Claudia is a carefree mother who wants her son to live freely and enjoy his life. But her mother-in-law is a strict and orthodox woman who wants the final say. When Claudia leaves her mother-in-law with Jackson, her son, she is horrified at what she sees on her return.
I never imagined that the woman who raised my husband could be capable of such cruelty.
Yet, there she stood, Judith, my mother-in-law, with a smirk.
My relationship with my mother-in-law had always been a bit strained. She was a woman of staunch conservatism, believing firmly in traditional gender roles and expecting absolute obedience from her family.
Once, my husband, Harvey, told me that his mother had thrown out his sister’s dolls because she had found him playing with them.
“I must have been around a year or so,” he said. “But that’s how strict she’s always been. It’s quite ridiculous if I’m being honest.”
Little boy playing with a doll | Source: Pexels
Unlike her family, I would not bow down to anyone’s whims, especially regarding my beliefs and family.
Over the years, the clashes between Judith and I were frequent and bitter, but we had always managed to remain civil.
But when my son, Jackson, was born, I put my foot down with Harvey.
“She can be as present as she wants to be,” I said. “But she will not tell me how to raise our son.”
Harvey agreed, and we continued to parent our child in the manner we saw fit — away from any outdated beliefs on “traditional” masculinity.
Now, Judith couldn’t stand the fact that I dared to challenge the views of the matriarch, but for Harvey and Jackson’s sake, she tried. Although she never missed the option to voice her disapproval of me.
Stern older woman | Source: Pexels
And I was okay with it. I was made of tougher stuff.
But nothing could have prepared me for what she did on my son’s second birthday.
Harvey and I decided that when we had children, we could always have a birthday party for them — it was a day to celebrate them.
So, we held a party at home for Jackson’s second birthday, inviting our families.
Judith loved my son, but she absolutely hated his hair.
“Long hair is for girls, Claudia,” she said a few weeks before the birthday.
“You need to cut it. Jackson isn’t the child of celebrities. They make strange decisions for their children.”
“I will do no such thing,” I replied. I loved Jackson’s hair exactly as it was.
My little boy was dressed in a superhero costume, his golden curls bouncing around his face.
Judith walked into our home, holding tightly onto a gift bag.
“It’s for later,” she said. “I’ll bring it out after the cake.”
Children dressed as superheroes | Source: Unsplash
Jackson’s birthday party began, and we had toddlers taking over the house. When it was time to cut the cake and sing, my son beamed as brightly as the sun.
“Claudia,” Judith said after we had fed all the kids. “Can I have a piece of cake and some tea?”
She had been on her best behavior, so I couldn’t refuse. I left Jackson sitting in his lap, eating a slice of his birthday cake, his fingers covered in frosting.
But as I brought the cake out for her, I returned to a sight that shattered my heart into a million pieces.
The golden curls that had framed Jackson’s face minutes ago lay scattered on the floor, severed by his grandmother’s hand. At her feet lay the gift bag, which, I was sure, held the scissors she had used.
I couldn’t comprehend the malice gleaming in her eyes as she examined her handiwork.
“There,” she told him, allowing him to get off her lap.
Pair of scissors | Source: Unsplash
“What did you do?” I demanded, the cake falling from my hand.
“I’m just playing,” she said, her voice dripping with feigned innocence. “It will grow back. Let him feel what it’s like to be a boy with short hair.”
“Get out!” I shrieked.
“It’s not a big deal. It will grow back. Grow up, Claudia,” she hissed.
“Not a big deal? Get out before I call the cops on you!” I screamed.
Harvey came running in from the porch, where he had been entertaining some of the other parents.
“Claudia, what happened?”
I didn’t have to say anything — Harvey took the scene in, his confusion swiftly replaced by rage.
And for the first time since we had been married, Harvey confronted his mother with a ferocity that left no room for negotiation or reconciliation.
“Mom, leave now. And don’t expect to be welcomed back to our home,” his voice, usually so gentle, was now a low growl, dripping with anger and betrayal.
Angry woman with her hands in the air | Source: Unsplash
Judith tried to justify her actions, repeating that Jackson’s hair would grow back, which wasn’t a big deal. But we knew this was just the beginning of a battle with Judith — a battle we had never asked for.
Jackson seemed okay, but he constantly put his hands to his head as if trying to feel for his curls again.
Harvey and I held our son close, promising to protect him from any further harm. But the damage was done — Judith had taken things into her own hands.
Harvey faced backlash from his father and sister who claimed that we had hurt and disrespected Judith over something minor. But we knew we had to stand firm for our son’s sake and our family’s sanctity.
Upset older woman looking away from the camera | Source: Pexels
How would you react if you were in my shoes?
Here’s another story for you: Janisse loves birthdays. So, when her husband’s birthday comes around, she wants to have a fancy dinner at home to celebrate him, surrounded by their family and friends. But things quickly turn when her mother-in-law shows up and takes control.
While Preparing for Her Husband’s Birthday Celebration, Woman Becomes The Target of Her Mother-in-Law’s Ploy
Janisse loves birthdays. So, when her husband’s birthday comes around, she wants to have a fancy dinner at home to celebrate him, surrounded by their family and friends. But things quickly turn sour when her mother-in-law shows up and takes control.
Birthdays have always been important to me. When I got married, celebrating my husband Carl’s birthday became something I also looked forward to. So, for Carl’s birthday this year, I wanted to do something with all our family and friends at home. I just wanted to do a fancy dinner and celebrate him.
But Carl’s mother, Sally, had a different agenda for the evening.
My mother-in-law came over the day before because she wanted to help me do all the cooking. I didn’t mind because Carl’s family had always been good to me, and I got along well with them.
Or at least, I thought so.
Anyway, Sally and I were cooking up a storm on the day. Then, later in the afternoon, she started digging around the fridge and sighed every few minutes. Naturally, I asked her what was wrong.
“I can’t find any ingredients for the cookies I wanted to make. I told you that I would make the cookies I’ve made every year for Carl,” Sally said.
“We have so many desserts and the cake as well. So, I think it’s okay. We can do it another day for him,” I told her.
“Janisse,” Sally sighed. “It’s really important to me, okay? It’s a tradition I started when Carl was only three years old. Can you go out and get the ingredients?”
Look, usually, I would have said no. Because there was still so much to do — I needed to finish the table settings, shower, and get ready. But I figured that it was really important to her, and to be fair, the grocery store wasn’t far away.
“Okay, I’ll run out and grab everything,” I said.
So, I get to the grocery store and run around throwing things into the cart because I want to be home for Sally to bake it on time and get everything else sorted. I drive home feeling like a superhero, thinking I was a part of this birthday tradition.
That high didn’t last very long.
The moment I opened the car door, Carl burst out of the house like I’d committed a crime and he wanted to catch me in the act. He starts shouting at me, accusations flying all over our yard. He accuses me of betraying his mom and ruining his birthday bash because I left his mom alone to do everything.
I go into the house and unpack all the groceries. Sally is nowhere to be found. I continue setting the table and clearing up the kitchen when the guests arrive.
*
I knew I looked like a mess, so I ran to my bedroom to shower and change. I stood in the shower, and felt like I had gotten hit by a wrecking ball of confusion. I had so many questions.
What did I do? Why was I getting blamed for something that felt like a soap opera plot? And what on earth did I miss while I was at the store?
After changing quickly, I went back to our patio to greet the guests and re-heat the food. Carl avoided me for most of the evening and only shot dirty looks my way. Sally ignored my existence entirely.
Turns out that Mrs. Sally Hudson had a whole master plan. She sent me out for groceries just to start some drama. There was no tradition. She just wanted the guests to show up and for her to be the host —The one who saved the day because her daughter-in-law was out shopping instead of caring about her husband’s birthday.
Even when it came to the birthday cake, my mother-in-law brought it out, singing to Carl.
After the guests had left and Sally went to bed, I tried to explain everything to Carl, but he didn’t want to listen. He refused to believe that his mother would have done something like that. And he thought that I was stupid to believe the ‘cookie tradition.’
But then, the next day, karma decided to join the party. In her quest to brag about her mastermind plan, Sally accidentally sent the entire message to Carl.
*
He entered our bedroom, where I was hiding from them, and held his phone up.
“You were right,” he said quietly.
“About what?” I asked.
Carl handed me the phone, which was all the proof we needed.
After that, Carl went to the living room to talk to her. Turns out that she didn’t like me because of my views on religion and family, and this whole drama was her way of playing puppet master.
It took a while, but Carl and I eventually forgave her.
“We’re going to Bali to celebrate your birthday next year,” I told him. “No friends, no family, and absolutely no drama!”
I’m still not convinced she likes me or is over everything. But I’ve promised Carl I’ll try my hardest to keep things civil.
And that was Carl’s birthday drama.
What drama has your in-laws given you?
Here’s another story for you: Over Saturday dinner, I had hoped for a breakthrough in our relationship with my M-I-L after I asked my husband to talk to her. I couldn’t handle her insults any longer. She was criticizing everything about me, what kind of wife I was, calling me flawed and unable to do anything.
Over Saturday dinner, I had hoped for a breakthrough in our relationship with my M-I-L after I asked my husband to talk to her. I couldn’t handle her insults anymore. She was criticizing everything about me, what kind of wife I was, calling me flawed and unable to do anything.
The house was spotless, the aroma of my carefully-prepared dishes wafting through the air. This was my moment to shine, to prove my mother-in-law wrong, of course, I hoped for my husband’s support in our ongoing battle. But life, as I’ve learned, rarely follows the script we write in our heads.
The evening began well enough. We exchanged pleasantries, sipped wine, and started on the appetizers. Then, as we moved to the main course, my mother-in-law’s sharp tongue found its mark. She criticized every dish in a very rough manner, even the presentation and trivial things. But what stung more was my husband’s reaction. Instead of coming to my defense, he joined in. His words, echoing his mother’s, felt like betrayal.
I remember staring at them, my heart pounding in my chest, the room spinning slightly. And then, in a moment of sheer impulse, I threw my glass of red wine in their faces. The glass shattered and wine splattered across the pristine tablecloth, a stark contrast to the calm evening. I stormed out, leaving behind a stunned silence.
In the days that followed, my husband tried to apologize, but his words felt hollow. How could he not see the pain his actions had caused? How could he not understand that his support meant everything to me?
After a week, an invitation to my mother-in-law’s birthday, to be held at an art gallery, came in the mail. She wanted to present her latest paintings. A plan began to form in my mind, a way to get back at her for all the hurtful comments and the constant belittling. I reached out to Eric, a friend and a respected art critic. I explained everything, pouring out my frustrations and hurt. He agreed to come to the gallery and, in front of the gathered crowd, offer a scathing critique of her work. I imagined the scene in my head, a smirk of satisfaction playing on my lips.
But as the day approached, my certainty began to waver. Was this really the solution? Would humiliating her in public really make me feel better? Or was I just perpetuating a cycle of hurt and revenge? I arrived at the gallery, my emotions a tangled mess. Eric was already there, mingling with the guests, his notepad in hand. My mother-in-law’s paintings adorned the walls, vibrant and full of life. Seeing them, I felt a twinge of admiration, quickly suppressed by my lingering anger.
As Eric prepared to speak, I could see my mother-in-law beaming, proudly showing off her work to the guests. I turned away, my heart racing with a mix of anticipation and dread.
Eric began, his voice calm and authoritative. “Art is a reflection of the artist’s soul,” he said. “However, not all reflections are clear.” He paused, then methodically started to dissect her paintings. His critique was harsh, pointing out a lack of originality, poor technique, and a failure to evoke deeper emotions.
I watched as my mother-in-law’s face turned from pride to confusion, then to hurt. The guests murmured among themselves, some nodding in agreement with Eric, others looking uncomfortable. The atmosphere in the gallery shifted from celebratory to tense.
After Eric finished, the room was uncomfortably silent. My mother-in-law, once the center of attention, now stood isolated, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. It was as if for the first time she felt like the people who were so often humiliated by her. Her pride was hurt and the height from which she usually looked at people was erased. I felt victorious, but thoughts about the morality of my action overwhelmed me.
In the days that followed, I reflected on that evening. My mother-in-law, for all her faults, didn’t deserve public humiliation. Perhaps I needed to improve our relationship personally, or at least try. My desire for revenge had blinded me to the consequences of my actions. I had hoped to heal my wounds but ended up inflicting pain on others.
The next day, after work, I decided to come to her, confess and ask for forgiveness. When I arrived, my husband was with her. I thought that there was no way back and resolutely went inside. Having said hello, I walked further into the room and, beginning with apologies, began to tell the essence of what happened. But I was quickly interrupted.
My mother-in-law and my husband looked at me guiltily. She was the first to apologize to me, repenting about her attitude. My husband came up to hug me, also asking for forgiveness for not noticing how his mother’s words and his inaction hurt me. On this day we removed all of our stuff and for the first time felt like a full-fledged, friendly family.