When my mother-in-law moved in “for a few weeks” while her kitchen was torn up, I told myself it would be fine. I even made up the guest room with fresh sheets and put flowers on the nightstand. By day three, the flowers looked like I felt—drooping under the weight of something I couldn’t name.
The something turned out to be neon.
It started with a hot-pink sticky on the stove: Cook fresh meals for your husband EACH TIME! Another was taped to the mop: Clean EVERY DAY so your husband doesn’t breathe dust! When I came down with a fever, I found one on my pillow: Rest is earned. Lazy wives DON’T get days off.
I brought them to my husband, laid them on the table like evidence. He stared at the notes, then at his coffee, and said nothing. The next morning, they were stacked in tidy piles on the counter alongside a handwritten line in his mother’s spidery script: If you need help keeping up, I can stay longer.
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