Natasha felt her family life was perfect, but her mother-in-law’s covert sabotage left her perplexed and wounded. One evening, she found the awful truth about her ruined dishes, laying the groundwork for a dramatic showdown she never expected.
My name is Natasha, and I have been married to my husband, Simon, for 15 years. Simon and I met in college and are inseparable ever since. We have a gorgeous 13-year-old daughter named Eva, who is the light of our lives. She’s intelligent, witty, and kind.
Simon is an architect, and I work as a full-time mom and freelance graphic designer. Life in our little suburban home is mainly wonderful, with the exception of one major issue: my mother-in-law, Donna.
Donna is a formidable presence. From the time Simon introduced me to her, she made it clear that I was not the daughter-in-law she had imagined.
“Simon, darling, don’t you think Natasha should spend more time learning traditional recipes? It’s important for a wife to know these things,” Donna would often say, her voice dripping with faux concern.
Simon would always defend me. “Mom, Natasha is a fantastic cook and an amazing mother. We’re happy with our lives.”
But her words sting. I’m not sure what she expected, but I doubt it was a woman who favored paintbrushes and Photoshop to conventional homemaking.
One evening, she cornered me in the kitchen. “Natasha, dear, maybe you should consider taking a few cooking classes. It might help with all those ‘accidents’ you keep having,” she said with a smug smile.
I forced a polite smile. “Thanks for the suggestion, Donna. I’ll think about it.”
Every time we have guests over, my signature meals turn out to be dreadful. I’m known for my culinary skills, but everytime we entertain, my meals are either excessively sour, too salty, or bizarrely sweet.
I used to blame it on nerves and a desire to impress our guests, but it always struck me as unusual. It was as if a culinary curse had befallen me each time.
One night after a dinner gathering, I sighed deeply as I washed a saucepan. Simon entered, sensing my frustration. “You okay, honey?”
“Simon, I don’t get it. I followed the recipes perfectly, but everything turned out wrong again. I feel like I’m losing my touch,” I said, feeling defeated.
He kissed my forehead. “You’re an amazing cook, Natasha. Maybe it’s just bad luck. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
But deep inside, I knew something was wrong. I couldn’t get over the idea that it was more than just terrible luck.
One evening, everything fell into place. It was Simon’s birthday, and I was making my famous pasta to celebrate. Our living room was filled with the conversation and laughing of friends and relatives, while Eva darted around excitedly, making sure everything was perfect for her father.
Simon was in his element, excitedly discussing a new project with his colleagues. Meanwhile, I was in the kitchen, enjoying the familiar rhythm of cooking.
“Mom, do you need any help?” Eva asked, poking her head into the kitchen.
“No, sweetheart, I’ve got it. Just make sure your dad’s having a good time,” I replied with a smile, ruffling her hair.
My phone rang when I was cooking the sauce. I went out of the kitchen to answer an urgent call from a customer. “I’ll be right back,” I said to no one in particular, holding my phone on my shoulder as I closed the kitchen door behind me.
The call only lasted a minute, but when I returned, I found the kitchen door was slightly open.
Donna was crouched over my saucepan, pouring something into the sauce, as I could see through the small breach. She hastily put a tiny container back in the cupboard.
My heart fell when I realized what was happening. Donna was the one who ruined the dishes to shame me. But instead of confronting her immediately away, I chose to handle it differently.
“Eva, sweetie, can you come here for a second?” I yelled out to my daughter and motioned for her to join me in the corridor. She followed without hesitation, despite her initial curiosity.
“What’s up, Mom?” Eva asked, her eyes wide with interest.
“I need you to help me with something, okay? But you have to promise to play along,” I said, kneeling down to her level.
Eva’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “What do you mean, play along?”
I took a long breath and debated how much to tell her. “I saw Grandma putting citric acid in the pasta. She’s been sabotaging my cooking to make me look bad. I want to teach her a lesson.”
Eva’s eyes grew wider, and she gasped. “Grandma did that? But why?”
“She doesn’t think I’m good enough for your dad. But let’s just say she’s about to get a taste of her own medicine. Just follow my lead when we sit down to eat, okay?”
Eva nodded, a naughty gleam in her eyes. “Okay, Mom. I’m with you.”
We returned to the dining room, where everyone had settled down. Simon was beaming, ignorant of the drama taking place behind the scenes. Donna sat across from me, her face cloaked in fake innocence. I smiled warmly at her, my heart racing with anticipation of what would happen next.
As the first bits of pasta were presented, I took my gently and savored the experience. Eva was the first to speak.
“Mom, the pasta’s kind of sour,” she said, her voice loud enough to catch everyone’s attention.
I gasped and clutched my throat tightly. “Oh no,” I blurted out, my eyes widening with false fear. “Call an ambulance!”
I allowed myself to droop in my chair, feigning to lose consciousness. The room burst in turmoil. Simon was by my side in an instant, his face blanched from dread.
“Natasha, stay with me! Someone call 911!” he shouted, his voice trembling.
The attendees were in a frenzy, pulling out their phones and attempting to figure out what to do. Simon appeared desperate, his eyes darting around for solutions.
“What could have happened? Why did she start choking?” Simon cried out, his voice breaking.
Eva, playing her role flawlessly, looked up with big, innocent eyes. “Dad, the pasta had citric acid in it. Mom is allergic to it. But the question is, how did citric acid get into the pasta? Mom never adds it!”
All eyes were drawn to Donna. She was transfixed, her face pale. The knowledge of what she had done struck her like a freight train. She fumbled, her words scarcely audible.
“I… I didn’t mean… I just wanted to…” She trailed off, the weight of her actions sinking in.
Simon’s face twisted in anger. “You did this? You put citric acid in the pasta? Why would you do that?”
Donna’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Simon. I thought I was teaching her a lesson. I never meant for this to happen.”
At that point, I decided it was time to cease the act. I slowly “regained consciousness,” blinking as if I were emerging from a fog.
“Natasha!” Simon exclaimed, relief flooding his voice. “Are you okay?”
I sat up, rubbing my temples. “I think so. What happened?”
Eva piped up, her voice a blend of innocence and triumph. “Grandma put citric acid in the pasta, Mom. She said she wanted to teach you a lesson.”
The room fell silent. Donna looked at me, her face crumpling with guilt. “I’m so sorry, Natasha. I never wanted it to go this far. I’m ashamed of what I did.”
I looked at her, feeling satisfaction and pity. “Donna, I’ve tried so hard to be a part of this family. But you’ve made it clear you don’t want me here. What you did was dangerous and cruel. I think it’s time we set some boundaries.”
Simon nodded, his face stern. “Mom, this is unacceptable. You need to apologize and understand that this behavior won’t be tolerated.”
Donna’s shoulders sagged as she nodded. “I understand. I’m truly sorry, Natasha. I’ll do better, I promise.”
The visitors gradually resumed their chats, the tension diminishing as the scene subsided. Simon gripped my hand tightly, his eyes full of concern.
“Are you really okay?” he inquired softly.
I nodded and squeezed his hand back. “I am now. Thanks to Eva.”
Eva beams with pride at her role in the evening’s events. “We make a pretty good team, huh, Mom?”
I smiled at her, my heart full of love. “The best team.”
As the evening progressed and the visitors began to leave, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Donna had been exposed, and Simon and Eva were by my side. It wasn’t Simon’s ideal birthday, but it was one we would never forget.
Things changed after that night. Donna made a genuine effort to be kinder and more supportive, and as a result, our family became stronger. It wasn’t the ideal resolution, but it was a start. And sometimes it is all you need.