When my mother-in-law, Jane, moved into our home unexpectedly, I assumed it was just a temporary fix for a plumbing issue. Coming home from work one day, I was met with an overwhelming scene: boxes piled high, shoes scattered across the floor, and the unmistakable scent of her flowery perfume filling the air. My heart raced as I followed the trail of clutter down the hall and found her unpacking in the guest room, as if this were her rightful place.

“Mom?” My voice was tight. “What’s going on?”

Without looking up, she waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, didn’t Joe tell you? My house had a little ‘incident.’ Pipes burst and flooded the whole place. I’ll be staying here for a while.”

Flooded? That didn’t sound right. She had always bragged about her newly renovated home. Just then, Joe walked in, looking guilty.

“Yeah… about that,” he said, rubbing his neck. “Mom’s gonna stay with us for a bit.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” My disbelief was palpable.

“It’s only for a little while, babe. You and Mom get along, right?”

Get along? If that meant enduring her passive-aggressive comments about our childless marriage, then sure. I forced a smile. “Of course. I totally understand.”

Later that night, while getting water, I overheard Jane and Joe whispering in the kitchen.

“You didn’t tell her the real reason, did you?” Jane’s voice was sharp.

“No, Mom. I didn’t,” Joe replied.

“Good. I’m here to keep an eye on things. Married this long with no children… someone’s got to figure out what’s going on. Don’t worry; I’ll handle it.”

My stomach twisted. This wasn’t about plumbing; Jane was here to snoop, to pressure us about kids. I stood frozen in the hallway, blood boiling.

The next morning, I devised a plan. If Jane wanted to play games, I’d play mine—by “killing her with kindness.” By 8 a.m., I’d cleared out our master bedroom, moving every trace of Joe and me into the guest room. I even found Jane’s favorite floral bedspread to make her feel at home.

When Joe returned from work, confusion etched his face. “Why are you in here? Where’s our stuff?”

“Oh, I moved everything. Your mom deserves the master bedroom, don’t you think?”

His eyes widened. “You… gave her our bedroom?”

“Of course! She’s family.”

For days, I pampered Jane while Joe slowly unraveled under her relentless pressure. Each morning, she handed him vitamins, proclaiming it was crucial for future kids.

By day four, Joe sat on the bed, staring at parenting books Jane had ordered. “I think I’m losing it,” he muttered.

The breaking point came when Joe announced he’d booked her a hotel room. “I can’t take another day of this.”

The next morning, he delivered the news. “Mom, I’ve booked you a hotel until the repairs at your house are done.”

“But I’m fine here!” she protested.

Joe stood firm. “Mom, we’ll decide about kids when we’re ready.”

She finally relented. “Well… if you insist.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, Joe collapsed onto the couch, letting out a sigh of relief. “Finally.”

I grinned, sinking down beside him. “So… kale for dinner?” The tension melted away, leaving us both laughing at the absurdity of it all.