When Roger and I got married, I thought I had the perfect husband and the sweetest mother-in-law. Cynthia was warm, thoughtful, and always made me feel welcome. She helped me pick out my wedding dress, sent me soup when I was sick, and often said she was thrilled to finally have a daughter. After losing my own mother years earlier, her kindness filled a void I didn’t even realize was still there.

But everything changed the morning after our wedding. I opened the door in my pajamas to find Cynthia standing there with two massive suitcases. “Surprise! I’m moving in,” she announced cheerfully. I was stunned—and even more so when she casually mentioned she had already sold her house. She hadn’t asked or even warned us. Just like that, she became our permanent roommate.

At first, I tried to be patient, but Cynthia quickly took over our lives. She reset the thermostat to freezing temperatures, unplugged our microwave because “real wives cook on stoves,” and created a laminated chore chart—for me only. She called me “the wife” instead of my name and criticized my cooking, insisting Roger deserved “proper meals.” The final straw came when she tried to sleep in our bedroom at 2 a.m., claiming the guest room was too drafty.

I confronted Roger, explaining how miserable I’d been. At first, he defended her, but after many talks, he finally saw the truth. Quietly, we found Cynthia her own apartment near the park, moved her belongings, and surprised her with the keys.

She was furious, but Roger stood firm. “This is long overdue, Mom.”

That day, I learned the importance of boundaries. Marriage means creating your own family, and sometimes, love means saying no—even to those who seem the most loving.