They say you don’t truly know someone until they’ve lived in your home. When my mother-in-law, Verna, accused me of hiding a secret from my husband, Owen, she thought she had me trapped. But she didn’t know the “evidence” she found was bait—and she’d just shown everyone exactly what I wanted them to see.
When Verna moved in, I tried to stay positive. “It’s just for a bit,” Owen said. “She’ll help out, maybe give us a break.”
I smiled, but I wasn’t so sure. Verna wasn’t subtle. She liked control and knowing everything. The first few days were okay—she unpacked, made tea, and retold stories I’d heard a dozen times. She was polite. Too polite.
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