My mother-in-law Marlene has always been a force of nature—relentlessly organized, overly opinionated, and somehow always underfoot. From critiquing my spice rack to reorganizing my linen closet, she’s never missed a beat. But when she started bringing her laundry to my house every week, claiming her brand-new washer was “acting up,” I knew something was off.
Her visits became more frequent, her excuses thinner, and her behavior more nervous by the day. I tried to dismiss it, but the growing unease wouldn’t let me. Even Evan, my husband, brushed it off as her usual quirks—until one afternoon, I came home early and caught her in the act. What I saw next stopped me cold.