When Liam and I agreed to stay at his parents’ house for a week, I thought it would be a good chance to bond with them. Maybe even prove to Betty—my mother-in-law—that I wasn’t the outsider she seemed to think I was.
But nothing could have prepared me for what I discovered in their kitchen at 2 a.m.—something so terrifying that it exposed who Betty really was when nobody was watching.
The Invitation
It all started on a Tuesday night. Liam and I had just finished dinner and were washing dishes together. We were both tired after long workdays, but Liam seemed extra distracted. He scrubbed the same plate twice, avoiding my eyes.
“Mom wants us to come to Sage Hill for a week,” he finally said, his voice soft. “They miss me.”
I passed him another dish, raising an eyebrow. “When?”
“This weekend… I kind of already told them we’d probably come.” His hopeful tone made it clear he really wanted me to say yes.
I swallowed my annoyance. Marriage was about compromise, wasn’t it? “Sure.”
His whole face lit up like a boy getting his favorite toy.
The Welcome
Saturday afternoon, we pulled into his parents’ quiet street. Betty and Arnold stood waiting on the porch, almost like they’d been timing our arrival.
“There’s my boy!” Betty cried, practically bouncing as Liam stepped out of the car. She rushed to hug him, holding on longer than seemed normal, as if she were trying to glue him back into her arms.
Arnold greeted me warmly. “Greta, so good to see you again.”
But Betty’s eyes, when they finally landed on me, were cool. Her hug felt mechanical, like she was ticking a box: daughter-in-law, check.
“I’ve been cooking all morning,” she announced proudly, linking her arm through Liam’s. “Pot roast, green beans, and apple pie. All Liam’s favorites.”
The emphasis on Liam’s favorites made me bite my tongue.
Dinner Games
Dinner was like a carefully staged play. Betty directed every conversation back to Liam, like she was conducting an orchestra with him as the only instrument.
“Remember that huge bass at Miller’s Pond?” she asked, heaping more food onto his plate.
“Mom, that fish wasn’t that big!” Liam laughed, clearly enjoying the nostalgia.
“Oh, it was enormous! Arnold, tell him how proud you were.”
When I tried to compliment her cooking, she waved me off. “Oh, just something I threw together.”
But when Liam praised the same dish, suddenly it became a “family recipe passed down from my grandmother.” The hypocrisy stung.
Then came dessert. She set down the apple pie like it was a crown jewel. Watching Liam take the first bite, her eyes glittered with expectation.
“Do you bake, Greta?” she asked sweetly, though her tone had an edge.
“I make chocolate cake that Liam loves.”
Liam smiled at me, but Betty cut in. “How nice. Though Liam was never much of a chocolate person growing up, were you, sweetheart?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I mean, I like Greta’s cake—”
“Of course you do, dear. You’re just being polite.”
Her words sank like a knife.
The Photos
On Monday, she pulled out photo albums. Box after box appeared, each one showcasing Liam’s life from baby to grown man.
“Look at this!” she beamed, holding up a prom photo. Liam stood in a tux beside a pretty blonde girl.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
Betty’s smile softened in a way I hadn’t seen before. “Alice. Such a sweet, lovely girl. They were close all through high school.”
She leaned closer, her eyes sharp. “She’s a nurse now. Still single, if you can believe that.”
“We should get together while you’re here. She’s practically family.”
The way she said still single made my stomach twist.
“Mom,” Liam muttered, half-amused, but I could see the undercurrent.
I excused myself, needing air. Something was building inside that house, and it wasn’t good.
The Night Discovery
That night, I tossed and turned. Around 2 a.m., I gave up on sleep and went for water. The house was dark, creaking with age. Then I froze—the faint sound of a voice came from the kitchen.
I crept closer. It was Betty. Her words cut through the silence, each one chilling me to the bone.
“Yes, the marriage went through just like we planned. Don’t worry… she won’t be around long. I’ll handle it personally.”
My blood ran cold. Was she talking about me?
When I stepped into the kitchen, I saw her. Dressed in a dark robe with a scarf wrapped tight around her silver hair, a candle flickering on the table. Spread before her were my wedding photos—some intact, others burned to ash. She whispered in a language I couldn’t recognize.
When she spotted me, she jolted. Then, too smoothly:
“Oh, sweetheart! I was just praying for you. For a baby. For your health.”
Her trembling hand shielded the bowl of ashes, but I’d already seen fragments of my own face among the burned paper.
“I just needed water,” I muttered, backing away.
Upstairs, I shook Liam awake. “Your mom—she was burning my pictures. Doing some ritual!”
Half-asleep, he groaned. “Greta, what?”
“Please, just come see.”
We went back down—but the kitchen was spotless. No candle, no ashes, nothing. Only the faint smell of something burned.
“I don’t see anything,” Liam said, frowning.
“It was here!”
“Maybe a bad dream. You’ve been stressed.”
“I wasn’t dreaming,” I whispered.
The Truth Uncovered
The next day, I decided to find proof. When Betty took Liam out, I searched her room.
In the bottom drawer, hidden under linens, I found them: twisted dolls made of fabric and wire, bound with thread. Some had pins stuck through them. One had my wedding photo taped to its head. Burned pictures of me, holes through my face. A notebook filled with strange symbols.
I snapped photo after photo with my phone, hands trembling. Then I heard a car. They were back.
That night, I confronted her at dinner. “Betty, why do you want me gone?”
She gave a sharp laugh. “What a strange question, dear.”
Later, when she and Liam carried linens, I yanked open the drawer in front of him. The dolls and photos spilled out.
“Mom… what is this?” Liam’s voice shook.
Betty’s mask slipped. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“Are you doing black magic on my wife?” he demanded.
Her eyes burned with fury. “You were supposed to marry Alice! A good girl from a good family. Not this outsider.”
Liam’s jaw dropped. “Alice? From high school?”
“She’s perfect for you. I wanted you to see what a failure Greta is so that Alice would look like an angel.”
“You’ve been sabotaging my marriage,” I snapped.
Betty sneered. “Leave tonight if you don’t want problems.”
My Revenge
I didn’t argue. I waited. And the next morning, while Betty slept, I uploaded every photo I’d taken into a private Facebook group of her church friends and neighbors. The caption:
“Betty’s true hobby: midnight rituals, burning photos, and curses. This is who she really is.”
By noon, whispers began. By evening, her phone wouldn’t stop ringing. The perfect religious woman, exposed.
We packed our bags. Liam carried the suitcases to the car as Betty shouted into the phone, her voice shrill.
“Ready?” he asked.
I took one last look at that house. “Let’s go home.”
As we drove away, Liam squeezed my hand. “Thank you for showing me who Mom really is. For fighting for us when I couldn’t see it.”
I squeezed back, finally breathing again. “Sometimes the best magic isn’t curses or rituals. It’s the truth. And the truth burns brighter than any candle.”