I blinked. Flooding? That didn’t sound right. She lived in a freshly renovated house, nothing but top-tier everything. I hadn’t heard a single complaint about it until now.
Before I could even begin to process, Joe appeared behind me. He looked guilty, eyes darting anywhere but at me. “Yeah… about that.” He rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly shifting his weight. “Mom’s gonna stay with us for a bit. Just until the house gets fixed.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?” I asked, my glare piercing.
He shrugged like it was no big deal. “It’s only for a little while, babe. You and Mom get along, right?”
Get along? If by “get along,” he meant the passive-aggressive remarks about how we’d been married for six years and still hadn’t given her any grandkids, then sure. We were best friends. But I plastered on a smile, the kind you give when you’re two seconds away from snapping. “Of course. I totally understand.”
Hours later, after I’d pretended everything was fine, I got up for some water. As I passed the kitchen, I heard them talking in hushed voices.
“You didn’t tell her the real reason, did you?” Jane’s voice was sharp, like a knife slicing through the night.
Joe sighed. “No, Mom. I didn’t.”
“Well,” Jane huffed, “I’m here to keep an eye on things. Married this long with no children… someone’s got to figure out what’s going on. Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.”
My stomach twisted. This wasn’t about pipes. She was here to snoop. To pressure me about kids. To “handle” me. I stood frozen in the hallway, blood boiling. What the hell had I just walked into?
The next morning, I woke up with a plan. If Jane wanted to play her little game, I’d play mine. But I wasn’t going to get into a battle of wits with her. No, I was going to kill her with kindness. By 8 a.m., I had already started phase one of my “operation.”
I cleared out our entire master bedroom. Every piece of clothing, every picture frame, every trace of Joe and me was stuffed into the tiny guest room. I even found Jane’s favorite floral bedspread from the back of the linen closet and spread it over the bed like I was preparing a five-star hotel suite.
When I was done, I stood in the doorway, surveying my work. The bedspread was pristine, her cat pictures were lined up on the dresser, and to top it off, I made a “Welcome to Your New Home” basket. Bath bombs, lavender-scented candles, fancy chocolates.
By the time Joe got home from work, I was already sitting in the cramped guest room, arranging our clothes into whatever space I could find. He walked in, his forehead creased with confusion. “Why are you in here?” He peeked around the corner. “Where’s our stuff?”
“Oh, I moved everything,” I said, turning to him with the sweetest smile I could muster. “Your mom deserves the master bedroom, don’t you think? It’s only fair. She needs the space more than we do.”
His eyes widened in disbelief. “You… gave her our bedroom?”
“Of course,” I said with a grin. “She’s family, after all. We’ll be just fine in here.”
Joe stood there, mouth half open, processing what I’d done. But what could he say? Jane was his mother, and I wasn’t technically doing anything wrong. He sighed and walked out of the room without another word.
For the next few days, I made sure Jane was living like royalty. Fresh towels every morning, little snacks placed on the nightstand, and those lavender candles I knew she loved.
She wandered around the house like she owned the place, smiling at me like she’d won. But while Jane was lounging in luxury, Joe was starting to crack. Sharing the guest room was driving him nuts. Not just the lack of space, but his mom’s new obsession with prepping him for fatherhood.
Every morning, without fail, she’d hand him a schedule of vitamins.
“You need to take these, Joe,” she’d say, thrusting a multivitamin at him. “It’s important to get your body ready if you want healthy kids.”
Joe would roll his eyes but take the pills just to keep her quiet.
It didn’t stop there. “Should you really be watching TV at night?” she’d ask over dinner. “That’s not very baby-friendly. You should be reading parenting books. Or exercising. And no more video games! You need to mature, Joe. Fatherhood is serious.”
By day four, I found Joe sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at a stack of parenting books his mom had ordered online.
“I think I’m losing it,” he muttered, holding up a book titled “What To Expect When You’re Expecting.” “She expects me to read this.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Well, Joe,” I said, suppressing a laugh, “you did say we’d be just fine, didn’t you?”
It was relentless. Jane had taken things up a notch. One evening, she handed Joe a neatly typed list of “fertility-boosting” foods. Kale, quinoa, grilled salmon—no more burgers, no more pizza. She smiled sweetly as if she was doing him the world’s greatest favor.
“Your future kids will thank you,” she chirped.
Joe stared at the list like it was a death sentence. “Wait, no pizza? Ever?”
“That’s right, dear,” she said, patting his shoulder. “I’ve planned all your meals for the week. You’ll feel so much better once you start eating clean.”
That night at dinner, we sat around the table eating dry salmon and tasteless kale. Jane watched Joe like a hawk, her eyes flicking from his plate to his face. He shifted uncomfortably, picking at his food.
“Joe,” she started, “did you take your vitamins this morning?”
He sighed, stabbing a fork into the kale. “Yeah, Mom. I took them.”
“And what about the gym? Did you make time for that? You know, you’ve put on a little weight. It’s important to be in shape if you want to be a good father.”
I couldn’t help it. I kicked him under the table to stop myself from bursting out laughing. He shot me a look, his expression torn between frustration and desperation. After days of this, it was finally getting to him.
Later that night, once Jane had gone to bed, Joe turned to me, rubbing his temples. His voice was low, almost pleading. “I can’t do this anymore, Tiana. The guest room, the vitamins, the baby talk… I’m going insane.”
I bit my lip, trying to suppress a smile. “You have to admit,” I said, failing to keep the amusement out of my voice, “it’s kind of funny.”
His eyes narrowed. “It’s not funny.”
I let out a small laugh. “Okay, okay, it’s a little funny.”
Joe groaned and collapsed onto the bed. “I booked her a room at the hotel down the street. I can’t take another day of this.”
The next morning, he broke the news at breakfast.
“Mom, I’ve booked you a nice hotel nearby until the repairs at your house are done. You’ll be much more comfortable there.”
She blinked, clearly surprised. “But I’m perfectly fine here! And besides, isn’t it time you two got serious about giving me grandkids?”
Joe’s jaw clenched. “Mom, we’ll decide that when we’re ready. For now, the hotel is best for everyone.”
For a moment, Jane just stared at him. Then, realizing she had no leg to stand on, she reluctantly nodded. “Well… if you insist.”
By the end of the day, she was gone. The house was ours again.
As the door clicked shut behind her, Joe collapsed onto the couch with a dramatic sigh of relief. “Finally.”
I grinned, sinking down beside him. “So… kale for dinner?”
He groaned. “Never again.”
My Husband Refused to Take Photos of Me on Our Vacation — His Reason Shocked Me, but My Revenge Left Him in Tears
Hannah here, hello to all of you. I feel compelled to tell this experience even if it is tough to do so. I am 38 years old, the mother of two wonderful children, ages five and seven, and I have been married to my husband, Luke, for almost ten years. Like any couple, we have faced our fair share of difficulties. But more than anything else we’ve experienced, something that occurred on our most recent trip to Mexico truly startled me.
Envision the following: we are in Mexico, surrounded by breathtaking beaches and exquisite weather. This excursion had me giddy with anticipation. Admittedly, I had meticulously prepared everything since, well, I rarely get a break as a mom.
Our goal for this time together was to rekindle our relationship, unwind, and simply enjoy each other’s company. But Luke was acting strangely from the beginning. He would always say no when I asked him to take a picture with me or of me.
He might say, “I’m not in the mood,” or, “Can we do it later?” I didn’t give it much thought at first. Perhaps he was simply fatigued from the journey? However, it continued to occur.
I was wearing a new outfit that I had purchased especially for the trip, and we were on this gorgeous beach. It’s not often that I feel good about myself, especially with two kids and everything. “Could you take a picture of me with the sunset?” I requested Luke.
“Not now, Hannah,” he muttered, with a sigh.
A Caucasian female striking a photo at dusk on the shore | Source: Midjourney
I scowled, a little offended. “Why not? It will just require a moment.
He yelled, “I said I’m not in the mood,” and turned to walk away.
That hurt. We’re on vacation, what gives him the excuse that he can’t stop and take a picture? I was perplexed and humiliated.
I saw that he was extra careful with his phone the whole trip. Every time I passed, he would conceal the screen and even carry it into the restroom. I tried to ignore the feeling in my gut that something wasn’t right.
An image of a cell phone on a bed in close-up | Source: Midjourney
Luke was taking a shower one afternoon when I noticed his phone on the bed. The moment I picked it up, my heart raced. I had to know even though I know it’s immoral to violate someone’s privacy. I browsed his recent messages on his phone and unlocked it immediately.
A group chat with his friends was there. And my blood ran cold at what I read. “Imagine, guys, at her weight, she still wants me to take pictures of her,” he had written. In what part of the picture would she possibly fit? She has changed significantly since having birth.
A horrified female inspecting her phone | Source: Midjourney
My eyes filled with tears, and I felt as though I was gasping for air. Behind my back, this man—the father of my children and the man I loved—was saying such harsh things. I believed we were a couple and that he accepted me for who I am, but instead he was making fun of me in front of his pals.
I sat there in shock, putting his phone back. How was he able to? I was heartbroken and deceived. Even though our marriage was far from ideal, I never would have guessed he had such low regard for me. I cried in private so the kids wouldn’t hear.
A melancholic female patronizing a lodging room | Source: Midjourney
My tears eventually stopped flowing, and I started to feel angry instead. I would not allow him to escape punishment for this. I had to take action to demonstrate to him the repercussions of his statements. That’s when it dawned on me.
I pulled out my phone and looked through the pictures I had shot on the journey. Choosing my favorites, I shared them on Facebook with the comment, “Searching for a new travel companion.” Is my appearance so unappealing that even my spouse is reluctant to have me photographed?
A woman on a beach taking a selfie | Source: Midjourney
The post started receiving likes and comments almost instantly. Several of my acquaintances and friends also sent encouraging remarks. They expressed their dismay at Luke’s actions and complimented my pictures, calling me gorgeous. I did not elaborate on the details of his remarks, but the meaning was evident.
Luke realized my mood had changed as he got out of the shower. “Is everything alright?” he inquired, perhaps detecting the anxiety.
A woman sitting in a room with her phone open | Source: Midjourney
“It’s just fine,” I answered, not taking my eyes off my phone. I was unable to look him in the eye since I was still so hurt and angry.
I was still in awe over Luke’s betrayal the following day. The things he had spoken about me stayed with me. However, something occurred that caused this already complex scenario to get much more difficult.
I had learned just before our vacation that my uncle—whom I had never met—had passed away and bequeathed a sizeable estate to me.
A man in his middle years is shown signing a document up close | Source: Midjourney
I thought it would be a happy surprise to tell Luke this news, so I had planned to do so during our trip. However, after learning the truth about his true feelings for me, I chose to keep it to myself.
Luke’s mother, who had learned about the inheritance, somehow passed the message to him that morning. I had just finished packing our things and was about to call the trip when Luke entered the room with a bouquet of flowers.
I had noticed his embarrassed expression on a few other occasions when he realized he had made a mistake.
\A female individual packing her bag | Source: Midjourney
He began, “Hannah, I’m so sorry for everything,” and held the flowers out. I accepted them silently, waiting to see what more he had to say.
“I know I’ve been a jerk,” he went on. That was not the right thing for me to say. However, my dear, you can hire a trainer and drop some weight with your newfound wealth.
I was astounded by what I heard. Did he really think that an apology and a recommendation that I use my inheritance to make myself different for him would be enough? Racked with fury, I shot out, “Maybe I will, Luke. nevertheless, not so you can stare at me.
An image of a man clutching a bunch of flowers up close | Source: Midjourney
His expression was so precious. He thought I would simply forgive him and go on. But I had had enough. This was it—my breaking moment. “Luke, I’m divorcing you,” I stated, maintaining a calm tone despite my internal conflict.
His mouth dropped open as his eyes grew wide. Then he started crying, which surprised me. He pleaded, “Please, Hannah, don’t leave me.” “Now that I don’t have your money, all my plans are ruined. I was going to buy a new SUV to go off-road with my friends.”
An image of a man sobbing up close | Source: Midjourney
I was in disbelief. I realized then how little he thought of me. What my money could buy him was what mattered, not our bond or our family. I fixed a pitying yet determined glance on him.
You seem to cherish my money more than I do. You won’t use my money or subject me to humiliation in order to get your SUV; you will find another way. Luke, good bye.
I left him then, feeling both strangely relieved and saddened at the same time. Though this wasn’t how I had imagined my life to go, I had to take responsibility for my happiness now.
The remainder of the day was devoted to organizing my return home and initiating the divorce proceedings. My family and friends never stopped being there for me. I was able to reclaim my self-worth and confidence with the support of each message and comment.
I came to the realization that I didn’t require Luke or anybody else to affirm my worth or beauty. I was sufficient in my own right. I made the decision to go on with my life and put my children and myself first.
In the days that followed, I began exercising because I wanted to feel stronger and healthier, not because Luke suggested it. I made more time for friends, picked up new interests, and even thought about returning to school.
I ran into Luke at the mall one day. He half-complimented me, which astonished me. “Hey!” Hannah, I almost didn’t recognize you. You appear different. How are the kids and you doing?
I said, “We’re doing great,” not wishing to carry on the discussion.
“Hannah, I wanted to ask you if…”
Luke, I’m getting late. I have to be somewhere. I apologize, I said, and I turned to go. His normally composed, self-assured face was marred by sorrow and perplexity, as I could see from the corner of my eye.
But since I could finally live my life on my terms and feel confident in my own skin, that stopped bothering me. Instead of lamenting my failed marriage, I was prepared to go on with courage and self-love.
So, what are your thoughts? Did I respond appropriately, or did I go a bit too far in my response? In my position, what would you have done differently?
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