The new pack of rubbers had been stolen again and again. Furious, I poked holes in every packet, determined to make that sneaky thief pay. Little did I know that just over a month later, my long-widowed mother-in-law started suffering from constant morning sickness. I began to suspect my husband, Andrew, was cheating on me. One morning, as I was tidying the bedside drawer, I noticed that several of the rubbers I bought during the last sale were missing. But Andrew and I hadn’t been intimate for weeks. I suddenly remembered that the bed linens had been changed more than once recently. I was shaking with anger, gripping the box in my hand. How dare he bring someone into our home! “Emily, why didn’t you separate the laundry? My white shirt’s been ruined—look at it!” Andrew’s voice came from the hallway. Still fuming, I yelled, “From now on, do your own laundry! I’m done.” “What’s wrong with you?” he muttered irritably. “Your temper’s getting worse every day.” Then Margaret, my mother-in-law, heard us and began wailing from the living room, “Oh, what have I done to deserve this? A daughter-in-law like you!” Storming out of the bedroom, I pointed at Andrew, standing uselessly on the balcony, and shouted, “You sit at home all day doing nothing, and you’ve got the nerve to complain?” “Who doesn’t have the wife doing housework? A man’s job is to earn money!” Margaret slammed the door behind her as she entered, glaring at me. “You can’t even manage the washing properly. Useless! I don’t know what Andrew saw in a woman like you.” Her sharp words only made my blood boil more. When Andrew and I got married, my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, felt sorry for Margaret, raising him all on her own, so they didn’t ask for anything. In fact, they even provided a house as a wedding gift. We had agreed I wouldn’t live with her, but Andrew insisted, saying she was too old to live alone in Derbyshire Village, and brought her to live with us shortly after the wedding. I had endured her endless criticism and meddling for Andrew’s sake, but I was done with it now. “My salary’s three times his, and the house you’re living in? It’s mine. What right do you have to insult me?” Andrew rushed over to comfort his mum and then glared at me. “Emily, apologise to Mum.” I looked down at the two of them on the floor, feeling more disgusted than I ever had. “Apologise? For what? This house, the car—what’s here that you’ve actually contributed to?” Andrew gritted his teeth and then, with a sickly sweet tone, approached me. “Honey, I know you do more, but Mum’s old now. Can’t you just be a bit more patient?” Margaret sat on the floor, smug, clearly expecting me to apologise. I scoffed, muttered a firm “No chance,” and slammed the door behind me as I left. That same day, I ordered a small camera online. If Andrew was cheating, I was going to catch him in the act and make sure he left with nothing. That day, I had just arrived at the office when my phone alerted me that someone was in the camera’s range. I scoffed, opened the monitoring app, and prepared to catch Andrew in the act. But to my shock, the screen showed my mother-in-law, Margaret, tangled up in bed with Colin Harris, Sophie’s father-in-law!
Not long after I arrived at work the next day, my phone alerted me that someone was in the room caught on camera. I smirked, ready to catch him red-handed. I opened the live feed on my phone, expecting to see Andrew with someone else. But what I saw instead shocked me beyond belief: Margaret—my mother-in-law—and Colin Harris, Sophie’s father-in-law, were in my bed! Shaking, I rushed to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and tried to calm down. The absurdity of the situation was too much. The sounds coming from my phone made me feel sick. I quickly shut it off and leaned over the toilet, heaving. The thought of what had happened on my bed made my skin crawl. Furious, I couldn’t believe Margaret’s brazenness. It was bad enough she was acting like this, but why in my bedroom? I picked up my phone, ready to send the footage to Andrew and Sophie. Let them deal with their parents. But suddenly, I felt dizzy. Holding onto the door for support, I tried to get help but blacked out before I could make it out. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. “Doctor, what’s wrong with me?” “You had a miscarriage,” Dr. Richard Evans said curtly, looking at me with a strange mix of annoyance and pity. I sat up in shock. “I was pregnant? How is that possible? I’ve always been healthy—why would I miscarry?” “It was food poisoning. The tests show that someone had been putting large amounts of bacteria-laden pigeon droppings in your food.” I thought he was joking and denied it instantly. “That’s ridiculous. Who would put something that disgusting in my food?” Dr. Evans gave me a knowing look and continued. “In all my years at St. Bartholomew’s, I’ve come across a few strange remedies. There’s an old wives’ tale that says if you mix pigeon droppings into a tonic, it’ll guarantee a boy.” My heart dropped. Margaret had been giving me that herbal tonic every night. She’d said it was to boost my health. Now I realised it had nothing to do with that—she just wanted a grandson to carry on the Thompson family name. But her plan had backfired. Instead of ensuring a grandson, she had caused the death of her own grandchild. I laughed bitterly as tears streamed down my face. I placed a hand on my stomach, knowing that I had lost something precious—something I didn’t even know I had. Still dazed, I called Andrew to come to the hospital. The selfish man took all morning to show up, pretending to care, though his impatience was written all over his face. “What’s wrong, love?” “I had a miscarriage.” Andrew paused, barely reacting. “What happened?” I glared at him, fury burning inside me. “Your mother did this! She poisoned me with that tonic she insisted I drink every night. She killed our baby.” Andrew chuckled as if it was no big deal. “That tonic? All the women in my village drink it. No one else had a problem. The doctor must’ve made a mistake.” I threw the test results in his face, my hands clenched into fists, barely able to resist hitting him. “Tell your mum to pack her things and get out. I don’t want to see her in our house again.” Andrew sat at the edge of my bed, still smiling as though nothing had happened. “Mum meant well. She’s just desperate for a grandson. Don’t be so harsh. She’s lived here for so long—she wouldn’t know how to adjust if we sent her back to Derbyshire Village.” It was like he didn’t care at all that we had lost our child. Disgust rose within me. I had never been more disappointed in him. That was when I made up my mind. I was going to leave him, but not before making them both pay.
While I was still recovering in the hospital, Margaret showed up with a big bag of fruit. It was strange. She was notoriously stingy, so for her to buy all this… I knew something was up. “What are you doing here?” I asked coldly. I wasn’t ready to show my cards yet, but I couldn’t hide my disdain. “Oh, it’s nothing much. There’s just something I wanted to talk to you about.” I scoffed. Typical. She only came when she needed something. But the nerve of her! After everything she had done, she didn’t even have the decency to acknowledge her part in my miscarriage. Instead, she was here asking for help. “What is it?” I asked, barely able to mask my irritation. “When I spoke to the doctor earlier, he mentioned that your miscarriage might affect your chances of having another child in the future.” “So?” “Well, the Thompson family has always depended on Andrew to carry on the line. We can’t let it end with him, can we?” I froze, gripping the sheets tightly to keep from slapping her. “What are you suggesting? That Andrew divorces me?” She laughed nervously, sensing the danger in my tone. “No, no. You’ll always be our daughter-in-law. I was just thinking, perhaps Andrew could, you know, have a child with one of the village girls. Just to keep the family line going. Don’t worry, the child would call you ‘Mum.’” I stared at her, stunned. The audacity. She expected me to raise someone else’s child—her grandchild—from Andrew’s affair? “So you came here to tell me Andrew’s about to cheat on me, and I’m supposed to just accept it?” “It’s not cheating! It’s just having a child. You can’t let the Thompson family end, can you? Just be sensible and accept it.” I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. It wasn’t that I couldn’t stand up for myself—it was the overwhelming sense of helplessness that comes from dealing with someone so shameless. Andrew would never send his mother back to the village, and I couldn’t live with her anymore. We were at an impasse. “I don’t care,” I said finally. “Go talk to Andrew. If he’s fine with it, then I am too.” Margaret beamed, clearly thinking she had won. As soon as she left, I let out a bitter laugh. I had made my decision. I wasn’t going to tell them about the footage I had from the camera. If they wouldn’t let me have peace, then none of them would.
Back at home, I secretly poked holes in all the rubbers we had left. If Margaret wanted a grandchild so badly, she could have one with Colin Harris. Let’s see how Andrew and Sophie liked being “family.” I went back to work the next day and checked the video feed during my break. They couldn’t resist, and I saved every clip of their sordid little affair. Margaret was getting older. I figured it would take a while for my plan to work. But sometimes fate lends a hand. She had been feeling queasy for days and had no appetite. That evening, I made sure to cook something extra rich and greasy. The moment I set the food on the table, she bolted for the bathroom, gagging. Andrew, ever the doting son, followed her to check on her. “Mum, are you alright?” Margaret tried to dismiss it, but I could see the doubt flash across her face. She’d been through this twice before, after all. I couldn’t help but smirk. Still, I played innocent, bringing out a bowl of tonic. “Mum, you’ve barely eaten anything these last few days. Have some soup—it’s good for the body.” Margaret’s face turned pale at the sight of the tonic. She gagged again and ran back to the bathroom. Andrew stood helplessly at the door, rubbing her back. I leaned against the counter, my voice dripping with false concern. “You know, Mum’s symptoms are a lot like pregnancy. Andrew, do you think you might be getting a little brother? Maybe the Thompson family won’t be three generations of single heirs after all.” Margaret’s face went white, and she looked genuinely terrified. Andrew shot me an annoyed glance. “Stop talking nonsense. Dad’s been dead for years. Mum’s been faithful all this time. There’s no way she could be pregnant.” But Margaret’s panic was palpable. She lashed out, screaming, “Shut your mouth if you’ve got nothing good to say!” Watching her unravel was the most satisfying thing I had experienced in months. “Oh, don’t be mad. I’m just worried about your health. Here, have some tonic. You always said it’s good for the body.” I held the bowl out toward her, and she batted it away, spilling the hot soup on my hand. “Margaret! What are you doing?” Andrew gasped, rushing to my side. “Emily was only trying to help.” I shook my head. “It’s fine. We should probably take Mum to St. Bartholomew’s for a check-up though, just to be sure. Don’t worry, Andrew. Even if we have to sell the house, we’ll make sure she gets the best care.” Andrew was overwhelmed with gratitude, but Margaret looked guilt-ridden, trying to come up with excuses not to go. No matter what Andrew said, she refused. I pressed on, knowing I was pushing her into a corner. I was dying to see Andrew’s reaction when the truth came out. “Mum, it’s just a check-up. What are you afraid of? My uncle died of a perforated ulcer last year, and it started just like this.” With no other choice, Margaret finally agreed to go. The test results came back. Margaret was pregnant. “Mum, what’s going on?” Andrew looked at the test results, trembling with rage, his eyes turning red as he glared at his mother. “Who’s the father?” Margaret looked down, guilt etched on her face. “The test results must be wrong. I’m too old to be pregnant!”
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