I never liked my mother-in-law, but I tolerated her. She was convinced I chose to marry her son for his money, even though he wasn’t rich when we started dating. For my husband’s sake, I smiled, nodded at her passive-aggressive comments, and acted like we were family. But the day I discovered she had been spying on me? That was the day I decided to give her a show she’d never forget.
It all started when my husband and I went to her house for dinner. It was a typical evening—her pretending to be the perfect host, me pretending to appreciate her cooking, and my husband caught in the middle. At some point, I needed to check something on my phone, but in my distraction, I picked up hers by mistake. I only realized it wasn’t mine when I unlocked the screen and an app was already open.
What I saw made my stomach drop.
A live feed of my bedroom.
At first, I thought I was imagining things. My heart pounded as I stared at the screen, watching my own bed in real-time. Then, it hit me. The only new addition to the room in the past few weeks had been the ornate silver photo frame my mother-in-law had given me for my birthday. I had placed it on my nightstand, thinking it was a rare thoughtful gesture from her.
But it wasn’t a gift. It was a violation.
The realization made my hands tremble with rage. She had been watching us—watching me. How long had she been doing this? What exactly had she seen? I didn’t know if I wanted to throw up or scream. But I knew one thing: I wasn’t going to let her get away with it.
I returned her phone to the table and swallowed my fury, pretending like nothing had happened. That night, I barely spoke, but inside, I was planning. If she wanted to spy on me, I’d make sure she got an eyeful.
The next day, I left work early. But I wasn’t alone. I had asked my coworker, Aaron, to help me with something. Aaron was tall, handsome, and, most importantly, very convincing when he played along with a plan. We walked into my bedroom together, making sure to stay in view of the camera.
I sat on the bed and leaned toward him, touching his arm, laughing a little too sweetly. Aaron played along, keeping his voice low, intimate, like we were sharing a secret. I even let my hand linger on his chest for dramatic effect.
Then, I turned directly to the camera, looked straight into the lens, and smirked.
I knew she was watching.
Aaron, barely able to keep a straight face, whispered, “You think she’s freaking out yet?”
“Oh, absolutely,” I whispered back.
Then, I pulled out my phone and called my husband.
“Hey, babe,” I said loudly, making sure every word was clear. “I need you to come home right now. There’s something I need to show you.”
By the time my husband arrived, Aaron had left, and I was sitting on the bed, waiting. I held up the photo frame. “Do you know what this is?” I asked him.
He frowned. “A picture of us?”
I flipped it over and pointed to the barely visible camera lens. “Your mother has been spying on us through this. I found the live feed on her phone. She has a camera in our bedroom, and she’s been watching.”
At first, he didn’t believe me. He thought I was mistaken, that it had to be some sort of misunderstanding. So, I showed him the app, the live feed, and the history of recorded footage. His face went pale.
“Oh my God,” he whispered. “I can’t believe she—”
“Believe it,” I cut in. “And now, she thinks I just had an affair in our bedroom.”
The horror in his eyes was almost comical. “Wait, what?”
I gestured to the bed. “I made sure she saw me with another man. Do you know what that means? She’s probably losing her mind right now.”
Not even five minutes later, his phone rang. It was her.
He put her on speaker. “Mom?”
Her voice was shrill, frantic. “You need to come over here right now! Your wife—she—she—”
“She what, Mom?” he asked, his voice eerily calm.
“She’s cheating on you! I saw her! In your own bedroom!”
I crossed my arms and waited for her to say it.
“And how exactly did you see that?” he asked.
Silence.
Then, the weak, fumbling excuses started. “I—uh—I just— I have my ways—”
“No, Mom.” His voice was sharp, filled with an anger I had never heard before. “You spied on us. You put a camera in our bedroom. That’s disgusting. And illegal.”
“I was just trying to protect you! I had to make sure she wasn’t—”
“Enough,” he snapped. “Don’t call me again. Don’t come near our house. And don’t even think about playing the victim. You invaded our privacy, and I’m done with you.”
He hung up before she could say another word.
For the first time in years, I felt truly at peace. My husband was livid, but not at me. At her. And he made it clear that he was on my side. That night, we threw the photo frame into the fireplace and watched it burn.
A week later, we changed the locks, got security cameras of our own, and set strict boundaries. His mother tried to reach out again, but we both ignored her.
I wasn’t just someone she could manipulate anymore.
I was the woman who outplayed her at her own game.
And it felt damn good.
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