My MIL Moved in the Day After Our Wedding and Treated Me like Her Slave – I Endured Her for Weeks Until I Made My Move

…and I planned.

I wasn’t going to explode or throw tantrums. That’s not who I am. But I also wasn’t going to let myself become some 1950s domestic servant just to keep the peace. I deserved better—and I needed Roger to see it too.

So I started with small things.

I began “failing” at my chores.

I left the house without vacuuming. I cooked meals Cynthia would disapprove of—things Roger actually liked. I didn’t fold his shirts the way she wanted. I let her commentary pile up like the laundry I no longer did on Tuesdays.

And then came my masterstroke: I booked a three-day solo weekend retreat at a cozy cabin out of town. No warning. No discussion. Just a note on the fridge Friday morning:

“Gone to reset. Back Sunday night. The wife.”

When Roger called me in a panic, I calmly said, “Let your mom help you for the weekend. She seems to know how everything should be done.”

I came back Sunday night to find a different home.

There were dishes in the sink. Roger’s shirts were wrinkled. Cynthia looked frazzled and exhausted. The laminated chore chart had vanished.

Roger sat me down and apologized. “I didn’t realize how much you were doing. I didn’t realize how suffocating this had become. I let her walk all over you.”

That night, he had a long talk with Cynthia. I didn’t hear every word, but I know it ended with her packing a bag. By Tuesday, she’d found a condo three towns over.

We still see Cynthia. She’s welcome at holidays, Sunday dinners, birthdays.

But not in our home. Not uninvited.

And never, ever again with two suitcases.