The Day I Was Killed by My Mother-in-law

The purchases finally arrived, and she dragged me to the delivery station to collect all the packages.

Her smile never faded. When we met an acquaintance on the way, she boasted about her prowess, "You see, I bought so many things for just two hundred. You all just know how to spend your sons' money, adding to their burden. Unlike me, who always calculates carefully."

At times like this, I would echo her sentiments, reinforcing her belief that her actions were justified.

Once home, I opened the milk.

"They're really foolish. This expired milk isn't as terrible as they say online. You are truly smart."

Flattered by my compliments, she quickly responded, "Of course!"

To completely dispel her doubts, I rushed over and opened the milk.

As she walked towards me while speaking, her frown deepened. "You spendthrift! This milk is for my son. He works hard. Why should you drink it?"

Seeing that I still hadn't put the milk down, she hurried over and snatched it from my hands, cradling it as if it were a treasure.

She gave the bad milk to my daughter and kept the good for her son.

I smiled but said nothing.

As the milk dwindled, my delight grew deeper.

To prevent her from feeding my daughter recklessly while I was away, I sent my daughter to my mom's place.

She never liked my daughter anyway. With one less mouth to feed at home, she naturally wouldn't object.

She probably wished for my daughter to leave permanently. If she never returned, she'd likely be even happier.

Thanks to my mother-in-law's daily feeding, my husband spent more time in the bathroom, constantly complaining of stomach pains.

He often writhed in bed with cramps, unable to sleep.

"It must be something you ate. Why not go see a doctor?"

I kindly suggested, but unexpectedly his mother jumped in, pointing at me and shouting.

There was even a lot of saliva left in the air from her mouth.

"I prepared all three meals a day for my son. You said he had a stomachache. You just want to say that the food I cook is not clean. Do you have to beat around the bush to say that?"

"I raised him myself. Do you think I don't know his health? You city folks are just so picky!"

While saying this, she pulled out a bottle of milk to "nourish" him.

I had warned him before, but good advice fell on deaf ears.

They insisted on self-sabotage. I could do nothing about it.