Not long after Cameron and I got married, his parents were faced with unfortunate circumstances. His mom, Jessica, and dad, Roger had no choice but to give up their home because Roger had lost his job.

Cameron and I didn’t have the space to take them in. But they were desperate, and so were we. We couldn’t let them just try and figure it out for themselves.

When they realized that my mother lives alone, they asked her to let them move in with her. My mom had a double-story house, but due to being wheelchair bound since a car accident a few years ago, she had a live-in nurse to care for her.

“Please, Tanya,” my mother-in-law said when we were all at my mother’s house for dinner. “We don’t have anywhere else to go. And we don’t have any money available at the moment.”

I knew that this entire thing affected my husband because there was only so much we could do in our own capacity. When my mother agreed, Cameron gripped onto my hand tightly and sighed in relief.

“Of course, you can stay here. You can stay for as long as you need to,” my mother told them.

At first, things were okay.

My mother-in-law cooked meals, and my father-in-law mowed the grass and took care of the basic upkeep of the house.

But then, things changed and social services got involved. It was a nightmare.

This is what happened.

My in-laws began complaining that my mom was occupying the whole first floor, something that was obvious. Since her accident, my sister and I had converted the first floor into an entire house by itself for my mother.

She needed her space, and we were going to give it to her. The second floor was for our space when we visited Mom.

Instead of being grateful, my in-laws complained that they couldn’t put their stuff there. They mumbled about the simple food my mother had in her fridge.

“It’s such basic foods. There’s nothing new or different here,” Roger would say.

But still, even though they complained, they didn’t try to buy their own food or food that they would have liked to eat on occasion.

Nothing changed when Jessica got a job as head librarian at the local library or when Roger got a job as a proofreader for the local newspaper.

“Don’t you think they should start looking for a new place?” Cameron asked me when we were taking a walk one evening.

“I’m sure your mom cannot wait to have the house back,” he said.

“Actually,” I replied. “I think she enjoys having people there. She always said that it was too quiet with just her and Linda.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he said. “But my parents can be a lot.”

It was as if my husband had spoken it into existence.

One day, as I went over to my mother’s house with pastries, I found her looking upset.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her immediately.

“Cameron’s parents,” she began slowly. “They’ve been hinting about a nursing home for me. I heard them talk about it last night, too.”

“Mom, do you want me to ask them to leave? They’re crossing the line,” I said, worried about her well-being.

“Oh, honey,” she said, a mysterious smile forming on her face. “I’ll take care of everything, don’t you worry.”

A few days later, my mother-in-law called us crying.

“How could Tanya do that to us?” she asked.

Apparently, my mother had told them to pack their things and move to the first floor because she was ready to move into a nursing home. She said that she needed the help and that she wanted to live a little easier.

Cameron’s parents thought that they had won the battle they created.

Instead, my mother had called social services, telling them that she had two individuals who were living with her temporarily but needed the help.

The next day, people from social services arrived at my mother’s doorstep, ready to take Jessica and Roger away to their social housing facilities.

They were livid.

Cameron and I met them at my mother’s house because they demanded an audience.

“This is outrageous! We thought we were moving downstairs, not out of the house!” my mother-in-law shrieked.

“How dare she trick us like this! We have done everything for her these past few months,” my father-in-law added.

Beside me, my husband flinched. He was caught in the middle, not knowing what to do or how to react.

“You took advantage of her kindness and tried to push her into a nursing home. You got what you deserved,” I retorted, barely containing my own anger at their words.

“You can’t just throw us out like this!” my mother-in-law protested.

“You’ve got a little place to live now,” my mother said, smiling. “But also, that’s not my problem. I helped you out, and you did nothing but complain. You didn’t want to be here. You were just here because you had no choice. Now, you can learn to fend for yourselves.”

Jessica was appalled. I don’t think she expected my mother to retaliate in that way.

It was true, social services housed them in a little apartment which was close to both their jobs. They would be absolutely fine until they chose to move elsewhere.

As they left, they continued to curse, but it was clear that they had been defeated by the whole episode.

“I’m sorry,” my husband told my mother when we settled her down again. “This was all my fault.”

It took a while for my mother to calm him down and make him realize that nothing was his fault.

“Your parents needed a place to stay, and they were welcome to do so here, but they continued to complain. They made life difficult here. Everything was a problem,” she said.

I continued to work my way around the kitchen while they spoke. I knew that my husband needed a pick-me-up, so I made his favorite Indian dishes, hoping that it would do the trick.

If I had to admit it, I also felt like it was my fault. I should have objected to the move in the first place. But I knew that my in-laws needed a place to live when they lost their homes. And maybe it was because of guilt.

Guilt born from the mere fact that Cameron and I couldn’t do it ourselves, that we both had allowed them to live with my mother.

As we got into bed that night, I told my husband that we needed to see his parents. We needed to make sure that they were okay, despite their horrible behavior, they needed to know that we still cared.

The following day, we met them at their new apartment. It was a quaint little place, but it was just enough for the two of them. As we walked in, there were boxes lying everywhere and the smell of burnt toast permeated the air.

“I didn’t check the toaster setting,” Roger said, as his way of explaining.

We ended up taking them to a café for lunch, where they admitted to their behavior.

“We were in the wrong,” my mother-in-law said. “We know that now. We saw an easy way to live with Tanya, and we just wanted more. But now, we have to make it work for ourselves.”

I dug into my pancakes while Cameron let his parents have a piece of his mind. He went on about how they needed to be responsible for their actions and that nothing would make up for their behavior toward my mother.

“You embarrassed me. And you took advantage of my wife’s mother,” he said. “Do you know how that makes me feel?”

I allowed him to talk his way through it, while his parents continued to eat their eggs benedict in silence.

As we drove home, my husband stopped to get my mother a bouquet of flowers.

“She deserves it,” he said.

What would you have done?

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When Katie discovers that her mother-in-law has been making strange dolls for her daughter, she confronts the old woman, only to discover that she has been holding onto grief for her entire life. But what does that mean for the mysterious dolls? And the little girl who plays with them?

Read the full story here.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.