My In-laws Stole My Late Mother’s Ring To Fund Their Stocks While I Paid All Their Bills. I Spent A Month Pretending To Be The Perfect Daughter-in-law While Secretly Finalizing My Divorce And Their Eviction. Was I Too Cruel To Leave Them In A Tiny Apartment?

The Museum of Bitter Memories

My mother-in-law’s hand rose, ready to strike me across the face as it always did when I defied her. But this time, my fingers closed around her wrist in midair, stopping the slap before it landed.

“it’s over,” I whispered, my voice vibrating through the room.

“from now on your lives are no longer my problem” I said. And before their astonished eyes, I pulled out the white envelope that changed everything.

It was 5:00 a.m. and my phone’s alarm went off. The same daily ritual of the last five years was beginning.

I, Lauren, rubbed my eyes before getting out of bed. Beside me, Matt, my husband, was still sound asleep.

His breathing was peaceful, oblivious to all the burdens that actually weighed on his shoulders, too. But I knew his burden was different from mine.

My first destination was the kitchen. The silence of this enormous, stately co-op always felt cold in the early morning.

It was the apartment inherited from Matt’s parents. It was majestic, with a balcony overlooking Central Park and antique furniture, but to me it felt more like a museum housing bitter memories.,

I started heating water for the coffee—a black coffee, strong with no sugar. It was the favorite of Mr. Arthur, my father-in-law.

It had to be perfect, neither too strong nor too weak. I had been trying for five years to find that exact point, but there was always something to complain about.

As the aroma of coffee filled the air, I heard the sound of footsteps. Mrs. Helen, my mother-in-law, had already come down, perfectly put together.

Her hair was in a flawless bun, even if it was just to sit at home. Her sharp eyes immediately scanned the room, looking for something out of place.

“good morning Helen” I greeted her, trying to inject some warmth into my still hoarse voice.

She just gave a short nod and sat in her chair at the head of the dining table.

“what’s for breakfast don’t give me the usual i’m bored with it” she asked.

“there’s freshly made quiche and toast with avocado and smoked salmon Helen” I replied as I placed the plates.

“h we’ll see how it tastes” she said. Matt finally appeared and kissed his mother’s forehead.

He came over to me.

“good morning Lauren let me help you” he whispered.

But as usual, Mrs. Helen was already calling for him.

“matt come sit here your father and I want to talk to you about the new car” she said.

Matt shot me an apologetic look before obeying his mother’s call. My heart always sank a little seeing him like that.

He was a good, loving man, but in front of his parents, he was like a little boy afraid of making a mistake. Mister Arthur appeared next with the day’s newspaper under his arm.

He sat down, accepted the coffee I offered him, took a sip, and then wrinkled his face.

“is this coffee or dirty water it tastes strange.” he said.

“I’m sorry Arthur i made it just like always,” I replied, holding my voice steady.

“well pay more attention tomorrow.” he said.

Breakfast passed in a tense silence, broken only by the clinking of silverware. I ate standing up in the kitchen, an unwritten tradition that made me feel like I was never part of that family.

At that table, I was the provider, the servant, the financial pillar. My salary as a senior director at a multinational consulting firm paid for everything.,

I paid the co-op fees for this enormous apartment, the utility bills, and the maintenance. I paid for the gourmet groceries for the month, the private university tuition for Matt’s two siblings, and even the pocket money for my in-laws’ whims.

When they finished, I cleared the table. Matt helped me carry the dirty dishes.

“i’m sorry about before Lauren they’re under a lot of pressure” he whispered.

“what pressure Matt the pressure of deciding which country club to join this year” I asked, unable to contain myself.

My voice sounded more bitter than I intended. Matt sighed.

“i know it’s hard but they’re my parents my father’s business went bankrupt his pride is shattered we have to help them” he said.

“helping and being exploited are different things Matt” I said quietly before going into the kitchen.

By 8:00 a.m., I was ready for work in a power suit, heels, and discrete makeup. In front of the mirror, I saw a woman with tired eyes but straight shoulders.

I was the strong Lauren, the unbreakable Lauren. That was the mask I put on every day.,

Outside, Mrs. Helen was chatting animatedly with a neighbor about her plans for a Mediterranean cruise next month. It was financed by me, of course.

I kissed Matt’s cheek as he read the news on his phone.

“i’m off drive safe honey we’ll talk tonight okay” I said.

His eyes were full of a promise I had often heard but rarely seen fulfilled.

“sure” I replied dryly.

In the car on the way to the office, I could finally take a deep breath. Here, I wasn’t Lauren the servant daughter-in-law; I was Lauren the respected professional.

But the weight on my shoulders felt heavier and heavier. The picture of my married life looked beautiful from the outside.

We had a stately apartment, a nice car, and a complete family, but the paint was starting to chip. It revealed a fragile, rotten canvas underneath.

I began to wonder how long would I have to live in this false painting. I hoped for only one thing.

I hoped that Matt would one day find the courage to help me repair that canvas before it tore completely.

The Theft of the Jasmine Legacy

That day was the anniversary of my mother’s passing. As always, I took a moment of silence in my room before heading to work.

I opened a small jewelry box in the secret drawer of my dresser. Inside, I kept a pearl necklace from my grandmother and a simple gold ring with a jasmine flower engraved on it.

The ring was the only valuable thing my mother had ever owned. She always wore it, even when her hands were wrinkled.

She said the ring was a reminder to always be strong and fragrant like a jasmine, no matter where you were planted. I stroked it, feeling as if it were infusing me with strength.

“mom give me strength today,” I whispered before carefully putting it back and locking the drawer.

When I returned from work, there was a small family meeting. Mrs. Helen announced her plans for the upcoming Easter celebration.

It would, of course, require a considerable amount of money. I just nodded, mentally calculating the budget I would have to readjust.