Mother-in-Law Faked Insanity for Early Retirement; Reborn, I Made It Real

My mother-in-law slipped something into my food while I was pregnant. I lost the baby, and my body was never the same again.

Before I could even confront her, my husband was already holding out her psychiatric evaluation report and apologizing to me.

Mom didn't mean it. She wore herself out taking care of you, that's how she ended up with a mental illness.

"You lost the baby, and Mom and I are heartbroken too. If you keep blaming her, she'll have nothing left but to kill herself to make it right."

Then my mother-in-law knelt down and begged me to forgive her, promising she'd get proper treatment.

I was wrecked, body and soul, with no strength left to fight. So I swallowed it all down.

In the years that followed, her condition came and went.

On her good days she treated me like her own daughter. On her bad days she beat me like I was a stranger.

In the end, whatever my husband and I had fell apart, and we divorced.

But the moment I finished packing and walked out the door, I heard her say to his new woman:

"Don't you worry. The truth is, there's nothing wrong with me."

"But if you want to retire early, faking a mental illness is the easiest way to do it."

I pounded on the door and demanded an answer, but she only laughed at me through it, calling me a fool.

"If you'd just handed over your paycheck, I wouldn't have bothered faking anything for a little pension money."

I fell apart completely, and after everything she'd put me through over those years, my heart gave out right there on the spot.

Given a second chance,

I didn't expose her act, because I wanted to help her retire early and live the good life too...

One:

"Minnie Estes, sweetie, take this with you. I looked up all kinds of nutrition videos and made you a proper prenatal meal."

"Bring it to the office. Just heat it up at lunch and it's ready to eat."

My mother-in-law, Frieda Smith, smiled until her whole face folded into wrinkles. Anyone watching would have thought I had the gentlest, most devoted mother-in-law, one who treated me like her own flesh and blood.

But only I knew that wasn't the truth.

The meal looked delicious. It tasted good too.

But Frieda had packed it full of laxatives.

In my last life I'd been so touched that I even made a point of thanking her after I finished eating.

I never got her reply. My stomach twisted, and I ran to the bathroom, again and again, until I passed out on the tile floor. When I came to, the baby was gone. I'd bled so heavily that my body never recovered.

I figured out fast enough that it was the meal.

But I could never get justice for me or my child.

Because Frieda hadn't done it "on purpose."

She'd developed schizophrenia, you see, and mistook the laxatives for seasoning when she stirred them in.

She'd had the runs herself, and she was so consumed with guilt she tried to end her own life several times.

So I was "forced" to forgive her. And because of my health, I quit my job and stayed home to care for the woman my miscarriage had supposedly driven mad.

It wasn't until I was dying that I finally learned the truth. Frieda never had schizophrenia at all.

She'd done it for two reasons.

The first: she knew that once you'd carried a schizophrenia diagnosis for five years, you could retire early.

The second: I hadn't handed over my paycheck or my husband Kevin Donaldson's, and she'd been nursing a grudge over it...

Remembering all of it,

I wanted nothing more than to fling the meal in her face. But the thought of that forged evaluation report stopped me, and I forced my anger back down.

"Thanks, Mom. I'll clean my plate!"

After thanking Frieda, I took the meal box and walked out the door. Except I didn't head to work. I turned the car around and drove straight to the hospital...

When I got home that afternoon, Frieda Smith was standing at the door to welcome me, the way she always did.

She saw how pale I was, and yet there I stood, walking into the house on my own two feet. Confusion filled her face, and she couldn't help asking.

Minnie, are you all right?

I sighed, but before I could say anything.

Kevin Donaldson shoved the door open in a fury, the boxed lunch Frieda had handed me that morning in his hand, shaking all over with rage.

What the hell did you put in this?

Do you have any idea what happened to me after I ate it?

Do you have any idea how badly it humiliated me right in the middle of a contract negotiation?

If that contract had gone through, I'd have gotten a promotion and a raise, my bonus would've doubled. But because of that boxed lunch, I had to sit there and watch the coworker I hate most walk off with the prize!

Frieda stared at the box, her face blank for a second.

Then her head snapped around toward me.

How did that box end up in Kevin's hands? How did he end up eating it?

I made that for you.

What exactly did you do?

I laughed to myself. That was right. I knew there was no upside to exposing Frieda. Kevin was a mama's boy through and through. How could he ever believe his precious mother would hurt anyone?

So I'd simply given the good mother's boxed lunch to her good son.

And Kevin never suspected a thing. Just like me in my last life, he'd nearly died on the toilet.

I frowned, letting Frieda's tone slide, and said, sounding a little puzzled.

After you gave it to me this morning, I suddenly remembered I probably wouldn't have time to eat at the office at lunch since I had to sit with a client. It seemed like a waste to let it go uneaten, so I gave it to Kevin!

As I said it, my eyes moved back and forth between the box and Kevin, several times over.

Was there something in that boxed lunch?

Kevin had assumed there was something foul in the box. But from the way Frieda reacted, it was obvious she'd known all along that the food couldn't be eaten.

Which only made him angrier.

Explain yourself. What is going on with this box?

Were you trying to use this to hurt Minnie?

Frieda panicked.

Of course she couldn't admit she'd deliberately put laxative in the food.

So she rushed to explain.

No, no, how could I ever hurt Minnie?

The moment Minnie got pregnant, I came all the way from the country to look after the two of you, doing everything I could.

It's because I, I spaced out while I was cooking this morning, so I accidentally grabbed the laxative instead of the seasoning and put it in. I've been scared out of my mind all day, and only when I saw Minnie was fine did I finally breathe again.

But now I understand. It was her. She must have known, she knew there was something wrong with that food, so she gave it to you on purpose!

Minnie, I know I shouldn't have made such a stupid mistake, but you can't just go along with it and use Kevin's body to get back at me for my slip-up!

Frieda wept as if her heart were being torn out. She never explained why the laxative was in the kitchen in the first place, or why, knowing it was in the boxed lunch, she'd said nothing to warn me.

Instead she skirted the real questions and launched into her sob story, and the more she cast herself as the victim, the more wronged she sounded.

Everyone back home told me not to come take care of you. They said city daughters-in-law are impossible to please.

But I never thought about any of that. I just figured, treat her as I'd want to be treated, and surely she'd accept me. What I never expected was that you'd know I'd made a mistake and, instead of covering for me, you'd blow the whole thing up.

Do you want me sent back home that badly?

What did I ever do to deserve this? I've been so good to you. Why would you scheme against me?

Tell me the truth. That laxative in the kitchen, did you put it there? All of this, did you plan it out ahead of time?

I didn't even get the chance to explain. Just like in my last life, Kevin took Frieda's word instantly.

"Minnie, is what my mom said true?"

"No wonder you went out of your way to tell me not to say anything to her. You did it on purpose, didn't you?"

"My mom treats you so well. Why can't you be satisfied? Why would you frame her like this, just to drive a wedge between us?"

None of this surprised me.

Last time, Kevin believed Frieda so completely that he genuinely thought her schizophrenia came from wearing herself out taking care of me. Of course he'd swallow whatever she said this time too, no questions asked.

I had seen all of it coming.

So I didn't argue.

I just took a few of my own examination reports out of my bag and held them out. I said nothing, only covered my face and started to cry.

Kevin and Frieda exchanged a glance, then took the reports and looked.

One look was all it took. Both of them froze.

"How can this be?"

I let out a breath and started to explain, wiping at my eyes as I spoke.

"This morning Mom didn't just give me a boxed meal. There was a bowl of chicken soup too."

"I did give you the meal, yes. But I thought I could have the soup myself. After I drank it, my stomach hurt so badly I could hardly stand it. I kept running to the bathroom, and in the end I started bleeding."

"I was afraid something was wrong with the baby, so I went straight to the hospital. The doctor told me I'd already miscarried."

"That's why I had a D&C today."

By then I was crying harder.

"And I called you the whole time. You were the one who never picked up!"

Kevin pulled out his phone and checked. It was exactly as I'd said, dozens of missed calls from me. Of course he hadn't answered. He'd practically been living in the bathroom. When would he have had the time?

Five:

Frieda's brow furrowed. At first she'd only assumed I was turning her own scheme back on her, but she never imagined I'd actually drink the chicken soup myself.

She studied my face for a moment, then shook her head.

"Impossible. There was even more laxative in the soup. If you'd really drunk it, there's no way you'd look this fine. You didn't drink it. You did this on purpose."

Still I didn't argue.

I only looked at the two of them and said, low and even,

"So what you're saying is, I deliberately planted the laxative in a kitchen I never go into, then somehow knew you'd mix it into the boxed meal, so I handed that meal to Kevin?"

"And then I deliberately miscarried, just to clear myself of suspicion?"

"Does that sound possible to either of you?"

"I waited so long for this child. Why would I ever do such a thing?"

Kevin and Frieda had nothing to say.

That was the truth of it.

Because I was an orphan, I had always longed for a child of my own blood. After I got pregnant, I was careful with everything, never missing a single checkup, and the baby was healthy.

There was no reason for me to get rid of that child out of nowhere just to frame Frieda.

Seeing that neither of them could speak, I turned back to Frieda.

"And another thing. It's hard to say who put the laxative in the kitchen. But who bought it should be easy enough to trace."

"We can look into what kind of laxative it was, and see whether it really does look just like your seasoning. So alike that you'd accidentally reach for the wrong one!"

Frieda didn't answer. Instead she flipped it back on me.

"So you're saying I did all of it?"

"And why would I do that?"

I shook my head.

"Mom, I trust the kind of person you are. But you've worn yourself out looking after me lately, and there really have been a lot of things that aren't like you."

"So I've been wondering. Is it possible that you're..."

I pointed to my head.

"Is it possible something's gone wrong up here?"

The moment I said it, Kevin started remembering too.

And I wasn't wrong. To make her schizophrenia look like it had been building for a while, Frieda really had done plenty of strange things this past month.

Like insisting she was cold with the air conditioner running, and pulling on a down jacket.

Like punching in the code for the eighth-floor unit below when we lived on the ninth.

Or mistaking Kevin for his father, who'd been dead for years.

That was exactly why, in my last life, Kevin had believed her so quickly.

So he nodded now too.

It's true. You've been really off lately, Mom.

Why don't we go to the hospital and get you checked. If something really is wrong, you'll have to be admitted for treatment.

I nodded.

Right. Otherwise it's laxatives this time, but what if next time it's poison?

Mom, tell the truth. Has something been wrong with you lately?

This had been Frieda's plan all along, but now she didn't know whether she should own up to it.

If she admitted it, this whole thing would be over.

But if she admitted it, Kevin would surely send her to a psychiatric hospital, and that ran completely against her plan.

I'd made Kevin eat that boxed meal for two reasons. One, so he'd taste a little of what I'd suffered. Two, so he'd have no reason left to keep taking Frieda's side.

So Frieda gritted her teeth.

How could there possibly be anything wrong with my mind?

Don't tell me you hate me, and you want to lock me up in a psychiatric hospital?

Inwardly, I smiled.

That was exactly the answer I wanted.

So I shook my head at once.

Mom, you've got me wrong. I don't think your condition is a mental illness. After all, your mind is clear right now.

I have a guess, though I don't know if I should say it.

Kevin was in no mood for me to drag it out. He pressed me a few times, impatient, and only once his patience had run out did I speak.

I think Mom's condition looks more like... she's been possessed.

As I said it, I lowered my voice.

You both remember, not long after Mom moved in, an old woman passed away over in the next neighborhood. In her last few years her mind was all muddled, a lot like Mom's symptoms.

So I suspect Mom might have picked up something unclean.

Kevin didn't believe it.

He even seemed to think I was the one with a mental illness.

But Frieda's eyes lit up. Being possessed, being touched by something unclean, was a lot more useful than a mental illness.

She could have an episode whenever she liked, and recover whenever she liked. The only drawback was that she couldn't take early retirement. But not taking early retirement, compared to living in a psychiatric hospital, was a lot easier to accept.

So she nodded at once.

Yes, that's exactly what happened!

When I was cooking, I felt like I couldn't control myself. I knew perfectly well it was laxatives, and I put them in anyway.

I don't need the hospital. I'll go to the chapel tomorrow, find a folk mystic. I'll definitely get better.

I forgave Frieda right away, even made a point of hugging her and saying a few comforting words.

But Kevin still didn't believe it.

Stop this nonsense. Mom has a mental problem, plain and simple. Possessed, not possessed, don't go spreading superstitious garbage here!

I frowned.

I know you won't believe it. But I believe even less that Mom would ever try to hurt us!

And I have a way to find out for sure whether Mom's been possessed or has a mental illness!

Kevin and Frieda both pressed me at once.

I didn't explain. I glanced at my phone, then turned and opened the door.

Someone was standing outside.

And the instant she saw who it was, Frieda's face went dark.

Forgetting everything she'd just said, she stammered out her explanation.

Kevin's right, I do have a mental illness. I'm willing to be examined, to be admitted, to be treated.

I really wasn't possessed. I'll confess, I'll confess everything...