My MIL Asked My Son to Scrape the Ice off Her Car for $20, Then Refused to Pay – Karma Hit Her Threefold

That I said “okay” instead of “quite.” That I brought a store-bought pie to her house for the first Thanksgiving instead of something named after a region.

Later, I overheard her in the conservatory.

“She’s temporary,” she told Nate’s aunt. “Girls like that always are.”

I married Nate anyway. The wedding was polite.

Elegant. Cold.

Eleanor kissed my cheek like she was checking a temperature.

“Try not to embarrass us,” she said softly.

I smiled because Nate was watching.

When I got pregnant, she didn’t say congratulations. She said, “Let’s hope for a strong one.”

After Oliver was born, something in her shifted.

Not softened. Sharpened. She stared at his birthmark the first time she saw him.

“Oh,” she said.

That was it.

No cuddling. No rocking. No “my grandson.”

Just observations.

“He cries too much.”

“He eats too slowly.”

“He’s… sensitive.”

Once, when Oliver was seven, he ran to her with a drawing.

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