laughed about the games from the previous night, and my mother-in-law kept moving between the kitchen and dining room, constantly watching me.
Even before the wedding, she had made several strange remarks.
“In our family, women know their place.”
At the time, I dismissed them as poorly chosen jokes.
Mark always laughed and said his mother was simply old-fashioned. I believed him.
As I walked past the table, my mother-in-law suddenly knocked a large bowl of greasy meat sauce with her elbow. Some of it spilled directly onto the floor, splattering the hem of my light-colored dress.
“Well, well,” she said, barely hiding her smile. “Look at the mess you’ve made.”
I stared at her in surprise.
“But you’re the one who knocked over the bowl.”
The room immediately grew noticeably quieter. My mother-in-law slowly turned toward her son.
Mark put down his fork, stood up from the table, and
