There’s nosy, and then there’s Diane-level nosy. But when she found a pregnancy test in my bathroom and made a shocking announcement, she had no idea just how badly it would backfire.
I was halfway through my morning coffee when I heard it—the soft but unmistakable creak of the upstairs floorboards. My grip on the mug tightened.
Woman having coffee in her kitchen | Source: Midjourney
That wasn’t right. My mother-in-law, Diane, was supposed to be using the downstairs guest bathroom. She had no reason to be upstairs.
Frowning, I set my mug down and took the stairs, two at a time. A weird feeling crawled up my spine—part annoyance, part unease. As I rounded the corner into the master bedroom, I froze.
Diane stood in my master bathroom, staring at the counter. No, not just staring—she was fixated. My stomach twisted.
Woman standing snooping around in a huge master bedroom | Source: Midjourney
“Diane?” My voice was sharper than I intended. “That’s… not the guest bathroom.”
She turned slowly, and for a split second, I caught her expression—somewhere between guilt and something else. Excitement? Satisfaction? I couldn’t tell. But what really sent a chill through me was the way she smirked.
She didn’t say a word. Just gave me this knowing little glance, brushed past me, and strolled out like she hadn’t just been caught trespassing in my most private space.
I hesitated, then stepped into the bathroom. My eyes followed hers—straight to the pregnancy test on the counter.
Positive.
Positive pregnancy test | Source: Pexels
A cold, sinking feeling settled in my gut.
She knew.
I let out a slow breath, gripping the edge of the sink.
What the hell was she doing up here? And more importantly… why did she look so damn pleased?
Woman talking to her mother-in-law | Source: Midjourney
Two weeks later, we were at Diane’s house for a big family BBQ, and if I had known the insanity that was about to unfold, I would’ve faked a stomach ache to stay home.
The backyard was packed—uncles manning the grill, kids splashing in the pool, even aunts gossiping in the shade. I was sipping my lemonade, trying to enjoy the warmth of the sun despite the uneasy feeling curling in my gut. Diane had been acting… weird. Smug, almost. Like she had a secret she couldn’t wait to spill.
And then, right as everyone was settling down with their food, she stood, clinking her glass.
A woman raising a glass in a toast | Source: Midjourney
Conversations died down. People turned toward her, waiting, glasses raised.
“To Hayden!” she declared. “To Hayden! May you have a long, healthy life, sweet baby!”
A puzzled murmur rippled through the crowd. My father-in-law frowned. “Who’s Hayden?”
Diane beamed at me, eyes shining with triumph. “Your baby, of course! Since I was the first to find out about your pregnancy, I thought it was only right that I name my first grandchild!”
Silence. Thick, suffocating silence.
People exchanging glances at a dinner table | Source: Midjourney
My throat went dry. I barely registered the stunned expressions around me. Ethan had turned, his jaw tight, his eyes dark with something between shock and betrayal.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was low, but there was hurt laced in every syllable.
I blinked at him, completely stunned. “Because I’m not pregnant.”
The silence deepened. Then a wave of confused murmurs.
Diane’s smile faltered. “There’s no need to keep it secret, really! I saw the test!”
I stiffened. “What test?”
A woman with a slightly surprised expression, seated at a dinner table | Source: Midjourney
“The one in your bathroom, of course,” she said, her voice still sweet but now tinged with frustration. “There was a positive pregnancy test! You won’t fool me.”
And that’s when it hit me.
Oh.
Oh, no.
I knew exactly whose test that was.
I turned slowly, my stomach twisting into knots, locking eyes with the one person who had been shifting uncomfortably since the toast.
Ethan’s sister.
Woman with a slightly shocked expression at a dinner table | Source: Midjourney
Her face was pale, her grip on her wine glass trembling slightly. And just like that, the entire BBQ exploded into chaos.
But over the noise, over the shouting and gasps, I only heard one thing—Ethan’s sister, whispering under her breath:
“Oh, my God.”
The world seemed to freeze. The laughter, the clinking of silverware, the soft hum of conversation—gone. All that remained was the weight of Megan’s words, hanging in the air ready to drop.
People seated at a dinner table | Source: Midjourney
Diane looked like she had just been slapped across the face. Her glass trembled in her grip. “Wh-what?” she choked out.
Megan, arms crossed over her chest, squared her shoulders. “You heard me,” she said, voice even. “It was mine. Mom, Dad! I’m pregnant.”
A sharp inhale swept through the family. Someone’s fork clattered onto their plate. My father-in-law, Thomas, blinked his jaw slack.
Diane opened and closed her mouth like a fish, but no words came out. When she finally found her voice, it was small and shaky. “Megan, sweetheart, you—you must be joking.”
A senior woman with a shocked and disappointed expression | Source: Midjourney
Megan let out a dry laugh. “Oh, yeah. Real funny.” Her eyes flashed. “I didn’t tell you because you said—and I quote—you’d kill me if I got pregnant before graduating.”
Gasps, then more whispers. Diane’s face drained of color. “I never said that!”
“Yes, you did, Mom.” Megan’s voice was cold, firm. “And guess what? The people who actually supported me were my brother and his wife.” She gestured toward Ethan and me. “They didn’t judge me. They didn’t threaten me. They let me breathe.”
Couple seated at a dinner table | Source: Midjourney
Diane looked around frantically as if searching for someone to back her up, but the family just stared—some shocked, some uncomfortable. My father-in-law rubbed his temples, exhaling slowly.
“Megan…” Diane’s voice wavered. “Why—why didn’t you just come to me?”
Megan let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “You really want me to answer that?”
Diane swallowed. Her perfect little family image was crumbling right before her eyes.
Megan sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Look, I wasn’t ready to tell anyone, but thanks to you, here we are.” Her glare was razor-sharp. “You were so obsessed with a pregnancy that wasn’t even real, and now that one is, you can’t handle it?”
Woman with a slightly shocked expression at a dinner table | Source: Midjourney
Diane opened her mouth, but Megan wasn’t done.
“You named my baby, Mom. You gave a speech about Hayden like you were the one carrying them.” Megan shook her head in disbelief. “Do you even hear yourself?”
Diane’s lips trembled. “I—I just—”
“No,” Megan interrupted. “You just made this about you, like always.”
The silence that followed could’ve shattered glass.
Diane opened her mouth, then shut it again. She struggled to find words, but nothing came out. She looked utterly, completely lost.
Disappointed senior woman at a dinner table | Source: Midjourney
Megan, however, was just getting started. She crossed her arms, tilting her head in mock curiosity. “Oh, and about the baby’s name?”
Diane blinked rapidly, still reeling.
“Yeah,” Megan continued smoothly, glancing around at the stunned family before landing her gaze back on her mother. “I’m either naming them after my brother—” she nodded toward Ethan, “—or after my only real supporter.”
Then, to my absolute delight, she turned to me, flashing a wicked little grin. “Which means Hayden is out.”
A woman slightly smiling while seated at a dinner table | Source: Midjourney
I couldn’t stop the slow smirk that curled on my lips as I took a deliberate sip of my drink. The lemonade was crisp, refreshing, and tasted exactly like revenge.
Diane’s expression twisted—horrified, humiliated, powerless. For once, she wasn’t in control.
Thomas let out a long sigh, rubbing his face. “Jeez,” he muttered under his breath.
Diane, desperate to claw back some dignity, finally snapped, “Well, that’s just ridiculous! Naming your child out of spite?”
Megan raised a brow. “Oh, you mean like how you tried to name my child before even knowing if they existed?”
Diane tried to explain herself but no words came out.
Disappointed senior woman at a dinner table | Source: Midjourney
Megan, satisfied, grabbed her plate and turned toward the buffet table. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to actually enjoy the BBQ before Mom self-destructs.”
Ethan clapped a hand over his mouth, but I saw the way his shoulders shook with barely contained laughter.
Diane looked at me then, her eyes pleading, like I was supposed to help her. I simply raised my glass and took another slow sip.
Maybe next time, she’d learn that sticking her nose where it didn’t belong might just blow up in her face.
Diane turned red, fists clenching at her sides.
Then, through gritted teeth, she spat, “I need another drink.”
Disappointed senior woman | Source: Midjourney
The aftermath of that disastrous BBQ was nothing short of spectacular. Diane, humiliated beyond belief, barely spoke for the rest of the night. She sulked in the corner, sipping wine with a tight-lipped expression. The rest of the family awkwardly tried to pretend they hadn’t just witnessed the most dramatic pregnancy announcement of all time.
Megan, on the other hand, looked lighter, like an unbearable weight had finally lifted off her shoulders. Ethan and I stuck by her side for the rest of the evening, shielding her from Diane’s lingering glares.
A woman slightly smiling while seated at a dinner table | Source: Midjourney
Over the next few weeks, Diane tried to do damage control, but it was too late—the family knew the truth. Some relatives sided with her, mumbling about “respect for parents,” but most saw through her antics.
Megan moved forward with her pregnancy on her terms, setting firm boundaries with her mother. As for me? Well, let’s just say Diane no longer snoops around my house anymore. One unexpected pregnancy scandal was enough to teach her that lesson.
Senior woman in deep thoughts holding a glass of wine | Source: Midjourney
Thought this was wild? Oh, just wait. Picture this: your MIL invites you, your husband, and your kids on a family trip. Sounds nice, right? Except, at the airport, she drops a demand so insane, it could ruin everything.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
My Future MIL Gave Me 10 Rules for Being the Perfect DIL, So I Followed Them in a Way She’d Never Forget — Story of the Day
My future MIL gave me a list of 10 rules to become the “perfect” wife for her son. I smiled, nodded… and decided to follow every one of them. Just not the way she expected.
I’d always been an ordinary woman with ordinary needs. Nothing extravagant. I wanted to work, have a few hobbies, maybe travel a bit, and one day build a family.
I didn’t equate life with grand happiness — I simply lived it and appreciated what I had.
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Until I met Dylan.
My friends used to talk about him like he’d stepped straight out of a luxury shower gel commercial.
“He supports everyone, no matter what!”
“His suits are always spotless.”
“And he never forgets to open the door for a lady. Never!”
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I used to smile politely, not quite believing men like that existed outside romcoms. But the first time Dylan took my hand in his — I got it.
Dylan made my life feel cinematic. Almost too good to be true. I found myself blooming next to him, dreaming bigger, smiling more. I even started cooking with joy.
We moved in together pretty quickly, and strangely, domestic life didn’t ruin the magic. If anything, it strengthened it. The toothbrush next to mine and the grocery runs were small rituals that made me fall harder.
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Everything felt… easy. The perfection of it didn’t scare me. It reminded me how simple love could be when two people were honest.
That evening, we were having dinner at our favorite trattoria. But Dylan seemed… different. Fidgety.
“You okay?” I asked, smiling softly when we finally went outside.
He nodded and suddenly… he knelt. In the middle of the street. With a proposal ring in a tiny box.
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“I knew it from the moment you said pesto was overrated,” he began. “That’s when I realized… I want to wake up next to you, even on the days you’re mad at me for forgetting to bring home oat milk. You’re my heart. Will you be my wife?”
Something in my chest melted completely.
“Yes… Of course, yes.”
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He slipped the ring onto my finger. The tables around us erupted in applause. It was perfect.
Right up until the following day, when Dylan said,
“I think it’s time you meet my mom. You’re going to adore her…”
And that’s when I felt the tiniest tremor in our fairytale. The kind that makes you wonder… if the perfect story is about to take a turn.
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***
We didn’t wait long to plan the trip. Dylan was too excited to tell his mom the news. So the very next morning — it was Saturday — we packed an overnight bag and hit the road to his parents’ place in the countryside.
Dylan hummed along to some 80s playlist as he drove, while I tried to decide if I was overdressed.
“Just wait till you try her lemon tart. Mom’s a legend in the kitchen. And she’s so excited to meet you.”
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I laughed, nervously. “Sounds… charming?”
“She’s amazing. You’ll see.”
In half an hour, the front door flew open before we even knocked.
“Diiiiilan!” a sing-song voice echoed, and there she was. Elen.
The woman wore head-to-toe baby pink — a satin blouse with a bow the size of a toddler and matching trousers.
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“And you must be the darling girl!” she squealed, pulling me into a hug.
Elen smelled of roses and baby powder. I sneezed quietly into her shoulder. As soon as she inhaled the soft trail of my perfume, she gave a tiny cough.
“Oh my,” she said with a polite little wince. “Is that… jasmine?”
I nodded, already regretting it.
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“Lovely… if one can tolerate it. Tee-hee!”
Great… Two seconds into our first hug and we already have a mutual allergy to each other’s taste in perfume. Coincidence? Unlikely.
“Look at those cheeks! You are real!” Elen giggled, giving Dylan’s arm a little slap. “She’s prettier than your last girlfriend.”
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“Mom…” Dylan chuckled, clearly charmed.
We walked through the garden toward the house, and for a moment I let myself admire the rose bushes until my eyes landed on something… unexpected.
A small bronze statue, oddly placed between two ceramic bunnies. Elen noticed. Of course, she did.
“That’s my little Cupid,” she said proudly.
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The poor thing had a chipped wing, a dented face, and an overall expression.
“I found it in a darling little antique shop upstate,” she went on. “Of course, it arrived scratched. But he has character.”
Her voice wavered just enough to give her away — she adored the odd little creature.
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We walked in. The house was a shrine to florals. Floral curtains, floral sofa cushions, even a porcelain tissue box shaped like a bouquet.
Over tea (served in rose-patterned cups, naturally), Elen asked me questions so sweetly I almost didn’t notice the blades hiding behind them.
“So, do you actually work, or is it more of a hobby?”
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“Uh… well, I have a full-time job in marketing,” I said, trying to smile. “It’s…”
“She’s really talented,” Dylan cut in proudly.
Each time, she ended with a sharp little laugh, like a kitten pawing you after unsheathing its claws.
“Tee-hee!”
Dylan, bless him, looked enchanted.
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“Isn’t she just the cutest?” he whispered to me later. “She’s always been so warm.”
Warm. Like a scented candle right before it gives you a headache.
After dinner, Dylan stepped out to the garage with his father to check on some old stereo system. Elen and I were left alone. She stood. Smoothed her pink blouse.
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“Now that it’s just us girls. I think it’s time we had a little honest talk, don’t you?”
I froze, my spoon halfway to the crème brûlée.
“You’re going to marry my son. So it’s only fair that I tell you exactly what’s expected of you as a future perfect daughter-in-law.”
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She reached into a drawer. And pulled out a pink sheet of paper with little roses printed along the edges.
“These are just a few small expectations,” she said sweetly. “I find it helps if we’re all on the same page.”
She placed it in front of me. Across the top, in pink script, I read:
“10 Rules for the Ideal Future Daughter-in-Law.”
At that moment I realized — I might be holding the contract to my horror movie.
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***
It was Sunday afternoon. My friends and I were curled up on the couch in my apartment with two open pizza boxes and three untouched oat milk lattes that had gone cold ages ago.
I didn’t need caffeine. I had rage.
“Start from the beginning,” Emma said. “I want to picture the whole pastel nightmare.”
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I took a breath and stared into the middle distance, letting the horror replay.
“Okay. So we get there, and she’s dressed like a life-sized cupcake. Baby pink from head to toe. She hugs me, coughs at my jasmine perfume, and… And…”
Sasha snorted. “I knew it. I knew she’d be a tee-hee monster.”
“And the house? Floral vomit. Everywhere. The tissue box had roses.”
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Emma leaned in.
“Did she bring out the list immediately?”
I held up a finger. “Not yet. First, she asked if I actually work or if it’s just, you know, a hobby.”
“No!” Sasha gasped. “She did not.”
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“Oh, she did. And then,” I continued, voice rising, “she pulls out a list.”
Emma’s jaw dropped.
“What kind of medieval sorcery is that?”
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“She reached into a drawer like it was a magic hat — and pulled out my personal horror scroll. Pink. Floral. Smug.”
I reached into my bag and tossed the folded sheet on the table.
“I couldn’t sleep that night. I read it so many times, it’s burned into my brain.”
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My friends leaned over to read. I watched their faces twist with each line. Here’s what it said:
1. Lose 10 pounds before the wedding. No exceptions.
2. Agree with your mother-in-law. Always.
3. Get a proper job. Hobbies are not working
4. Handle all housework. Without complaining.
5. Clean my house every weekend. Bathrooms included.
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6. I will choose the baby’s name. No discussion.
7. Cut contact with all men except your husband. Even at work.
8. Give me a key to your home. I need full access.
9. Keep your phone’s location on at all times.
10. Do not argue with me. I am always right.
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Emma leaned back slowly.
“That woman is two pearls away from full-blown dictatorship.”
Sasha looked at me.
“So… what did you do? Did you tell Dylan?”
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“No. I didn’t want to crush him. Not yet. But I knew I had to wake him up from the syrupy-pink fog Elen’s got him in.”
“You didn’t…”
“Oh, I did. I decided to follow the rules. Every single one. With my own interpretation.”
“You’re going to play her game?”
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“Exactly. I start next weekend. With item number five.”
Sasha grabbed it and read aloud.
“Clean my house every weekend. Bathrooms included.”
“Oh, I’m going,” I said, already feeling that fire in my chest. “But the cleaning won’t be quite what she expects.”
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***
It was Saturday morning. Sun shining, birds chirping, my revenge plan locked and loaded. I had Dylan’s spare key from Elen’s house.
I arrived at 10 a.m. in full cleaning mode. Rubber gloves. A tote bag filled with goodies. A fresh can of ultra-strong jasmine air freshener. And a single red sock.
Let the games begin.
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Step one: Laundry. I found her perfectly folded white sheets — Egyptian cotton, monogrammed — and casually tossed them into the washer with the red sock I’d brought for this very mission. The cycle began. I grinned.
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Step two: Scent domination. I sprayed jasmine air freshener in every corner of every room.
Two spritzes in the bathroom.
Three in the hallway.
One on the welcome mat — because first impressions matter.
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Step three: The rearrangement. I moved her ceramic angel collection from the fireplace mantel to the kitchen counter. The TV remote went into the wardrobe. Her favorite slippers? Her “FAMILY IS FOREVER” wooden sign? Hung upside down.
And then came the Cupid. That little bronze nightmare glared at me from the garden, as if daring me.
I wrapped him gently in a towel and carried him to…I’ll tell you later.
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By noon, the house was spotless. But it no longer screamed “Elen.” It screamed “new management.”
I closed the door behind me and practically skipped home.
***
The next morning, just as I was tying my sneakers to head out, someone started pounding on my door. I opened it.
Elen stood there, wild-eyed, hair slightly askew, holding a pink bedsheet like it was a crime scene photo.
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“You turned my entire house into a scented circus!” she yelled. “Everything smells like cheap perfume! My shirts are pink! And where is my Cupid?!”
I blinked innocently.
“Oh, good morning. I think you are fond of pink.”
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“Don’t ‘good morning’ me! I want everything back the way it was! Now!”
“Oh… sorry. Can’t.”
She stared at me.
“I’m late for the gym,” I said casually, tying my shoelace tighter. “Punct number one on your list, remember? Lose ten pounds before the wedding.”
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Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
“And the statue?” she hissed.
“Oh, I thought It’s trash. So I hired guys to get it out.”
“How dare you?!”
Just then, Dylan appeared behind me, rubbing his eyes.
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“Mom? Why are you yelling?”
“Ask her!” Elen said, spinning toward him. “She sabotaged my home! She poisoned the air! And she… she threw out Cupid!”
Dylan blinked. “Cupid?”
“My statue! My precious little bronze guardian!”
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“Cupid’s not gone. He’s just… enjoying a quiet retirement in the garage. I thought he deserved a break from all that pollen. I just followed the rules,” I said sweetly, pulling the crumpled pink paper from my bag and handing it to Dylan.
His eyes moved line by line.
“Mom… what is this?”
“A helpful guide! To support her! To prepare her for a life with you!”
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“With me or with you?”
I grabbed my gym bag and smiled.
“Anyway, I really have to run. Zumba waits for no one.”
Elen’s nostrils flared. I looked over my shoulder with one last, sugar-sweet nod.
“Don’t worry. I’m taking your list very seriously. You might want to start your own.”
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Just before I reached the door, Dylan turned to his mother.
“Mom, we really need to talk. And this time, I need you to listen.”
I stepped outside, letting the door click softly behind me, and left my future MIL standing face to face with her sin, the man I loved, finally ready to draw his own lines.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: I was working a night shift, exhausted but grateful—until I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw my husband in the back seat… with another woman. I stayed silent, already planning his downfall.
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