Some mothers-in-law bring casseroles when they visit. Mine brought entitlement—specifically, an unshakable belief that my bedroom was hers.
For years, Monica would arrive for visits and immediately claim the master suite, rearranging my things and turning it into her personal sanctuary. My husband, bless him, never saw the problem. “It’s just for a few days,” he’d say, as if that made it okay.
Well, this time, I decided a few days was a few days too many.
When Monica marched into my room yet again—ignoring my polite request to use the guest room—I didn’t argue. Instead, I spent the afternoon redecorating. By the time we went to bed (in the guest room, of course), our bedroom looked less like a peaceful retreat and more like the setting of a very… adult film.
The next morning, Monica couldn’t get out of there fast enough. “We’ll stay in the guest room,” she announced, her face flushed.
Jake stared at me in awe. “You’re terrifying,” he whispered.
And just like that, five years of bedroom invasions ended with one strategically placed collection of marital accessories.
