When my husband, Oliver, told me his mom was moving in to “help,” I had a bad feeling. But when she arrived with a man from my past—a man who knew my darkest secret—I realized I wasn’t just hosting guests. I was their hostage.
I was never a perfect mother, but I tried my best. Some mornings, the pancakes turned out a little too crispy around the edges, but at least my kids had something warm on their plates. The laundry? Well, let’s just say I worked on a flexible schedule—if you needed something clean, you had to remind me before the last pair of socks disappeared.
But I loved my kids. I loved my life. Even when it felt overwhelming.
Oliver worked late most nights, so it was just me juggling dinner, bath time, and bedtime stories. And, honestly? I liked it. Well, most of the time.
That particular evening, after finally wrestling the kids into bed—one stuffed animal rescue mission and two water refills later—I walked into the kitchen, ready to collapse.
Oliver was already there, sitting at the counter with an excited look on his face. His laptop was open in front of him.
“Sweetheart,” he said, grinning like a kid who had just pulled off the best surprise ever. “I have a present for you!”
I eyed him suspiciously. The last time he said that, I ended up with a robotic vacuum that beeped aggressively at me whenever I left socks on the floor.
He slid the laptop toward me. “Look.”
I leaned in, and my breath caught. On the screen was an enrollment page for a professional pastry course I had dreamed about for years.
“Oliver… This is amazing.”
“I knew you’d love it!” He beamed.
I did love it. I really did. But there was one glaring problem.
“When would I have time for this? I barely have time to sit down.”
“Well, that’s where my second surprise comes in. Mom is coming to stay with us. She’ll help with the kids so you can focus on yourself a little more.”
“Your mom? Living here?”
“It’s just for a little while,” he assured me quickly. “She really wants to help, and it’ll be easier for you.”
Help isn’t a bad thing, right? In theory, having another adult around should make things smoother. But the reality of it?
There were things I knew about Marian. Things that made my stomach twist at the thought of sharing a roof with her. I swallowed, pushing the uneasy feeling aside.
Maybe I was overthinking. Maybe this would actually be… good. Or maybe I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life.
On the day of my MIL’s arrival, I wanted everything to be perfect. The kids had actually cleaned their rooms. Well, mostly.
I had to remind them five times, and I still found a suspiciously lumpy blanket on Theo’s bed that probably hid an entire toy civilization. But it was good enough.
The smell of cherry pie filled the kitchen, warm and inviting. I set it on the counter to cool, smoothing my apron. It was my signature dessert, the one everyone raved about. Even Marian. Maybe, that would help set a positive tone.
A car engine rumbled outside. She had arrived.
I wiped my hands on my apron and stepped onto the porch, pasting on a welcoming smile. But the moment I saw them…
Marian stepped out first, looking as put-together as ever. But my eyes weren’t on her. They were on the man beside her.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with slicked-back hair and a smirk that sent a wave of nausea through me.
Greg!
“Kayla, meet Greg, my love!” Marian announced cheerfully.
No. No, no, no. This isn’t happening.
“Your… love?” I forced out, trying to keep my voice calm.
“Yes, darling! I couldn’t leave him behind! He’s helpless without me!”
Helpless. Right.
My heart hammered against my ribs, but I couldn’t let it show. Not yet.
Oliver stepped outside then. He took one look at Greg and Marian, and I saw the shift from surprise to barely concealed discomfort.
But Oliver was Oliver. Always polite, always trying to keep the peace.
“I suppose… it’s fine if you both stay for a while,” he said.
Greg flashed a toothy grin. “Appreciate it, man.”
Marian beamed. “Oh, this will be wonderful!”
I didn’t return her enthusiasm. Something felt off.
Later that night, as I passed the guest room, I heard hushed voices. I was about to turn away when I caught Greg’s words.
“I can’t stand kids!”
I froze.
“Oh, sweetheart. Just be nice,” Marian murmured.
“Be nice?!” Greg hissed. “I am tired of playing football with those little monsters!”
Marian chuckled softly. “Oliver would never throw us out. And Kayla won’t let him. Right, dear?”
My pulse pounded in my ears.
“What?”
The word slipped out before I could stop it. I stepped into the doorway.
Marian and Greg both snapped their heads toward me, their faces momentarily startled before Marian’s features smoothed into something infuriatingly smug.
“You have to leave,” I said, my voice firm.
Marian sighed, tilting her head as if I were an overreacting child.
“Oh, Kayla, always so righteous. But if you make us leave, I’ll have no choice but to tell Oliver how you helped his father escape from his own wife.”
The floor seemed to shift beneath me.
“You… how do you know about that?”
Her smile widened. “Oh, sweetheart, I know many things.”
I opened my mouth, but no words came. She had me. I was trapped.
And I had no idea how to get out.
But I knew someone who did.
The next morning, I made a call. And when I opened the door that afternoon, the last person Marian ever wanted to see stood on my doorstep.
Thomas. Oliver’s father.
Marian’s face turned pale. Greg sat up straighter. Oliver looked between them, confusion darkening his expression.
“Dad?” he whispered.
I met Marian’s stunned gaze and smiled.
“Game over.”
