My MIL Secretly Used My Identity for Two Years – She Had No Idea Who She Was Dealing With

“She tried the card. It got declined. She’s furious. Heading home.”

When I pulled into our lot, her car was already there.

My stomach did a little flip.

I walked in and found her in our living room, pacing.

My husband was on the couch, arms crossed, watching her.

The second she saw me, she pounced.

“How could you do that to me?” she said. “I was humiliated. In public. In front of my friends.”

“Don’t you take that tone with me.”

“Sit down, Mom,” my husband said.

She glared at him.

“Don’t you take that tone with me,” she snapped.

“Sit,” he repeated.

He never talks like that.

It shocked her enough that she actually sat.

My husband looked at her, then at me, then back at her.

“You stole her identity.”

“Do you want to explain why there are accounts in Lisa’s name tied to your email and your old address?” he asked.

Color drained from her face, then came back twice as red.

“I don’t know what she’s told you,” Margaret said. “But I was just helping. You two are young. You don’t know how to manage credit. It was easier for me to open things and use her information.”

“You stole her identity,” he said.

“Don’t be dramatic,” she scoffed. “It’s all in the family. I was going to pay it off. Eventually.”

“For two years?” I asked. “Because some of those accounts are in collection.”

“You’re making me out to be some criminal.”

She turned on me.

“You gave me your card,” she said. “That Christmas. You said it was fine.”

“Once,” I said. “One time. You said yours was down. I never said you could open accounts in my name.”

“You always overreact,” she said. “You’re making me out to be some criminal.”

“You are,” my husband said quietly.

She stared at him like she didn’t recognize him.

“I am your mother,” she said.

“Because it’s illegal.”

“And she is my wife,” he answered. “You don’t get to wreck her credit and call it ‘helping.'”

Tears sprang to her eyes.

“I was going to pay it back,” she said. “You know things have been tight since we moved. They wouldn’t give me a decent limit, and she had a better score, and I thought, why not? We’re family.”

“Because it’s illegal,” he said. “That’s why not.”

He rubbed his face like he was trying not to explode.

Margaret looked at me, like maybe I’d soften this.

“Do you know how many nights she hasn’t slept over this?” he asked. “She thought she was bad with money. She thought she was ruining our future. And the whole time it was you.”

Margaret looked at me, like maybe I’d soften this.

“You could have just come to me,” she said. “We could have worked something out instead of going behind my back and locking everything.”

“I went to the bank,” I said. “Because my name is on those bills, not yours. I get the hit. Not you.”

“I was embarrassed!” she said. “Those girls will never let me live that down.”

“We filed reports with the bank.”

“Good,” my husband said.

She gasped.

He went on.

“We filed reports with the bank,” he said. “They know it wasn’t Lisa. They may contact you. There could be charges.”

“You told them it was me?” she shouted.

“We told them the truth,” he said.

“You would do that to your own mother?”

“You are both being so ungrateful.”

“You did this to yourself,” he said. “We’re just cleaning up the mess.”

She stood up, shaking.

“I can’t believe this,” she said. “After everything I’ve done for you. You are both being so ungrateful.”

She grabbed her purse and stomped to the door.

“When you calm down,” she said, “you’ll realize how awful this is. For me.”

She left.

The door clicked shut.

“You believed me. You backed me up.”

The apartment felt weirdly quiet.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and sat on the arm of the couch.

My husband stood and pulled me into a hug.

“I’m so sorry,” he said into my hair.

“You didn’t do it,” I said. “You believed me. You backed me up. That counts for a lot.”

He held me tighter.

“We’ll fix your credit,” he said. “We’ll do whatever we have to do. She doesn’t get to keep you up at night anymore.”

For two years, I thought I was the problem.

I believed him.

I’m still angry. I’m still hurt.

But I’m not confused anymore.

For two years, I thought I was the problem.

Now I know exactly who the problem is — and she can’t reach into my pocket anymore.

If this happened to you, what would you do? We’d love to hear your thoughts in the Facebook comments.