They say you don’t truly know someone until you’ve lived with them. I was certain I knew my mother-in-law, but everything changed the day I decided to follow her. What I found was not just a secret; it was a threat to the harmony of our household.
I used to think my life was comfortable and predictable. Working as a freelance graphic designer gave me the flexibility to stay at home most days while earning a decent living.
My husband, Xander, worked long hours as a lawyer, leaving the house to myself quite often. The quiet solitude was nice until Cordelia, my mother-in-law, moved in with us three months ago.
She called us one night after losing her husband, her voice filled with tears and apprehension.
“Olive, dear… I can’t do this alone,” she sobbed over the phone. “The house feels so empty, so lonely… I just want to be around family.”
I looked at Xander, who nodded, filled with concern. Together, we decided to have Cordelia move in. It seemed the kind thing for someone who had just lost their life partner of 40 years. Yet, there was something unsettling from the get-go.
Cordelia had always been a bit eccentric, but her behavior became erratic. Every Thursday, she would leave early and return late, smelling terrible—like something rotten and damp. The foul odor clung to the air, making me question her activities.
“Mom, where were you today?” Xander asked one Thursday evening as she shuffled into the kitchen, avoiding eye contact. I stood by the stove, pretending to stir soup, trying to ignore the stench.
“Oh, just out with some old friends,” she replied dismissively, her smile unconvincing.
“Every Thursday? That’s a well-connected social circle,” I commented casually. Her eyes lingered on mine for a moment too long before she shrugged. “We meet regularly. It’s good for the soul, catching up with old friends.”
Still, that odor—it was like she’d crawled through a sewer. The pungent scent of decay lingered long after she’d passed. My curiosity was insatiable, like an itch that needed scratching.
Wednesday night, unable to restrain myself any longer, I whispered to Xander, nudging him awake. “Are you seriously buying that story?”
“What story?” he asked, still groggy.
“Your mom’s ‘hanging with old friends’ each Thursday,” I replied. “And that smell… it’s not normal.”
He sighed deeply. “Maybe she’s grieving in her own way, Olive. Everyone copes differently.”
My patience wore thin. “And how is that? By scavenging dumpsters?”
He chuckled softly, half-asleep, “Let it go, love. It’s probably nothing.”
But it didn’t feel like “nothing.” It felt like a secret waiting to be unearthed.
The following Thursday, feigning illness, I decided to follow her. Watching through the blinds like a detective, I saw Cordelia leave, clutching her handbag tightly.
Maintaining a safe distance, I trailed her as she walked down the street. She turned into an alley I hadn’t known existed. My heart raced, but I continued, anticipating something innocuous like a knitting club or bingo night.
What I found was far from innocent. Cordelia frequented not with friends but navigated through the dodgiest areas until entering an old, decrepit building.
Reluctantly, I followed her inside. The air was heavy with smoke and the muddled sounds of murmurs and distant laughter. There, hidden away, was an illegal casino.
And there was Cordelia, not joining friends, but gambling away whatever money she had. Her eyes glued to the cards, hands trembling with every bet. The transformation was jarring. Who was this woman?
I remained hidden, breathless, watching her lose, win, and lose again. She was a shadow of herself, her fingernails digging into the table, face etched with desperation.
Overwhelmed by a mix of anger and pity, I couldn’t bring myself to intervene. She departed late that evening, looking worn and distant.
The next morning, I couldn’t hold back. During breakfast, I placed my coffee cup down with a thud. “Cordelia, where were you yesterday?” I asked, voice mixed with frustration.
She glanced up from her cereal. “With friends, like I said.”
“Stop lying,” I replied sharply. “I followed you. I know about the casino.”
Shocked, her spoon fell, eyes wide. “You… you followed me?”
Xander’s confusion gave way to understanding. “What is going on here?” he demanded.
“She wasn’t with friends,” I said sternly. “She was gambling, and it appears she’s been doing so for quite a while.”
Cordelia’s composure collapsed, and through tears, she admitted everything. “I’m sorry,” she wept. “I’ve lost everything and didn’t know how to come clean. I hoped to win it all back.”
Xander’s face flushed with disbelief. “You lied and used us,” he growled.
“I didn’t mean to,” she insisted, sobbing. “I couldn’t stop.”
Conflicted, I was torn between empathy and fury. “Cordelia, we took you in because we care, not to fuel your addiction.”
She nodded, tear-streaked. “I promise to change. Please, don’t throw me out.”
That night, Xander and I discussed a plan. “She needs to stop,” I said firmly. “If she can’t do it alone, we must intervene.”
The following Thursday, I offered her a bundle of cash. Her eyes lit up momentarily with greed.
“Go ahead,” I dared with a forced smile. “Use it as you see fit.”
With a flicker of hesitation, she stuffed the money into her purse and left.
As she stepped out, Xander appeared, arms crossed. “Are you sure about this?”
“Trust me,” I assured. “She won’t get far.”
By the time she reached the casino, undercover police had set a sting operation in motion. Caught with the cash, it was the break she needed.
That evening, we received a call from the police. “Mrs. Fields? Your mother-in-law is in custody.”
“We know,” I responded. “We won’t bail her out. She needs help.”
The judge ordered rehabilitation alongside a fine. Months passed till Cordelia emerged a changed woman.
Standing at our doorstep, she appeared smaller, a humble shadow of her former self.
“I’m truly sorry,” she pleaded. “I want to make things right and rebuild my life.”
Xander and I exchanged a silent agreement. “We’ll support you,” Xander said. “We found an apartment. We’ll pay the rent, but only if you commit to your recovery.”
Cordelia nodded, tears in her eyes, grateful for the chance.
Watching her walk toward her new beginning, hope clashed with the fear of betrayal. We had done all we could. The rest lay in her hands.
