I lost my mom four years ago. It was the kind of loss that cracked something inside me, a grief so deep that it didn’t fade. Instead, it just settled into my bones. We were so incredibly close… and before she passed, she made me promise her one thing. “I want you to wear my dress on your wedding day, Chloe,” she had said. “Whether it’s for the ceremony or the reception… Just promise me, baby. It will be like having me there with you.” I intended to keep that

I thought we were free. For months, I woke up in our new home, soaking in the silence, the privacy, the simple joy of knowing that we had finally escaped my mother-in-law, Inga. No more unannounced visits. No more backhanded comments. No more suffocating control over our lives. But just as I started to believe it was truly over, a sharp knock at the door shattered my illusion. I hesitated before opening it, my stomach twisting into knots. When I finally turned the handle, I was met with a man

Wesley sat at the dinner table, staring at the plate in front of him with a frown. He wrinkled his nose. “Meatloaf again?” he groaned. “Can’t we have something else for a change?” His mother, Martha, raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “We had roast chicken yesterday, hamburgers the day before, and fish on Friday,” she said, folding her arms. “You get plenty of variety.” Wesley rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah… whatever.” He pushed the plate away and stood up. “Wesley,” his mom called. “Rinse your plate and put it in