At 40, my life felt like chaos. I was juggling three kids, a cold coffee mug, and a presentation that could secure a much-needed promotion. My husband, Ross, was hiding behind his “work” — a temporary internship — while I handled everything else.
One night, Ross suggested his mom, Linda, move in to help. I reluctantly agreed, not knowing she’d bring a “support group” of former students. They seemed nice, but I quickly realized it wasn’t just about helping. Linda had her own plans.
The situation escalated when I came home to find Ross and three women in the living room. Linda had invited them to stay, and they were “helping” with everything from laundry to haircuts. I felt suffocated.
In a moment of frustration, I called Linda out, showing Ross a chart of “potential matches” for him — with her former students listed as candidates. The tension finally broke, and everyone left. Ross apologized, admitting he hadn’t been paying attention to how much I was doing.
Despite everything, I got the promotion, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I’d won.
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