My husband gave away our baby’s nursery to his mom because she claimed she was “lonely and depressed.” I was shattered. But that same night, when I walked past the nursery, I overheard something that froze my blood. My mother-in-law wasn’t sad at all—she was plotting. She was far more cunning than I ever realized.
For two whole months, my husband Evan and I poured our hearts into our baby’s nursery. Every little detail mattered. I painted the walls a soft sage green, the kind of color that felt calm and safe. My back ached, but I didn’t care—I wanted something beautiful for our child. Then, I stenciled fluffy white clouds floating just above the crib.
When we finally put the crib together, Evan’s eyes filled with tears.
“Our little family,” he whispered, and my heart swelled.
At that moment, I thought nothing could come between us. I should’ve recorded it—because soon, everything would change.
One Thursday morning, during my routine check-up at the clinic, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Evan:
“Can we talk when you get home? Mom’s not doing great.”
A chill ran through me. I didn’t know why, but my gut told me something was wrong.
When I walked into the kitchen later, Evan was pacing like he was about to face trial. His nervous energy filled the room.
“Okay, so here’s the thing,” he said without looking at me. “Mom called Dr. Wills. She’s been lonely and depressed. He strongly recommended she stay close to family for a while.”
I set my purse down slowly. “How close, Evan?” The word “close” felt like a knife pressing at my skin.
He fiddled with his keys. “I thought… maybe she could use the nursery. Temporarily. Just until she stabilizes.”
I blinked. “Come again?”
“Think about it logically,” he said, sounding too confident for how ridiculous he was being. “Babies don’t even sleep in cribs for months. We can keep a bassinet in our room. Mom needs comfort. And she’ll be here to help us.”
“You want to put your mother in our baby’s room?” My voice shook with fury.
“Temporarily!” he said quickly. “She’s already… here.”
That last part hit me like a bomb. I rushed down the hall, threw open the nursery door—and felt my heart crack.
The crib was gone. In its place sat a queen-size bed covered in Lydia’s floral comforter. Her jewelry box was perched on the changing table. She looked up mid-phone call, smiling.
“Oh, she’s here! Gotta go, Susan,” she said, hanging up. “Anna! Don’t you just love what we’ve done with the space?”
I could barely breathe. “Where’s the crib, Lydia?”
“Oh, Evan moved it to the corner. Don’t worry, sweetie. I won’t be in your way.”
Then she looked at my painted clouds and laughed. “Cute, but a bit childish for a guest room, don’t you think?”
“It’s not a guest room,” I hissed.
“Of course, dear,” she said sweetly. “We’ll see how things go.”
Her fake kindness made my skin crawl.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Around 10 p.m., I got up for a heating pad. As I passed the nursery, I heard Lydia’s voice through the cracked door—and what I overheard changed everything.
“You should’ve seen her face when she walked in! Like someone died!” she cackled.
I froze.
“No, no, it was easy. I’m a good actress. I told Evan Dr. Wills said I was depressed. Poor boy practically begged me to move in! Men are so simple when you know which buttons to push. His wife has no clue what’s coming next.”
My blood went cold.
“The best part? She can’t kick me out without looking cruel. I’ll be so established here by the time the baby comes, they won’t remember whose house this was to begin with!”
I pressed against the wall, shaking.
“Oh, trust me, Susan,” she bragged. “I’ve been planning this since she got pregnant. Once the baby arrives, most mothers get pushed aside. But not me. I’ll make sure I’m the center of this house forever!”
I could barely breathe. My mother-in-law wasn’t sick. She was a schemer.
The next day, I called my Aunt Carla. She’s tough as nails and doesn’t take nonsense from anyone. She showed up with a baby monitor that recorded audio.
“We need proof,” she said, setting it up. “She wants games? Let’s play smarter.”
That night, while Evan was out, Lydia sat in my baby’s nursery bragging again.
“The nursery plan is working perfectly,” she purred. “Evan feels guilty, Anna looks selfish. Soon I’ll redecorate—those clouds will be gone first. Tomorrow I’ll suggest the basement as a real nursery. That’ll give me permanent control of this room.”
I recorded every word.
The next morning, I looked Evan straight in the eye. “We’re going to therapy today. Or I’m moving in with my dad.”
He paled—he knew what my father would do if I showed up at his doorstep.
At therapy, the counselor asked Evan, “When did you start feeling responsible for your mother’s emotions?”
“Always,” he admitted. “If she was upset, I had to fix it.”
“And what about your wife’s emotions?” she asked.
Silence. He had no answer.
The therapist’s words cut deep: “You owe your mother respect and love—but not your marriage.”
When we got home, I gave him no choice. “Tell her tonight, Evan. Guest room, or I leave.”
That evening, he finally told her: “Mom, it’s time to move. Anna needs the nursery.”
Her face twisted. “But darling, moving me now could make me relapse. Dr. Wills said—”
I pulled out my phone. “Really? Because I have a recording.”
I hit play. Her voice filled the kitchen: “The doctor thing was genius. Poor Evan begged me to move in!”
Lydia went pale. She tried to grab my phone, but Evan stopped her.
“Pack your things, Mom,” he said quietly. “Guest room. Or leave.”
Her lies crumbled. She tried fake tears, fake chest pains, even accused me of poisoning Evan against her. Nothing worked. Within two days, she was out of the nursery.
Evan rebuilt the crib himself. His hands shook as he said, “I’m sorry. I thought I was helping her. I didn’t see what it was costing you.”
I pointed to my belly. “Your family is here now. Start choosing us.”
He nodded, eyes wet. “I know that now.”
Lydia left the next morning. My dad stood guard as she packed. She muttered, “You’ll regret this,” but we didn’t.
I stood in the nursery doorway later, looking at the crib, the rocking chair, and my painted clouds. Peace had finally returned.
Evan slipped his arms around me and whispered, “Our baby’s room.”
“Our baby’s room,” I whispered back.
And for the first time in weeks, it truly felt like ours again.