Three months after giving birth to my fourth child, I was running on fumes. Sleep was rare, meals were scarce, and survival meant snatching whatever scraps I could between endless feedings and diaper changes. I didn’t complain—it was the newborn stage. But I hadn’t expected that my biggest struggle would be with my mother-in-law, Wendy.
Wendy lived two blocks away, and she treated my kitchen like her personal buffet. She let herself in, raided the fridge, and left with my food—every single time. And worst of all, my husband Harry defended her.
It started small. One morning, I brewed two cups of coffee—enough to get me through the chaos. By the time I came downstairs, the pot was empty, Wendy rinsing her mug and tucking a container of my leftovers under her arm.
“Oh, that was delicious,” she chirped. “Just what I needed this morning.”
“That was my lunch,” I said, exhausted and starving.
“You can always make more, sweetheart,” she shrugged.
Time and again, she repeated the pattern. She never helped with the baby, never considered my hunger, and always brushed off my protests. When I finally told Harry, he waved it off.
The breaking point came on pizza night. I’d made homemade pizzas for everyone, including Wendy since she texted she’d come over. Forty-five minutes later, I came down to eat mine. Every last pizza box was empty. Wendy and Harry were sprawled on the couch, laughing.
“You couldn’t save me a single slice?” I asked, my voice shaking.
“Relax,” Harry said, grinning.
Then I snapped. Enough was enough.
The cliffhanger: Could I finally set boundaries and make my mother-in-law stop treating my kitchen like her own?
