My husband gave away our baby’s nursery to his mom because she was “lonely and depressed.” I felt like my whole world collapsed. But that night, when I walked past the nursery, I overheard what my mother-in-law had really been planning behind my back. She was far more cunning than I ever imagined.
For two whole months, my husband Evan and I poured every ounce of love into that nursery. It wasn’t just a room—it was the heartbeat of our future. I painted the walls a soft, calming sage green and even stenciled little clouds floating above the crib. My back ached the entire time, but I wanted our baby to have something beautiful to dream under.
When we finally finished assembling the crib, Evan’s eyes filled with tears. He whispered, “Our little family.”
That moment should have been sacred. Instead, I wish I’d recorded it—for evidence.
A few days later, I was at a routine check-up when my phone buzzed. It was a text from Evan:
“Can we talk when you get home? Mom’s not doing great.”
When I walked into the kitchen, Evan was pacing like a trapped animal.
“Okay, so here’s the thing,” he said, avoiding my eyes. “Mom called Dr. Wills. She’s been feeling lonely and depressed. He strongly recommended that she stay close to family for a while.”
I set my purse down slowly. “How close?”
“Well… that’s what I wanted to talk about.” His hands were all over the place—keys, his phone, even the salt shaker. “I thought maybe she could use the nursery temporarily. Just until she stabilizes.”
I froze. “Come again?”
“Think about it logically,” he said, suddenly finding confidence in his insane idea. “Babies don’t sleep in cribs for months anyway. We can put a bassinet in our room. Mom needs comfort, and she’d be right here if we needed help.”
My heart dropped. “You want to put your mother in our baby’s room?”
“Temporarily! She’s already… here.”
I stormed down the hall, hands shaking as I turned the nursery door handle.
My worst nightmare hit me in the face.
The rocking chair was gone. In its place sat a queen-size bed with Lydia’s floral comforter spread across it like an infection. Her jewelry box was sitting proudly on top of the changing table. And there she was, unpacking with her phone pressed to her ear.
“Oh, she’s here! Gotta go, Susan,” she chirped into the phone before hanging up. She beamed at me. “Anna! Don’t you love what we’ve done with the space?”
I choked out, “Where’s the crib, Lydia?”
“Evan moved it to the corner for now,” she said casually. “Don’t worry, sweetie, I won’t be in your way.”
Then she had the nerve to add, “By the way, those clouds are cute, but a bit childish for a guest room, don’t you think? I was telling my friend Susan we might want a more mature palette.”
“It’s not a guest room,” I said sharply.
“Of course, dear.” She patted my arm. “We’ll see how things go.”
Evan hovered in the doorway like a guilty child.
“When did this happen?” I demanded.
He coughed. “This afternoon. While you were at Dr. Murphy’s appointment.”
My prenatal appointment. The one he missed because Lydia “needed him to check a weird noise in her car.”
I wanted to scream. “You moved our baby’s furniture while I was being checked for preeclampsia. You could’ve used the guest room.”
“Anna, please, the guest room isn’t comfortable for her and she—”
“I understand perfectly.” My voice was ice.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. At around 10 p.m., the baby kicked so hard it woke me. I shuffled to get a heating pad. That’s when I heard it—Lydia’s voice drifting through the cracked nursery door.
“You should’ve seen her face when she walked in! Like someone had died!”
I froze, heart pounding.
She giggled into the phone. “No, no, it was easier than I thought. I told Evan Dr. Wills said I was depressed. Poor boy practically begged me to move in! Men are so simple if you know which buttons to push. His wife has no idea what’s coming next.”
I nearly dropped the heating pad.
“The best part? She can’t say anything without looking cruel. Who kicks out a depressed mother-in-law? By the time the baby comes, I’ll be so established here they’ll forget whose house it was in the first place!”
My blood ran cold.
“Oh trust me, Susan. I’ve been planning this since the minute she got pregnant. Once grandchildren arrive, old mothers are cast aside. But not me. Never me!”
I stumbled back to the bedroom, shaking.
“Evan,” I whispered, “I need to tell you something.”
He looked up from his tablet. “What’s wrong?”
“Your mother just admitted to lying about her depression. She said she tricked you into letting her take over the nursery.”
“That’s not… she wouldn’t,” he said, defensive.
“She did. She said, and I quote, ‘By the time the baby comes, they’ll forget whose house it was first.’”
Evan frowned. “Mom exaggerates when she’s on the phone. She doesn’t mean it.”
“Evan,” I snapped, “she conned you. She made up a medical crisis to steal our baby’s room.”
He just sat there in silence.
The next morning, I called Aunt Carla—my mom’s sister. She has the spirit of a retired sheriff and the voice of a choir director. When I told her, she didn’t even hesitate.
“We need proof,” she said, pulling out a sleek baby monitor with audio recording. “She wants to play dirty? Let’s play dirty.”
We hid it in the nursery before Lydia came back from her coffee run.
That evening, I sat glued to the monitor. Lydia sprawled on the bed, filing her nails.
“The nursery plan is working perfectly,” she bragged. “Evan feels so guilty he’s bending over backward. Anna’s pretending to support me, but I know it’s killing her. Tomorrow, I’ll suggest we turn the basement into the baby’s room. That way, this room is mine for good.”
I nearly broke the monitor in half.
The next morning, I told Evan, “We’re going to couples therapy today. I already booked it.”
He tried to protest until I said, “The other option is me moving to my dad’s.”
He knew better than to argue.
At therapy, Dr. Patterson listened quietly, then asked Evan, “Why do you feel responsible for your mother’s emotions?”
Evan rubbed his temples. “I’ve always felt that way. She raised me alone. If she’s upset, I fix it.”
“And what about Anna’s emotions? Who fixes those?”
He had no answer.
“Evan,” Dr. Patterson said gently, “you owe your mother love and respect. But you don’t owe her your marriage.”
On the way home, I laid it out clearly. “She moves to the guest room tonight. Or I’m gone.”
That evening, Evan confronted his mother.
“Mom, you need to move to the guest room. Anna needs the nursery.”
Her face crumbled. “But sweetheart, I’m finally stable here. Moving me might trigger a relapse. Dr. Wills said—”
“Stop,” I cut in, pulling out my phone. I pressed play.
Lydia’s recorded voice filled the room: “The doctor thing was genius, right? I called Dr. Wills’ office and asked some hypothetical questions…”
The color drained from her face.
“Is that you, Mom?” Evan asked flatly.
She lunged at me, but Evan caught her wrist. “Enough.”
For once, Lydia had no performance left.
“Pack your things,” Evan said. “You can use the guest room until you find somewhere else. You have two days.”
She tried every trick in her book—tears, guilt, even faking chest pains. But nothing worked this time.
Evan spent the next two days putting the nursery back together. He looked broken, but determined.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, screwing the crib back in place.
“Why did you believe her so easily?” I asked quietly.
“Because saying no to her never felt like an option. But I see now… my family is here.” He placed a hand on my belly. “This is my family now.”
Lydia finally left with minimal drama—mostly because my dad showed up to “assist.” His silent presence was enough to end the act.
As she walked out, she muttered, “You’ll regret this.” But even she didn’t sound convinced.
When the house was finally quiet, I stood in the nursery doorway. The crib was back. The rocking chair in its spot. The clouds still floating softly above.
Evan wrapped his arms around me from behind, his hands resting on my swollen belly.
“Our baby’s room,” he whispered.
“Our baby’s room,” I echoed, tears in my eyes.
I learned something important through that storm: marriage isn’t about avoiding battles. It’s about choosing the right ones—and fighting them together.