For years, my MIL took over our bedroom during visits-no asking, no shame. She trashed the place and told me to “stop being dramatic.” This time, I told her the guest room was ready. She smirked, “We’ll see.” I came home and no wonder I found her in our bed. Again. Monica just grinned: “THE GUEST ROOM GETS TOO MUCH SUN. WE’LL STAY HERE.” I just smiled sweetly. Well…everything was JUST AS I PLANNED, so I went to bed in the peaceful, untouched guest room. The next morning, Monica stormed into the kitchen, ASHEN, and said with a voice trembling “What the hell did you do to that room?”
I looked up from my coffee, utterly serene.
“What do you mean, Monica?”
She clenched her fists, eyes wide.
“There were no curtains—I woke up at 5 a.m. with the sun in my face like I was being interrogated by the CIA! And those wind chimes outside? Who the hell hangs four of them?!”
I took a thoughtful sip.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought the sound of nature might soothe your nerves. You know, after that long trip you never told us you were taking until two hours before arrival.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And the air freshener?! It reeked of lavender. You know I’m sensitive—”
“Right, you’re allergic to lavender, chamomile, peppermint, reason, boundaries…” I muttered that last part under my breath. Loud enough.
She gasped. My husband walked in just then, yawning.
“Morning,” he mumbled. “How was the guest room, Mom?”
“Oh it was awful,” she snapped. “Bright, noisy, and it reeked. Your wife set me up.”
He paused, blinked twice, and glanced at me. I smiled back, all sunshine and innocence.
“Well, Mom,” he said, grabbing a cup, “we offered the guest room. You chose our bed again.”
She sputtered. “It’s my right as the mother—”
“No,” he said calmly, “it’s our home. And this is how it’s going to be.”
Silence fell like a dropped plate.
That was the moment she realized something had shifted. I wasn’t playing defense anymore. I was playing chess.
And I had just claimed the queen’s gambit.
From that day on, Monica stayed in the guest room, sunlight and all. Eventually, she even brought her own blackout curtains.
She never touched our bedroom again.
And my lavender diffuser?
It never smelled sweeter.