I’m Abby, thirty-four years old, and I have been happily married to my wonderful husband, Brad, for seven years now. We have two truly precious children together: our son, Lucas, who is eight, and our daughter, Sophie, who is six years old. My mother-in-law, Jean, is in her late sixties, and we have always only had what I would politely call a merely cordial relationship—just polite smiles, only small talk about the weather, and only the very occasional dinner invite at the holidays. Jean has always possessed this certain… intense energy about her, you know? Like she constantly feels she needs to prove she is the single perfect grandmother in the world, but she often ends up being far too overly controlling in her efforts.
“She’s just old-fashioned,” Brad would always say to me with a dismissive shrug whenever I brought up the unusual intensity of her behavior. “She really means well, Abby,” he would assure me. I genuinely tried my best to believe that comforting sentiment. For many years, I just patiently brushed off all of the little things, like her consistent insistence on calling Lucas her boy or that time she actually scolded Sophie for eating with her hands, saying firmly, “Not under my roof, young lady!” But when Jean called me last month, her voice far too cheerful and overly sweet, and asked, “Abby, how would you feel about me taking both Lucas and Sophie for an entire week during their holiday break from school?” my stomach did an immediate, tiny flip of dread.
“A whole week?” I repeated slowly, completely caught off guard by the request. “Yes! I would absolutely love to have them entirely all to myself—I just want to spoil them rotten with treats. You and Brad could truly use the time, couldn’t you, dear? A little much-needed break from the chaos?” I glanced over quickly at Brad, who gave me an enthusiastic thumbs up sign. “They’ll definitely have fun, Abby,” he added supportively. I finally agreed, hesitantly, and she practically squealed loudly with excitement on the other end of the phone line. “Oh, don’t you worry about a single thing, dear,” she promised me with a smile I couldn’t see but could hear in her tone. “They will be in the very best of hands for the whole time.” Before I sent them off, I gave Jean a generous one thousand dollars for their expected expenses.
“Jean,” I said directly as I handed her the thick envelope filled with cash, “this money is just to make absolutely certain that you don’t have to dip into your own savings for any food, expensive activities, or anything else they might urgently need this week while they are staying with you.” She looked genuinely surprised at first, but then she instantly beamed brightly. “Oh, Abby, that is so completely thoughtful of you!” she replied enthusiastically. “Don’t you worry at all, I will definitely put this money to really good use, I promise. These two kids are going to have the absolute best week ever!” The entire week crawled by for me, much slower than I had initially expected. I truly thought I would enjoy the quiet, but I found myself compulsively reaching for my phone to call Lucas and Sophie much more often than I probably should have, missing them terribly.
When the important day finally arrived for me to pick them up from her house, I was practically vibrating with pure excitement. I truly couldn’t wait to see their happy little faces again and hear all about their exciting week-long vacation. But as I immediately pulled up to Jean’s familiar house, I suddenly felt a cold sense of deep, instant unease wash over me. The house looked exactly the same as it always did, but something felt terribly wrong to my instincts. Maybe I was just being silly and overly emotional. Or maybe it was only the way Jean quickly opened the front door and greeted me right away. “Abby! You’re finally here!” she greeted me with a wide smile that actually didn’t quite reach her eyes at all. “Hi, Jean! How exactly were they for the whole week?” I asked eagerly, quickly stepping inside the quiet house.
“Oh, they were absolutely wonderful,” she replied quickly, her voice a little shaky and far too high. Something about her demeanor felt very odd and unsettling. She was far too cheerful, too composed, almost like she was reading from a bad script. I glanced nervously around the house, fully expecting to hear the usual chaotic noise of toys clattering or kids loudly yelling, but the house was completely silent. Dead silent. “Where precisely are the kids, Jean?” I asked again, immediately noticing the empty living room. Normally, by this time of day, they would be running directly to me with enormous hugs and excited stories. Her smile never wavered for a second, but something was incredibly unsettling about the nervous way she clasped her hands together in front of her.
