My MIL moved in “to help” — but when I came home to find three young women living in my house, folding laundry, flirting, and cutting my husband’s hair, I knew I wasn’t the one being altered.
I was forty, and that was exactly when my life transformed into chaos.
Only, instead of the jungle, I had a kitchen. Instead of predators, three children. And instead of a team, an ever-growing to-do list.
“Mom, I’m getting a tattoo on my neck.
It’ll say ‘Free soul’…” my teenage daughter, Sue, decided without asking for permission.
“And we want a new Lego and no more homework!” shouted my twin boys.
I stood in the middle of the kitchen with a mug of coffee that had long since gone cold, staring at my laptop, where a presentation blinked at me.
I was decided to submit it the previous Friday.
But the previous Friday, I had been fixing a doorknob, feeding the kids, and explaining why they couldn’t go outside in their underwear.
Ross, my husband, had all the time in the world but kept hiding behind the excuse of being “at work.”
“I’m trying, Em. It’s just temporary. Things will get better soon.”
“I know.
I’m just not keeping up anymore. I’m not made of steel.”
We had began arguing over everything.
And right in the middle of yet another argument, the lightbulb above our heads gave out. Literally and metaphorically.
I grabbed a stool and changed it myself.
I saw the neighbor give our overgrown lawn a dirty look, and thought:
“Okay.
Officially failed as a wife, mother, and human being.”
That evening, Ross and I sat in silence at the kitchen table.
“Maybe my mom could stay with us for a while?”
I was surprised.
“Linda? The same Linda who once compared my lasagna to cat food?”
“She just wants to help. With the kids.
The house. Maybe we’ll finally have time for each other. Until I land a job and you get that promotion.”
“Fine.
But only temporarily.”
***
A few days later, Linda arrived.
“You look… exhausted, Emily. Are you sleeping at all? No offense, dear, but your skin could use a little… citrus.
Vitamin C serum. I’ll send you a link.”
“Hi, Linda. Welcome.”
“Where are my babies?
Grandma’s here!”
“My boy,” she crooned. “Still so handsome. You’ve lost weight — have you been eating at all?”
“I’m fine, Mom,” he chuckled.
“We’re really glad you’re here. It’s been… intense.”
“I can see that. Don’t worry.
I’ll help get things under control. A little structure, a little feminine touch… it’ll all be fine.”
Until I heard it. A woman’s voice singing.
I froze in the hallway.
What… is that?
“Ross?” I called out.
“In the living room!” he replied happily.
“Yes, that tends to occur when you skip lunch to avoid being fired.”
“What the hell is going on? Who are these people?”
“Hi!” the blonde chirped. “I’m Sofia.
Laundry’s all sorted — whites, colors — and your kids are adorable.”
“Hey there!” said the brunette. “I’m Tessa. We were just finishing some math problems — your twins are geniuses.”
Then the redhead behind Ross stepped forward and pulled off the towel with a flick.
“And I’m Camille.
I gave your husband a little trim. He was due.”
I slowly turned to the doorway where Linda now stood.
“Didn’t I mention them, dear?” she said sweetly.
“They were exhausted — poor girls had nowhere to go. I let them sleep in a guest room.
They’re helping out a bit in return. It’s just temporary.”
There it was again. Temporary.
“You didn’t think to ask me?”
“You’ve been so overwhelmed, dear.”
“Oh really?”
I stared at my husband.
“Is that a new haircut?”
“Camille offered, and I thought — why not save forty bucks?”
“And how sweet he looks, doesn’t he?” Linda chimed in.
“So clean. So refreshed.”
“You’re saying I don’t?”
“You seem tired, dear. That’s no one’s fault.
But… it shows.”
I didn’t say a word. Just smiled.
Because Linda thought she’d set the rules of the game. But I had already took my plan.
And they were arriving the very next day.
In tool belts.
***
At 9:00 a.m. sharp, the doorbell rang.
By 9:03, Linda was standing in the hallway, barefoot, holding her herbal tea.
Three men stood on the porch.
“Morning!” I chirped, throwing the door wide open.
Linda blinked.
“Emily… who are these…?”
“Helpers!” I said brightly. “Like your girls.
Just a little extra support. The laundry’s done — now let’s fix the plumbing, the fence, and oh — someone’s finally trimming that jungle we called a lawn.”
The guys waved politely and stepped inside.
“Who are these guys?”
“Helpers. Garden, laundry, car.
You’ve been overpowered, dear.”
Ross opened his mouth. Closed it. Linda’s eye twitched.
The girls, predictably, came floating in like that was a reality show and someone had just introduced a twist.
Tessa looked puzzled.
Camille narrowed her eyes. Sofia?
And then began the most awkward day I’d had in months.
Mike fixed the pipes in his undershirt, flexing every time Ross walked by. Dean offered to take a look at Ross’s car and shouted things like, “Whoa, who did this wiring?”
“This is not appropriate.”
“You mean like letting three lingerie models move in and cut my husband’s hair?”
“That’s different.
They’re students.”
I leaned in, smiling.
“So are these guys. Students of trade. Very hardworking.”
At lunch, Dean said, “You know, Em, you haven’t changed a bit since high school.
Still gorgeous.”
I laughed.
“Flattery won’t fix the dryer, but I’ll take it.”
Ross stood up.
“Okay. This is getting out of hand.”
“Oh?” I blinked. “You didn’t say that when Camille gave you that free haircut.”
Linda stood abruptly.
“Alright, enough!
I think we’ve had plenty of… experiments for today.”
I held up the screen which is a clear photo of Linda’s open laptop.
Her notebook app was open, no password, no screen lock. Apparently, she still didn’t believe in such modern sorcery as privacy settings.
Lucky me!
And there it was. A neat little chart titled: “Potential matches for Ross.”
A hand-written chart with Camille, Tessa, and Sofia’s names.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page. Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
