As my mother-in-law, Doreen, said she’d be staying for the week, I was genuinely happy.
I made the guest room cozy with fresh pillows and towels and even added lavender-scented soap as a nice touch.
Feeling extra thoughtful, I baked her favorite scones along with some chocolate muffins and cranberry.
I was doing my best.
Because she was Jake’s mom, I wanted her to feel at home.
I didn’t know she had other plans.
That evening, I came home from work, looking forward to the smell of Doreen’s homemade stew.
But instead, the house was completely silent.
My bedroom was taken over.
Not just used—completely claimed.
Doreen stood in the middle of the room, humming as she unpacked her suitcase… while tossing my clothes onto the floor.
My shoes? Stuffed into a laundry basket.
My dresses? A wrinkled pile.
Her things? Neatly placed in my closet and drawers, like she had always lived there.
My mind froze.
She hadn’t just taken my room—she had erased me from it.
“Oh, good, you’re back, Phoebe!” Doreen said cheerfully, barely glancing up. “Be a dear and move your stuff to the guest room, okay? There’s barely any room with all my things here.”
I just stared.
Then Jake walked in, carrying her second suitcase like a hotel bellhop.
“Hey, Pheebs,” he said casually, like this was totally normal. “Can you move out of the room? Mom needs to rest after her long flight. You can stay in the guest room for the week. I’ll be in my office—guest bed hurts my back.”
My husband.
Talking to me like I was the guest in my own home.
Like my name wasn’t on the mortgage.
“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, keeping my voice steady.
Jake acted like I was the one making a fuss. “Come on, Phoebe, it’s not a big deal.”
After that, he looked at Doreen, who was already lounging on my bed, casually scrolling through her phone like a queen in her castle.
“Mom is used to better accommodations. We just want her to be comfortable. It’s only a week, Phoebe. You’ll be fine in the guest room.”
I’ll be fine in the guest room?
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
This was the same man who had just complained about his back hurting from the guest bed.
What about my comfort?
What about… me?
I looked at Doreen.
“Did it ever occur to you to stay in the guest room? The one I prepared for you?”
Doreen finally looked up at me.
“Oh, sweetheart, the guest room is much too small for me,” she said with a smile. “But it’s just fine for you.”
I laughed.
Not because it was funny—because it was so ridiculous, I didn’t know how else to react.
Jake gave me a warning glance. “Phoebe, don’t turn this into a big deal.”
I looked at him.
Noticed how he avoided my gaze.
How he knew this was wrong but still went along with it.
And in that moment, everything became clear.
This wasn’t just about a room.
This wasn’t even about Doreen.
It was about respect.
And realizing I had none in this house. So, I did what any sensible woman would do.
As my mother-in-law, Doreen, said she’d be staying for the week, I was genuinely happy.
I made the guest room cozy with fresh pillows and towels and even added lavender-scented soap as a nice touch.
Feeling extra thoughtful, I baked her favorite scones along with some chocolate muffins and cranberry.
I was doing my best.
Because she was Jake’s mom, I wanted her to feel at home.
I didn’t know she had other plans.
That evening, I came home from work, looking forward to the smell of Doreen’s homemade stew.
But instead, the house was completely silent.
My bedroom was taken over.
Not just used—completely claimed.
Doreen stood in the middle of the room, humming as she unpacked her suitcase… while tossing my clothes onto the floor.
My shoes? Stuffed into a laundry basket.
My dresses? A wrinkled pile.
Her things? Neatly placed in my closet and drawers, like she had always lived there.
My mind froze.
She hadn’t just taken my room—she had erased me from it.
“Oh, good, you’re back, Phoebe!” Doreen said cheerfully, barely glancing up. “Be a dear and move your stuff to the guest room, okay? There’s barely any room with all my things here.”
I just stared.
Then Jake walked in, carrying her second suitcase like a hotel bellhop.
“Hey, Pheebs,” he said casually, like this was totally normal. “Can you move out of the room? Mom needs to rest after her long flight. You can stay in the guest room for the week. I’ll be in my office—guest bed hurts my back.”
My husband.
Talking to me like I was the guest in my own home.
Like my name wasn’t on the mortgage.
“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, keeping my voice steady.
Jake acted like I was the one making a fuss. “Come on, Phoebe, it’s not a big deal.”
After that, he looked at Doreen, who was already lounging on my bed, casually scrolling through her phone like a queen in her castle.
“Mom is used to better accommodations. We just want her to be comfortable. It’s only a week, Phoebe. You’ll be fine in the guest room.”
I’ll be fine in the guest room?
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
This was the same man who had just complained about his back hurting from the guest bed.
What about my comfort?
What about… me?
I looked at Doreen.
“Did it ever occur to you to stay in the guest room? The one I prepared for you?”
Doreen finally looked up at me.
“Oh, sweetheart, the guest room is much too small for me,” she said with a smile. “But it’s just fine for you.”
I laughed.
Not because it was funny—because it was so ridiculous, I didn’t know how else to react.
Jake gave me a warning glance. “Phoebe, don’t turn this into a big deal.”
I looked at him.
Noticed how he avoided my gaze.
How he knew this was wrong but still went along with it.
And in that moment, everything became clear.
This wasn’t just about a room.
This wasn’t even about Doreen.
It was about respect.
And realizing I had none in this house. So, I did what any sensible woman would do.
