Three months after the wedding, it was her 60th birthday, and the house was packed.
After dinner, I slipped off to the bathroom. On my way back, I ran into a short, sharp woman in the hallway.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she said, pulling me into a hug. “I’m Dolores. Sorry, I missed your wedding.”
Before I could answer, she leaned in, lips right by my ear, and whispered, “You have no idea what they did to the last one.”
“That’s… dramatic.”
My whole body went cold.
“What… what do you mean?”
Dolores was still smiling, but her eyes weren’t.
“The last wife. She didn’t disappear. She left.” Her fingers tightened on my arm. “But not before they turned her into a version of herself she didn’t recognize.”
“They adored her at first.”
I let out a weak little laugh. “That’s… dramatic.”
“It’s accurate.”
Dolores glanced toward the dining room. Andrew’s mom was laughing, hand on Andrew’s arm like he was an accessory.
“They adored her at first,” she said. “Called her ‘sweetheart.’ Said she was perfect for Andrew.”
My throat felt dry.
“Saying no to your mother-in-law.”
“So what happened?” I asked.
“She had a job she loved. Didn’t want kids right away. Didn’t want to move closer here. She said, ‘Not yet.’ That was her mistake.”
“Her mistake was… saying no?”
“Saying no to your mother-in-law. After that, everything she did was wrong.”
She held my gaze.
“He’s… he’s not like that.”
“Your MIL went from sweet to surgical.”
“Surgical?” I whispered.
“Comments in front of people. If she reacted, she was ’emotional.’ If she stayed quiet, she was ‘cold.’”
Her mouth twitched like it hurt.
“And Andrew always defended his mother,” she added. “Always.”
“But Andrew’s kind,” I blurted. “He’s… he’s not like that.”
On the surface, everything still looked perfect.
“He is,” Dolores said. “Until he’s uncomfortable.”
She let go of my arm and smiled as if she’d never said any of it.
“Go get some cake, sweetheart,” she said and walked away.
I stood there in the hallway, heartbeat in my ears, trying to decide if she’d warned me or poisoned me.
For a while, I chose to believe she’d exaggerated.
Because on the surface, everything still looked perfect.
“Andrew needs a wife who’s present.”
My MIL still called me “sweetheart.” Still hugged me. Still told everyone, “She’s exactly what Andrew needs.”
I liked feeling chosen.
Then the comments started.
We were at their place for dinner. I was talking about a big project at work, tired but excited. I poured myself some water. Andrew’s mom watched me and smiled.
“Oh, honey,” she said. “You work so much. Andrew needs a wife who’s present, not a woman who’s always chasing something.”
“She’s old-fashioned.”
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