Chapter 1 - THE MUDDY FOOTPRINTS
My future mother-in-law showed up at 8:00 a.m., walked into my home with mud all over her shoes, and ordered, “Make me breakfast and give me 10,000 dollars.” I handed her a mop instead. She immediately called her son in tears, but I simply opened the security camera footage that was about to destroy all of her wedding plans.
“I’m the mother of the man you’re about to marry, and I’m not going to stand outside the door like some stranger.”
Bernice Gable’s voice shattered the quiet of the apartment at eight o’clock on that Saturday morning. Abigail Prescott, 35, was still holding a cup of coffee when she watched her future mother-in-law shove the wooden bench by the entrance aside with her hip and walk straight in without taking off her shoes.
Bernice hadn’t come alone. She carried two oversized plaid bags, a cardboard box tied shut with rope, and a pair of black shoes caked in mud. It had rained the night before in the small town in Oakhaven where she lived, and one of her soles still had a piece of soggy cardboard and a rotting lettuce leaf stuck to it.
Every step left a dark muddy footprint across the light-colored floor Abigail had chosen after years of saving.
“Good morning, Bernice,” Abigail said calmly. “Please take off your shoes. We don't wear outdoor shoes inside my home.”
“Oh, so now I need your permission?” Bernice snapped, dropping one of her bags onto the floor. “My son lives here. If he lives here, then this is his home too. You can mop it later. It's not like your hands are going to fall off.”
Abigail didn't raise her voice.
No one had given her the apartment. She was the editorial director of a digital media platform and had spent nearly ten years working weekends, negotiating contracts, and giving up vacations to pay for it. Every piece of furniture, every lamp, and every square foot of that home belonged to her.
Her fiancé, Logan, had moved in six months earlier. He was three years younger, charming when he wanted to be, and worked for an event planning company that was always “about to land” a major client. Abigail loved him, but she had never added his name to the property deed.
Bernice marched toward the living room.
“Make me some scrambled eggs with sausage, warm up a few biscuits, and brew me the good coffee. Oh, and give me 10,000 dollars. Between the bus and the taxi, I’m practically out of money.”
Abigail stepped in front of her before she could set foot on the white rug.
“You can't walk into the living room like that.”
She opened a closet, took out a bucket and a mop, and held them out.
“You're going to clean everything from the front door to where you're standing.”
Bernice stared at her in disbelief.
“You're handing me a mop?”
“I’m giving you the chance to clean up the mess you made.”
Bernice hurled the mop against the wall.
“Logan is going to put you in your place! Let’s see if you’re still this arrogant when the man of this house gets here!”
She pulled out her phone and called her son. Abigail calmly returned to the kitchen, opened her laptop, and reviewed the footage from the home's security cameras.
Meanwhile, Bernice sobbed into the phone, claiming she had been humiliated, left hungry, and that Abigail had tried to throw her out “like a criminal.”
Forty minutes later, Logan arrived, breathless and furious. He came ready to defend his mother, but stopped in his tracks when he saw the hallway covered in black muddy footprints.
One of them even had a crushed worm in the middle of it.
Even so, he took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen.
“Abigail, this has gone too far. She’s my mother. Would it really have been so hard to welcome her properly?”
Without saying a word, Abigail turned her laptop toward him.
“Before you defend her, watch what actually happened.”
As the security footage began to play, Logan realized his mother's story wasn't just false.
May you like
There was something far worse hidden behind that unexpected visit.
---
