I lost my mom four years ago. It was the kind of loss that cracked something inside me, a grief so deep it didn’t fade. Instead, it settled into my bones like an ache I’d carry forever. We were incredibly close, and before she passed, she made me promise her one thing. “I want you to wear my dress on your wedding day, Chloe,” she had said, her frail hand squeezing mine. “Whether it’s for the ceremony or the reception… just promise me, baby. It will be like having me

I thought we were free. For months, I woke up in our new home, savoring the quiet mornings, the privacy, the relief of finally escaping my mother-in-law, Inga. But just as I started to breathe easy, a knock at the door shattered my illusion. A lawsuit. A court summons. And the most terrifying part? She knew where we lived. We had cut ties, erased our digital footprints, and built a life without her suffocating presence. So how had she found us? And why was she claiming we owed her money?

Wesley sat at the dinner table, poking at his plate of meatloaf with a frown. He sighed loudly and pushed it away. “I’m sick of meatloaf,” he complained. “Can’t you make something else?” His mother raised an eyebrow. “We had roast chicken yesterday, hamburgers the day before, and fish on Friday,” she said, her voice filled with disbelief. Wesley rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah…whatever,” he muttered, pushing back his chair to stand up. “Wesley,” his mother called, her tone firm. “Please rinse your plate and put it in the dishwasher.”