My mother-in-law moved in “to help,” but when I came home and found three young women living in my house—doing laundry, flirting with my husband, and even cutting his hair—I realized I wasn’t the one being replaced.
I was forty when my life spiraled into chaos. I felt like I was on a survival show, except my battlefield was the kitchen, my predators were my three kids, and instead of a team, I only had an endless to-do list.
“Mom, I’m getting a tattoo on my neck that says ‘Free soul,’” my teenage daughter Sue announced, without asking.
“And we want new Legos and no homework!” shouted my twin boys, wrapping themselves in tape and tossing their first-grade books like confetti.
There I was, standing in the kitchen with cold coffee, staring at a presentation on my laptop that I was supposed to submit last Friday. That presentation could earn me a management job and a much-needed raise.
But last Friday, I was busy fixing a doorknob, feeding the kids, and telling them why they couldn’t run outside in their underwear.
Meanwhile, my husband Ross was supposedly “at work,” but really he was doing an unpaid internship—his latest attempt to reinvent himself.
“I’m trying, Em. It’s temporary. Things will get better,” he said.
“I know, but I’m barely keeping up. I’m not made of steel.”
We argued about everything—the dirty dishes, my tone, his bored “uh-huh” responses. Our romance faded somewhere between cold dinners and unpaid bills.
In the middle of yet another argument, the lightbulb blew. Literally and figuratively.
I fixed the bulb, hammered a nail for a shelf, dried the floor after the washing machine died, and watched the fence Ross promised to fix collapse into the trash. Along with my patience.
The neighbor gave our messy lawn a dirty look, and I thought, “Okay, I’ve officially failed as a wife, mother, and human.”
That night, Ross quietly suggested, “Maybe my mom could stay with us for a while?”
I almost choked on my tea. “Linda? The same Linda who once compared my lasagna to cat food?”
“She just wants to help—kids, house, maybe we’ll have time for each other until I find a job and you get your promotion.”
I sighed, knowing Linda’s “help” was trouble, but I was too exhausted to refuse.
“Fine. But only temporarily.”
I didn’t realize then how dangerous “temporarily” would be—or that Linda would bring a whole group of therapy students in short shorts.
Linda showed up without greeting me, immediately pointing out how tired I looked and offering unsolicited skincare advice.
She marched into the house calling for her “babies.” The twins ran to her, and Ross got a big hug.
Linda promised she’d bring “structure” and a “feminine touch.” But I sensed a storm coming.
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