My MIL Brought Three Young Women into Our Home Because I Wasn't Enough for Her Son, So I Got My Perfect Revenge – Story of the Day

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 replaced.

I was forty, and that was exactly when my life turned into chaos. I didn’t know how other people managed it, but I felt like the lead in a survival show.

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, announced without asking for permission.

"And we want a new Lego and no more homework!" shouted my twin boys, wrapping themselves with tape and tossing first-grade books like confetti.

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 supposed to submit it the previous Friday. That one presentation could land me a management position — and with it, a raise we badly needed to stay afloat.

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.”

In reality, it was an unpaid internship — his latest attempt to reinvent himself professionally.

"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 started arguing over everything. The dirty pan. My tone. His bored "uh-huh" whenever I tried to speak. The romance had vanished somewhere between our cold dinners and the electric bill.

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. Then hammered a nail into the wall for the shelf.

Then dried the floor after the washing machine gasped its final breath. The fence Ross had promised to fix? It finally collapsed. Right into the garbage. Along with my patience.

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. Ross didn’t even look up as he said:

"Maybe my mom could stay with us for a while?"

I almost choked on my tea.

"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."

I closed my eyes. Knowing Linda, that wasn’t help. But I was past the point of pretending I could handle it all.

"Fine. But only temporarily."

I didn’t know then that “temporarily” was one of Linda’s favorite words. Also, one of the most dangerous. I didn’t know she’d bring a full therapy support group in short shorts.

***

A few days later, Linda arrived. She didn’t even say "hello" — just barged in, took one look at me, and turned pale like she’d just seen a ghost.

"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."

She air-kissed my cheek, sniffed, and walked past me into the house.

"Where are my babies? Grandma’s here!"

The twins bolted toward her like she was handing out popsicles. Ross came down the stairs just in time to get a full hug.

"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."

I was the only one who felt the storm coming.

***

The first evening was oddly peaceful. Linda made a full roast with perfect potatoes. I came home from work and for the first time in weeks, the house didn’t smell like burnt toast.

I almost felt guilty for doubting her.

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 cheerfully.

I walked in and found him sitting at the table, a towel around his shoulders, looking oddly pleased with himself. A tall redhead woman stood behind him, comb in hand.

"Hey! You’re back early?"

"Yes, that tends to happen when you skip lunch to avoid being fired."

I looked from Ross to the redhead behind him, then toward the hallway, just in time to see two more women entering the room.

One of them, petite and blonde, carried a full laundry basket, giving me a sunny little wave.

The other was brunette, athletic, with a megawatt smile. She leaned against the doorway, holding a notebook and a stack of flashcards.

"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 blinked. I felt like walking into... a fever dream.

Ross grinned.

"They’re Linda’s students — well, former students. Just staying here for a bit while their dorm gets renovated. Mom told you, right?"

I slowly turned to the doorway where Linda now stood, sipping chamomile tea like a satisfied villain.

"Didn't I mention them, dear?" she said sweetly.

"No."

"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?"

"Really. By the way, Camille’s studying child psychology. She’s already spoken to Lily about that tattoo nonsense — redirected her toward Jung. Or maybe it was Freud. Either way, she’s now obsessed with personality types."

Ross beamed. "She did calm Lily down. It’s wild."

I stared at him.

"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."

My face was burning, but I smiled.

"Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt... whatever this is. I’ll be in the kitchen."

I walked off like I wasn’t seconds away from screaming into a pillow. I opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and took a sip.

Then another.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You’re fine. You’re not jealous of three glowing interns in bike shorts. You’re a grown woman. With a job.

"Rough day?"

I didn’t have to turn around to know it was Linda.

I shut the fridge.

"I’m fine."

"You’re not... jealous, are you, dear?" Linda asked sweetly, voice low enough that Ross wouldn’t hear.

"Consider it a test of your marriage — a chance to see what truly suits my son. A woman full of life, with energy and grace... or someone so exhausted she forgets how to smile."

I didn’t say a word. Just smiled.

Because Linda thought she’d set the rules of the game. But I had already planned my next three moves.

And they were arriving the very next day. In tool belts.

***

The following morning, I took a personal day. Technically, I told my boss I had a "family emergency." That wasn’t a lie.

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.

Noah was first—tall, tan, with kind eyes and forearms that looked like they belonged in an action movie. He was my friend’s brother and a professional landscaper.

Behind him came Mike, a plumber I’d met through work. Quiet. Built like a refrigerator.

And last was Dean — my old high school friend turned handyman-slash-mechanic. Charismatic, bearded, always smelling like pine and coffee.

"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. Ross walked in and froze.

"Who are these guys?"

"Helpers. Garden, laundry, car. You’ve been overwhelmed, 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 confused. Camille narrowed her eyes. Sofia? She winked at Noah. Of course.

And then began the most delightfully 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?"

Noah mowed the lawn shirtless. Not my idea — it was hot. I merely didn’t stop him.

At one point, Linda cornered me in the kitchen, seething.

"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."

Ross tried to act like nothing was happening, but his head was spinning like a rotisserie chicken. He kept peeking out the window, watching Noah like a hawk.

Just when things couldn’t get more surreal... came the cherry on top.

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."

"Experiments? Is that what we’re calling it?"

I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone.

"I wasn’t going to say anything, but then I saw this."

I tapped and held up the screen — 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. Strengths. Weaknesses. Notes like "good with kids" and "naturally flirtatious."

Ross stared at the page like it was written in another language.

"Mom... what the hell is this?"

Linda blushed, but only for a second.

"It’s just... a backup plan, sweetheart."

"A backup plan?!"

They’re wonderful girls, and Emily’s been... well, stretched thin."

“Mom, that's rude! I can’t believe this!” Then, Ross turned to me.

"Did you know about this?"

"Since yesterday. Right after your haircut and therapy session."

He dragged his hands down his face.

"Okay. That’s it. Everyone out. Girls, I’m sorry, but this was... way too much. Guys — thanks for the help, really, but..."

Dean grinned.

"No hard feelings, man. She’s worth fighting for."

I may or may not have blushed.

One by one, they left. The girls, stiffly. The guys, cheerfully.

Linda packed her tote bag in frosty silence.

When the house was finally quiet, Ross sat down on the couch and exhaled hard, like he’d just finished running a marathon he didn’t train for. I joined him.

"I’m sorry, Em."

"For what?"

"For letting Mom steamroll in here like that. For not noticing how much you’ve been doing. For being so... distracted. And for not doing what I should’ve been doing — fixing stuff, supporting you, telling you how amazing you are."

"You forgot 'not complimenting me' in that list."

He chuckled. "Yeah. That too."

"Apology accepted."

"You were carrying everything. I just didn’t want to admit it."

"Well," I said, leaning back, "now that we’ve both confessed our sins… there’s good news."

"Yeah?"

"I got the promotion."

"Seriously? Wow, honey! I am so proud of you!"

I rested my head on his shoulder. The kind of silence that finally felt... peaceful. For once, I didn’t feel like I was in a survival show.

I felt like I’d won the damn thing. And finally, I could breathe.

Tell us what you think about this story, and share it with your friends. It might inspire them and brighten their day.

If you enjoyed this story, read this one: I thought meeting my future MIL would be all hugs and lemonade until I got a bill for staying in their guest room. I paid for it. But not without a plan. And a little wedding-day revenge. Read the full story here.

This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life. If you would like to share your story, please send it to info@amomama.com.