escape the sound.
“Turn it down…” she muttered, her voice barely audible over the music.
Chandler wasn’t ready to give up. He took a deep breath and sang even louder, “Country roads, take me home, to the place I belong…”
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He looked at Macy with a wide grin, trying to draw her into the song, hoping his enthusiasm would be contagious.
Macy’s patience snapped. With a swift, angry motion, she reached out and turned off the player. The car fell into a sudden, heavy silence. The tension thickened, filling the space between them like a dense fog.
“What’s wrong? Did I do something?”
Chandler asked, his voice filled with concern and a hint of confusion. He kept his eyes on the road but occasionally glanced at Macy, hoping for some explanation.
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“It’s not you… I’m just not in the mood for songs… you know why…” Macy’s voice was tight with suppressed emotion.
“Because of my mom, right? It’s just for the weekend, dear…” Chandler’s voice was gentle, trying to soothe her.
“She hates me… She always finds something wrong… Either I cook wrong, clean wrong, talk wrong, look wrong… I can’t even breathe without hearing that something’s wrong with me.” Macy’s words tumbled out in a rush, her frustration clear.
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“I know, dear, I have no idea why she’s picking on you like that. But it’s only for this weekend, I promise I’ll talk to her to be kinder.” Chandler reached out to touch her hand, but she pulled away, still too upset to be comforted.
“No need, the last thing I need is for her to know I’m complaining about her. Let her do what she wants, I just wonder why she does it.”
Macy’s voice wavered, and she let out a heavy sigh, staring down at her lap.
“We can’t change the direction of the wind…” Chandler said softly, glancing at her with a hopeful smile.
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Macy sighed sadly, feeling the weight of the weekend ahead pressing down on her.
“But we can adjust the sails,” Chandler added with a smile, hoping to bring a little lightness to the conversation.
A small smile tugged at the corners of Macy’s mouth. She reached over and pressed the player, starting the song again. “Country road! Take me hoooome,” they sang together.
Chandler sang loudly and diligently, while Macy joined in with less enthusiasm but already starting to feel a bit lighter. The warmth of the music and the moment shared began to melt away the tension, if only just a little.
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Arriving at Chandler’s mother Linda’s house, they immediately noticed that her lawn was unkempt, and the yard was a bit dirty. Weeds were poking through the cracks in the walkway, and the bushes were overgrown.
“I’ve offered her so many times to order lawn mowing for her,” Macy said, shaking her head.
“You know her, she doesn’t like it when someone helps her,” Chandler replied, his voice calm and understanding.
“Yes, yes, everything herself… That’s our Linda,” Macy added sarcastically, rolling her eyes.
“Don’t mock her, she’s still my mom,” Chandler said, a gentle reminder in his tone.
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“I know, it’s just that she’s all alone here…” Macy trailed off, her voice softening.
“You mean well, but trust me. Over time, everything will change,” Chandler reassured her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Just then, the door opened, and Linda came out, wiping her hands on her apron. “Chandler, what took you so long? The food is getting cold, come in quickly,” she called out, her tone brisk but warm.
“Hi Mom, we’re coming,” Chandler replied with a smile, waving at her.
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“Hello, Linda,” Macy greeted calmly, trying to keep her voice neutral.
Linda looked at Macy, sized her up, and in a half-tone said, “And you came? Welcome…”
Chandler understandingly looked at Macy, giving her a supportive nod, and walked inside with her, ready to face whatever came next.
The table was set with Linda’s finest china, and the savory aroma of stew filled the air. Linda invited Chandler and Macy to sit, her voice carrying a note of forced cheerfulness.
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The dining room was cozy, with family photos on the walls and an old grandfather clock ticking softly in the corner.
“Please, sit down,” Linda said, gesturing to their places.
Macy and Chandler took their seats. Chandler noticed the tension between Linda and Macy almost immediately. They exchanged guarded glances, and Macy’s shoulders were tense. He decided to break the ice.
“Mom, the stew is delicious, just like in childhood!” Chandler exclaimed, his eyes bright with enthusiasm as he took a bite.
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Linda’s face softened slightly. “I know how much you love it, eat up, son. You probably don’t get fed like this at home.”
Macy felt the sting of Linda’s words. She forced herself to stay calm, remembering Chandler’s advice to endure. She took a deep breath and tried to smile.
“Mom, you don’t have to say that. Macy cooks wonderfully,” Chandler said, trying to defend his wife without escalating the situation.
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Linda glanced at Chandler’s shirt and noticed a small stain. She reached over and wiped it with her hand, her movements sharp and precise. “And she also takes great care of your clothes…” she added sarcastically.
Macy’s grip on her fork tightened. She felt anger bubbling up inside her but took another deep breath. This wasn’t the time to explode.
“I’m not very hungry,” Macy said, standing up. “I’ll go wash the dishes.”
Linda watched her leave with a disapproving look, her eyes following Macy’s every move.
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Macy walked into the kitchen, where the sound of running water soon filled the silence. She began scrubbing the plates with more force than necessary, trying to release her frustration.
In the dining room, Chandler turned to his mother. “Mom, you’re always hurting her. She’s my wife; you can’t talk to her like that.”
“And I’m your mother!” Linda snapped back. “I’m just telling the truth. She can’t even eat normally because of her nerves…”
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In the kitchen, Macy heard every word. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she could feel the anger rising like a tidal wave. This was the last straw. She turned off the water, left the dishes half-washed, and marched back into the dining room.
“Great, so we’re telling the truth now?” Macy said, her voice shaking with anger. “Fine, I’ll try too!”
“Dear, please don’t…” Chandler pleaded, sensing the explosion that was about to happen.
“It’s very necessary!” Macy retorted, her eyes flashing with determination. She turned to Linda, her voice steady and cold.
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“Linda, how about a hostess who has her lawn in a terrible state? It’s already looking like a swamp. How many times have I offered to help, but you’re too proud!”
Linda’s face flushed with anger. “It’s none of your business what my lawn looks like!”
“Why not? It’s your business how I cook! You don’t miss a single flaw of mine. So here’s yours. You’re a bitter, lonely woman who finds it easier to ruin her own son’s life to lift her mood! You don’t deserve him!”
“Enough! Stop it, both of you!” Chandler shouted, unable to take the hostility any longer. He stood up, placing himself between the two women.
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Linda finally couldn’t hold back. Tears welled up in her eyes and began to flow down her cheeks. Chandler turned to Macy, his expression a mix of frustration and sorrow.
“Why did you do that!? It doesn’t help the situation.”
“Me? What was I supposed to do, endure it further? To make things easier for you? I’m fed up with all this!” Macy shouted back, her voice breaking with emotion. She grabbed her coat, her movements quick and jerky.
“Where are you going?” Chandler asked, his voice tinged with desperation.
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“Away from here,” Macy replied, her voice cold and resolute. She left the house and slammed the door behind her, the sound echoing in the now-silent dining room.
Chandler stood there, torn between his wife and his mother, unsure of how to mend the rift that had just widened even further.
Linda sank into her chair, tears still streaming down her face, while the smell of the now-cold stew lingered in the air, a bitter reminder of the evening’s disastrous turn.
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Macy took a taxi to a house that once belonged to her father. Now, it stood abandoned, filled with old things and memories.
She walked through the front door, pushing it open with a slight effort, and entered the dusty, quiet house.
Macy made her way to her old room, pushing open the door with a soft creak. The room looked just as she remembered it, frozen in time.
She ran her fingers over the faded wallpaper and the old bedspread.
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Then she walked to her father’s room. It felt like stepping into a museum of her childhood.
On the nightstand was a photo in a frame. Macy picked it up and stared at her father’s face. She missed him so much; she longed for her parents in moments like this. She sighed deeply, holding the photo close.
Her phone rang, breaking the silence. She took it out of her pocket and saw Chandler’s name on the screen. With a heavy heart, she answered and brought the phone to her ear.
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“Where are you?” Chandler asked, his voice filled with worry.
“At my father’s…” Macy replied softly.
“In that old house? Please come back, I was wrong…” Chandler’s voice was pleading.
“I’ll come back… Give me some time.” Macy’s voice was steady but sad.
“Okay…” Chandler sighed. They hung up, leaving Macy alone with her thoughts.
After hanging up, Macy decided to go up to the attic. The attic was filled with boxes, covered in a thick layer of dust. She started rummaging through them, looking for some connection to her father.
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She found his favorite hat, his old toolset, and his baseball glove. He had always dreamed of having a son, but Macy played with him too, and that’s how she came to love baseball.
At the bottom of a box, she found a strange package. Opening it, she saw a bunch of letters, their edges yellowed with age. Macy was intrigued. Who could have written to her reclusive father?
She began to read a few letters and was shocked. Her father hadn’t written a single reply. All these letters were to him from Linda, Chandler’s mother.
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Macy couldn’t believe it. She read the names and addresses over and over, but everything matched.
Linda had written dozens of letters to her father. Macy opened the last one and everything clicked into place. Linda and her father had been together in their youth.
It didn’t lead to marriage or children, just a youthful love. In the letters, Linda wrote that she still loved him and asked why he left her when everything was so good.
Macy sat back, stunned. Linda knew that Macy was the daughter of the man who rejected her.
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A man who once broke her heart and stayed in her memory forever. Linda was a lonely woman who couldn’t forget the pain Macy’s father had caused her.
Macy’s words during their argument had cut deep because they came from the daughter of the man who had hurt Linda so much. Now, Macy regretted what she had said. Everything made sense now.
Macy returned to Linda’s house and quietly entered. In the living room, Chandler and Linda were already waiting for her.
“Dear, please forgive me…” Chandler began, his voice filled with emotion.
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“Yes, Macy. I was wrong… I want to…” Linda started to say.
“No need…” Macy gently interrupted, walking towards Linda. She wrapped her arms around Linda in a warm hug. “Forgive me, and my father,” she whispered.
Linda was surprised but softened in Macy’s embrace, letting go of the past pain. At that moment, no more words were needed.
Both women understood each other perfectly. The conflict was resolved, marking the beginning of a friendly relationship.
My 4-Year-Old Son Was Distressed Every Time My MIL Babysat – When I Discovered the Reason, I Got Revenge
Working as a nurse, Zoe often relied on her mother-in-law, Denise, to babysit Leo, her son. But when the little boy becomes visibly shaken by his grandmother’s presence, Zoe has to question the old woman’s actions, only to discover that Denise has a hidden agenda.
I had always thought that my mother-in-law, Denise, was a little overbearing, but I chalked it up to her just being protective of my son, her only grandson, Leo.
She was one of those women who carried herself with a certain authority that made you straighten your back and rethink your words. This had become more pronounced when Jeremy, her husband, passed away a few years ago, allowing Denise to reclaim her role as head librarian of the local library.
“Why shouldn’t I?” she asked Andrew, my husband, one day. “I have time now, so there’s no need to just have my part-time role there. And I can have my book club meetings at the library, too.”
“Okay, Mom,” Andrew said. “You do whatever you want.”
She wasn’t mean, exactly, but Denise had a way of making you feel small without even trying. But still, she lived two roads away and was always willing to babysit Leo whenever I had a shift at the hospital, and considering Andrew’s unpredictable hours at the law firm, Denise usually had to step in often.
“It’s what grandmothers are for, right, Zoe?” she would say whenever I asked her to come over.
And despite how her moods could shift without a moment’s notice, she was reliable and didn’t complain about it once.
But lately, Leo had been acting strange whenever Denise came over. At first, it was small things. He would cling to my leg a little longer than usual when I tried to leave or hide behind the couch when he heard her car pull up in the driveway.
I thought that my son was just going through a phase, or maybe even a bit of separation anxiety. I had seen it all the time with the kids in my ward, especially when they woke up and their parents weren’t in sight.
But then, last week, right before I was about to leave for a night shift, he started crying.
“I don’t want Grandma to stay with me!” he blurted.
Big, fat tears rolled down his cheeks, and he clutched my scrub with a grip that seemed stronger than a grown man’s.
I knelt beside him, brushing a lock of his blonde hair from his forehead.
“But why, sweetheart?” I asked gently. “Grandma loves you. And she always brings you treats. Remember the brownies and ice cream from last week?”
My son’s eyes darted to the doorway as if expecting her to walk in at any moment.
“Because… Grandma acts strange,” he said, his eyes wide.
I was about to press him further because I needed to know what was going on. But moments later, Denise’s familiar, clipped footsteps echoed down the hallway. Leo bolted off to his room.
“What’s going on?” Denise asked as she set her purse down on the hallway table. “Where’s my grandbaby?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “He ran to his room to play with his toys. Andrew is away for the next two days. He’s meeting with a client and running through a case.”
Denise nodded.
I left for work, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled in my stomach. I spent the entire night running between patients and thinking about Leo’s words.
“Grandma acts strange.”
What did that even mean to a four-year-old?
When I got home the next morning, I found my son sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the TV. His favorite cartoons were playing, but he wasn’t watching them. Instead, his eyes were red and puffy, like he had been crying all night.
“Leo?” I said slowly. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shook his head.
“No, Mommy,” he said. “I stayed up. I didn’t want to sleep.”
“Why not?” I asked, even though I could already feel my heart sinking.
I pulled one of the blankets under the coffee table and wrapped Leo in it, hoping if he felt safer, he would talk.
“Because Grandma scares me,” he said, his hands clutching his teddy bear tightly.
I felt a wave of panic wash over me.
“Scares you? What happened, honey? What did Grandma say or do?”
“She keeps trying to put something into my mouth,” he said. “She chases me with it, and it’s scary.”
“What is she trying to put into your mouth, sweetheart?” I asked, my voice tight as I strained to show my emotions.
Leo hesitated.
“Cotton buds,” he said. “You know, what you clean my ears with? She said that she wants to put my spit in the tube. I don’t like it. I don’t want it.”
My blood ran cold. Ever since Leo’s accident a few months ago, where he fell off his bike and landed himself with a broken arm, he’s been terrified of doctors, needles, and anything that reminded him of his time in the hospital.
The thought of Denise running around the house with a cotton swab and a test tube made my blood boil. Why was she trying to get my son to take a DNA test?
“Where’s Grandma?” I asked Leo.
“In the guest room,” he said.
I marched to the guest room and found Denise sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the screaming match that was about to come. Without hesitation, I shook her awake.
“Wake up, we need to talk,” I said.
“What’s going on?” she asked, blinking away her sleep.
“Leo just told me that you’ve been trying to swab his mouth for a test? Why are you traumatizing my son? Why do you want him to have a DNA test?” I demanded.
Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she looked like she was going to deny it.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sitting up. “I didn’t mean to frighten Leo. I’ve just been wondering about something…”
“What? What would possibly be so important that you’d do this behind my back?”
“His hair,” she said simply. “Nobody has had blonde hair like that.”
“You think that my son isn’t Andrew’s because of his hair color?” I asked.
“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s been gnawing at me. I just needed to know, but I didn’t want to accuse you…”
“I can’t believe that you would go to such lengths, Denise.”
“I didn’t know what to think. I’m sorry, Zoe,” she said.
“Please leave, Denise,” I said. “I need time to process this. And I need to focus on Leo.”
She nodded, looking defeated.
Over the next week, things were tense between Andrew and me. While she drove home on the day of the confrontation, she had phoned Andrew and told him everything, firmly securing some seeds of doubt.
“I think we should do the test,” he quietly said one day, not meeting my eyes.
I stared at him, hurt.
“You really think that’s necessary? You believe what your mother is implying?”
“It’s not that I believe it,” he said. “But if we do the test, we can put this all to rest. No more doubts, no more accusations. What if Leo was switched at birth?”
“I had a home birth!” I exclaimed. “You would have remembered if you were here and not in court.”
I sighed.
“Alright,” I said after a moment. “I’ll do the test for Leo, but on one condition.”
“What condition?” he asked.
“If I’m going to do this to prove our son is yours, then you’re going to do a test too. To prove that your father is really your father. Denise needs to know what this feels like.”
Andrew’s eyes widened, shock registering on his face from my request. “What? Why would you even suggest that?”
I could feel his brain overthinking it, but I also knew that he was trying to view the situation from my point of view.
I leaned forward, my voice firm, “Because your mother is the one who’s throwing accusations around. If she’s so obsessed with bloodlines, then maybe she should be sure of her own. So, if you want me to take a test, then you’re going to take one too.”
Andrew hesitated, clearly taken aback by my demand. But after a moment, he nodded. “Okay. If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it.”
A few days later, the test results came back. As expected, the test confirmed that Leo was indeed Andrew’s son.
But there was also another revelation that nobody saw coming.
It turned out that the test results for Andrew showed that his biological father wasn’t the man he had called Dad his entire life.
“What the hell, Zoe?” he said out loud.
“This is a conversation for you and your mother,” I said offhandedly.
As much as I wanted to know the truth and to know about Leo’s biological grandfather, I didn’t want to get caught up in Denise’s drama any further. No, thank you. I had a son to focus on. And there was just something about how Denise acted that I wasn’t going to forgive soon.
But eventually, my curiosity gave in and I asked Andrew about his conversation with his mother. It turned out that she had an affair in her youth, resulting in Andrew.
“She said that she had always suspected it, but she didn’t dare do a DNA test while my father was alive. Just imagine, I’ve gone my entire life thinking that my father was just that, my father. But he wasn’t, not biologically. I can’t forgive her, Zoe.”
My heart broke for him.
“So, what does this mean?” I asked.
“It means that we take our time and space away from my mother. And we focus on our son. She’s the one who betrayed our family. Not us,” he said.
I nodded, ready to move on and focus on our family.
Apparently, Denise’s guilt had eaten away at her for decades, leading her to project her insecurities onto me and our son.
What would you have done?
If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
My MIL Intentionally Sent Me Faded Flowers for My Birthday with a Nasty Note
Emily has always had issues with Denise, her mother-in-law. But when her birthday rolls around and her husband, Evan, has to go away on a business trip, Emily is left to entertain herself. Denise, on the other hand, takes matters into her own hands and gives her daughter-in-law a horrible birthday gift.
I know we all have problematic mother-in-law stories, but my goodness. I’ve been dealing with Denise for well over five years now. My husband, Evan, and I come from very different backgrounds, which were the first ingredients for a disaster.
Evan grew up in an affluent suburb, while I was raised by a single mom in a rough neighborhood where clothing was stolen straight off the line.
And to make it even worse for Denise? I’m a mixed-race woman, which Denise always looked down on.
“You definitely get your hair from your mother, then,” she would say to annoy me.
Despite Evan’s love and constant defense of me, Denise never missed a chance to remind him that he could’ve done better.
“I’ll bet you a spa day, Emily,” Evan told me one day as we were driving to his mother’s house for dinner. “She’s going to mention something about an ex-girlfriend or about me having done better.”
“You’re on,” I said.
Naturally, he was correct because not even fifteen minutes into the dinner, Denise was talking about an ex.
Read the full story here.
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