I discovered a box of birth control pills in the widow’s room. I swapped them out for regular stomach medicine. The reason was simple: since my mother-in-law was so eager to have a grandchild, why not have one herself? Later, Mrs. Welmann came over to see her and handed her a bank card. “This is your reward for giving our family a child.” I installed a miniature camera in our bedroom. After work, I often found that the neatly made bed had wrinkles, and the alarm clock or glass on the nightstand had subtly shifted. But there were only three people in our house: me, my husband Jeremy Kohn, and my mother-in-law, who had recently moved in. Yet, just two months into our marriage, Jeremy wielded every trick in the book, employing a relentless charm and persuasion to convince me to welcome his mother into our home. He swore, “My mom is just a weak woman; she won’t interfere with our lives.” But on the second morning after she moved in, she knocked on our door at six o’clock. “Fennie, why haven’t you made breakfast yet?” When there was no response, she started pounding on the door. I dragged my tired body to open it. “Mom, don’t we have a maid to make breakfast?” “That’s expensive! It’s just breakfast; why waste money on that?” Her head barely reached my nose, but her presence was overwhelming as she stared me down. Jeremy was still snoring like a log. Knowing he’d worked late the night before, I decided not to wake him. Resigned, I headed to the kitchen, reheated some bread, fried up eggs and ham, and made a sandwich. She pushed the sandwich aside. “Is this all for breakfast? Are you trying to fool me?” “Jeremy and I usually have this for breakfast. What would you like?” “My needs aren’t that high. We must have oatmeal every morning, and it should be varied throughout the week. The sides can be simple, but there should always be fresh pastries and a hot breakfast sandwich. Meat is good, but it shouldn’t be too greasy—just like the ones from that fancy café downtown.” Her saliva sprayed onto my face as she ranted. I wiped my face, grabbed the keys, and went downstairs to buy breakfast for her. She continued, her voice sharp with criticism, “I didn’t ask you to buy it; homemade is always healthier. Who knows what kind of oil or meat they use? And why are you walking away while I’m still talking?” As time passed, her aggression grew more relentless. She chased away the hourly maid, leaving me buried under the mountain of housework. The washing machine was off-limits, as she insisted that hand-washing was the only way to ensure cleanliness. She severed the power to the dishwasher, decrying it as a waste of electricity and water. In the dead of night, she would storm into our room to shut off the air conditioner,, saying she was worried we’d catch a cold… I harbored a growing resentment. It all came to a head when I saw the surveillance video. Two days after installing the camera, I sat down to review the footage after finishing a project at work. With a sense of mounting dread, I fast-forwarded through the recordings of the past few days. What I saw left me stunned and breathless: Mr. Welmann was kissing my mother-in-law as they entered my bedroom. They tumbled onto my bed, entwined in a passionate embrace Mr. Welmann lived next door, and he had a happy family. I would never expect that he would cheat with my mother-in-law? As I watched their entangled bodies on the screen, a wave of nausea surged over me, overwhelming every sense. My stomach churned violently, and I stumbled toward the bathroom, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Their movements were smooth and practiced, a damning testament to the fact that this betrayal was not a fleeting moment but a repeated, calculated affair. Suppressing my trembling hands, I decided to tell Jeremy everything that night and then have a conversation with his mother.
After dinner, I fiddled with a USB drive in my hand. It contained a copy of the video. I was thinking about how to bring it up. Jeremy came out of the bathroom, freshly showered, with only a towel around his waist. He wrapped his damp arms around me, rubbing his stubbly chin against my face. He picked up the USB drive. “What’s on this?” I took a deep breath. “Why don’t you take a look?” Curious, he plugged it into the computer. Just as he was about to open the file, I stopped him because of a sharp pain in my abdomen—the worst pain I had ever felt. My legs started to tremble. I collapsed to the ground, clutching my stomach. He rushed over, trying to soothe my pain. “I can’t… I need to go to the hospital…” He quickly threw on some clothes, scooped me up, and sped off to the hospital. After enduring a grueling blood test and examination, I was left utterly drained, sweat pouring down my forehead as I sat in the sterile, clinical room. My body trembled, a prelude to the fever that soon consumed me. The diagnosis was acute liver damage, cause unknown. I spent the night vomiting and with diarrhea, the fever raging on. I even started talking nonsense, calling out for my parents. Jeremy took care of me the whole night, and I felt slightly better the next day. The doctor suggested that my condition might be due to inappropriate medication. Jeremy and I exchanged puzzled looks. I hadn’t taken any medication recently, and my diet had been quite ordinary. The only difference was the soup my mother-in-law had insisted on making for me that night, saying it was to nourish my body, made especially for me. Under Jeremy’s questioning, my mother-in-law finally admitted that the soup contained medicine she had gotten from a “master”. “What kind of medicine?” “A fertility tonic.” I was utterly spent, both physically and emotionally. From childhood, I had been frail, and the doctor had long advised against pregnancy. My inclination towards a child-free life had always been clear, a choice Jeremy and I had meticulously discussed before our marriage. He had steadfastly supported my decision Driven by a pang of guilt, my family had covered the full cost of our marital home. When the time came for her to move in, I didn’t hesitate. She had previously tried to feed me all manner of bizarre remedies, each one a disturbing echo of her control, but I always managed to find an excuse to refuse them. I had voiced my concerns to Jeremy, only to be met with his dismissive attitude. He brushed it off, attributing it to the quirks of the older generation and urging me not to take it to heart. But now, she had gone too far. If it had been any more serious, I could have accused her of attempted murder!
I spent quite some time recovering in the hospital, and the matter was brushed off. Jeremy sternly warned his mother never to give me any strange substances again. She grudgingly agreed. The day I was discharged, Jeremy came to pick me up. While he was handling the paperwork, I overheard my mother-in-law’s voice around the corner. “Jeremy, I asked the doctor. He said Fennie probably can’t have children.” Jeremy already knew and just brushed it off with a few words. Then, in a hushed tone, my mother-in-law continued, “I’ve found a nice girl for you.” “What are you talking about, Mom?” “I promised not to force any more medicine on Fennie, but you still owe me a grandchild,” she declared with a chilling resolve. “This girl has wide hips and strong bones—she’ll surely bear you a healthy son. And she has feelings for you, as well. If Fennie agrees to raise the child, that’s perfect. If not, well, you can always divorce her!” I felt my illness surging back, the anger within me spinning my world into a dizzying haze. My mother-in-law, already a ruinous force in our lives, was now audaciously trying to push another girl into the role of mistress to her own son. Truly, she was rotten to the core. I forced myself to stand, leaning against the wall, just to hear Jeremy’s response. “I can’t divorce Fennie.” Hearing his words, a flicker of relief washed over me. But then, the cruel twist came: “I need to get more money out of her family first. Once she’s no longer of use, I’ll divorce her. Mom, show me that girl’s picture.” I don’t know how I made it back to the hospital room or how I managed to act normal as we left the hospital and went home. I just felt utterly cold, the flames of revenge consuming me. I shredded the file on the USB drive, walked straight to my mother-in-law’s room, and swapped her birth control pills for regular stomach medicine. The Kohn family, I won’t let you have an easy time. Jeremy had pursued me since our school days, promising, “With you, I’ll never look at another woman.” I thought I had married for love. But now, I realize that if a woman truly believes a man’s sweet talk, there’s nothing more foolish. Just like I once was. Don’t place high expectations on marriage. It’s merely two people coexisting, navigating the mundane struggles of daily life together. If you hold onto the illusion of true love, you’re destined for disappointment. Embrace the truth: view him as just a roommate, and you might find a sliver of solace amidst the harsh reality. But I won’t divorce Jeremy so easily. The real drama is only just beginning.
My mother-in-law’s appetite seemed insatiable, growing more ravenous with each passing day. As she reached for a third serving of mashed potatoes at dinner, Jeremy’s gaze turned sharp. He put down his fork, his voice laced with a hint of irritation. “Mom, why are you eating so much lately?” She set her fork down as well. “What, are you saying your mother eats too much? Are you upset that I’m spending your money?” Jeremy shook his head helplessly. She then turned her gaze toward me, her eyes gleaming with a chilling triumph. “I’m eating more than Fennie, which proves that I’m healthier than she is,” she declared, her voice dripping with disdain. “Her? Hmph, she can’t even give us a grandchild.” I’m not a broodmare, why should I produce offspring? Whenever my mother-in-law targeted me, Jeremy would pretend to be busy and avoid getting involved. In the past, I might have put down my fork and argued with her. But now, I gave her a sheepish smile and admitted my fault. “You’re right, you’re much healthier. You still look like you could have more kids,” I said, forcing a tone of mock humility, the words slipping through my lips with a strained courtesy. Her eyes narrowed, suspicion and confusion mingling in her gaze. “Wait. What are you saying?” “Fennie, how can you speak to our mom like that?” they both erupted in unison, their voices rising in a simultaneous crescendo of outrage. I was laughing on the inside, but on the outside, I showed a terrified expression. Suddenly, my mother-in-law hurled her chair back and bolted for the bathroom. A moment later, the room was pierced by a horrifying retching sound, as if she was expelling her very soul in a fit of violent sickness. I gasped in shock, my heart racing as the unsettling noise echoed through the house. With a voice trembling with concern, I suggested to Jeremy that we take her to the hospital for a thorough checkup. His eyes, wide with alarm, met mine, and he nodded in agreement. The car ride to the hospital was silent. Out of nowhere, I said, “Mom, your symptoms are a bit like pregnancy.” Her face turned ashen, and she coldly snorted. “Mom, there’s an old legend from our hometown,” I began, my voice deliberately calm despite the tension crackling around us. “They say that long ago, a hunter stumbled upon the egg of a serpent god and, in his greed, ate it. In retribution, the serpent god cursed the hunter’s mother. She was doomed to conceive child after child, her body relentlessly bearing the burden until she perished from sheer exhaustion.” Jeremy was driving, glaring at me through the rearview mirror. “Fennie, you have a master’s degree. Why are you spouting such nonsense?” I smoothed my skirt with a practiced grace, forcing a slight smile as I said, “Oh, it’s just an old tale I heard.” My mother-in-law, her face now a mask of unease, leaned back and closed her eyes. I pressed on, my voice cold and deliberate. “They say that ever since, any woman who has an affair in our hometown meets that same fate. My grandmother always said that people from our hometown carry that curse with them wherever they go.” Jeremy’s face darkened with fury, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the steering wheel. I looked at my mother-in-law, noticing her eyelids twitching slightly, and her hands turning pale from tension. Satisfied, I fell silent. We arrived at the hospital without her babbling. My mother-in-law’s anxiety was palpable as we waited for the test results, her hands twisting in her lap and her eyes darting nervously around the waiting room. When her name was finally called, she tried to insist on going in alone, but Jeremy, his expression a mix of disbelief and determination, firmly took the lead.We followed closely behind The doctor adjusted his glasses, his face a mask of clinical detachment. “At her age,” he said, his voice heavy with professional gravity, “pregnancy isn’t recommended.” Jeremy leaned back, a harsh, unsettling laugh erupting from him. “You must be joking,” he said, his voice laced with disbelief. “My mom is fifty, and my dad’s been dead for two years. How can she be pregnant?” “We don’t joke about these things.” “Then you must have the wrong report.” Seeing the seriousness on the doctor’s face, Jeremy stopped laughing. “Whose is it? Whose baby is it?!” Jeremy’s voice reverberated through the sterile hospital hallway. His mother sat on the bench, her shoulders hunched in defeat, her eyes swollen and red from crying. She fumbled with a handkerchief, her stammering words barely coherent. “The… the serpent god’s…” “Serpent god, my foot!!!” Jeremy was livid.
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