The apartment had been my dream, a sleek, sunlit place in the heart of the city. I worked long hours and saved for years to make it mine. It wasn’t just a home; it was proof of my independence.
When I married Jack three years ago, I invited him to move in with me. He was charming, kind, and everything I thought I wanted in a partner.
At first, life seemed perfect. But Jack came with baggage. His family, especially his mother, Linda, was a constant source of tension. Linda never hid her dislike for me. She thought I wasn’t good enough for her “perfect boy.”
Over time, her comments became sharper, her visits more frequent, and her interference less subtle. Jack always brushed it off. “That’s just how she is,” he’d say.
But lately, Linda’s meddling had become unbearable. She pushed her luck too far at Sunday dinner.
