For years, every time my in-laws visited, my mother-in-law Monica would sweep into our home like she owned it—and head straight for our bedroom. Despite our protests, she’d always claim it as hers: moving my things, lighting strong-scented candles, and generally making the space feel anything but ours. I’d tried everything—gentle hints, direct requests, even pleas—but she always dismissed them. “It’s just a room,” she’d say. “You’re young;
you can handle the guest bed.”But this time, I had a plan.When Monica once again ignored our wishes and took over our bedroom, I smiled politely and let it happen—just as I had intended. I’d prepared the space to make it crystal clear how personal the bedroom really was. I’d left certain private items subtly visible—not inappropriate,