When Linda, my mother-in-law, moved in “temporarily” during her kitchen renovation, I thought I was doing the right thing. Family helps family, right? But from the moment she arrived—air-kissing us like royalty and dragging in her oversized floral suitcase—our home stopped feeling like ours.
She didn’t clean, didn’t cook, didn’t thank us. Instead, she floated around like a guest at a spa retreat. And when she had something to say? She didn’t say it. She wrote it.
Sticky notes began appearing everywhere. At first, I thought they were reminders. But they weren’t. They were judgments disguised as advice:
- On the stove: “Fresh dish for EACH MEAL. I am here to be used.”
- On the mop: “Clean EVERY DAY so your husband doesn’t breathe dust!”
- On the dishwasher: “Real wives don’t ‘forget’ to unload me.”
- On my pillow, when I was sick: “Rest is earned, not given. A wife doesn’t get ‘days off!’”
I tried talking to my husband Jason. He brushed it off. “She doesn’t mean it like that.” But I knew better. The notes weren’t harmless—they were weapons. And I was losing the battle.
Until one morning, everything changed.
I woke up to find the house covered in sticky notes again—but this time, they were from Jason.
- On the mop: “MOM, you’re home all day. Why not give it a try?”
- On the fridge: “Unless you stocked this fridge, don’t comment on what’s inside.”
- On her suitcase: “Time to move back home. Our passive-aggressive starter pack is now complete.”
Linda was stunned. “You’re choosing her over your own mother?” she asked.
Jason replied, calm and firm: “I’m choosing respect.”
She packed up in silence. No goodbye. Just one long, cold look.
And when the door shut behind her, our home exhaled. The sticky notes stopped. Except for one—on my lunch box the next day. It read: “I love you.”
