I knew my mother-in-law disliked me. But I never imagined she’d go this far.
It started with small things—headaches after dinners at her place, sudden fatigue, mood swings I couldn’t explain. My husband chalked it up to stress. But when my symptoms always seemed worse after her cooking, I decided to investigate.
I bought a voice recorder.
At our next visit, I “accidentally” left it running when I stepped out. When I listened later, my blood ran cold.
“It’s working,” my mother-in-law whispered. “She’s already unstable. A few more doses, and he’ll leave her. You’ll see.”
Another woman laughed—a voice I knew too well. My husband’s ex. “I told you he’d regret choosing her,” she said. “Once she’s gone, he’ll come crawling back.”
Gone.
The word echoed in my skull. They weren’t just gossiping. They were poisoning me. Slowly. Deliberately.
I played the recording for my husband the next morning. His reaction? Fury. Not at me—at them. “We’re calling the police,” he said, jaw clenched. “This ends today.”
Funny how the people who claim to love you most can be the most dangerous. And the quietest weapons? They’re often the deadliest.
