After Discovering The Abnormal Relationship Between My Father-in-law And Wife, I Got Divorced-6
The Sofa's Orientation
James became a fixture. Once, scanning the living room, he frowned: "Sofa placement is wrong. Sideways to the TV strains the neck. Lisa, your neck has always been weak." He heaved the heavy couch himself. I stepped forward, but Lisa gripped my arm, pleading silently. I watched him struggle it into "correct" position.
Interrogation at the Table
At a routine family dinner, James sliced his steak. Casually, he asked, "Work going well, Mike? Heard about big projects?" I briefed him. He pivoted: "Income? Bonuses? Young families need stability. Lisa shouldn't want." Turning to her: "Do you manage his paycheck? Financial plans?" The scrutiny killed my appetite. Lisa nudged my leg under the table. I forced out, "We're... planning it."
Surveillance in the Fridge
James's "concern" probed every detail. Visiting once, he headed straight to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and scowled. "Lisa, why all this processed food? And soda? Unhealthy, full of additives." He checked milk dates: "Too much fresh milk—wasteful. Buy smaller cartons." He inspected like a quality controller; the fridge clicks felt like invasions. Our first anniversary, I'd booked a famed rooftop restaurant.
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James became a fixture. Once, scanning the living room, he frowned: "Sofa placement is wrong. Sideways to the TV strains the neck. Lisa, your neck has always been weak." He heaved the heavy couch himself. I stepped forward, but Lisa gripped my arm, pleading silently. I watched him struggle it into "correct" position.
Interrogation at the Table
At a routine family dinner, James sliced his steak. Casually, he asked, "Work going well, Mike? Heard about big projects?" I briefed him. He pivoted: "Income? Bonuses? Young families need stability. Lisa shouldn't want." Turning to her: "Do you manage his paycheck? Financial plans?" The scrutiny killed my appetite. Lisa nudged my leg under the table. I forced out, "We're... planning it."
Surveillance in the Fridge
James's "concern" probed every detail. Visiting once, he headed straight to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and scowled. "Lisa, why all this processed food? And soda? Unhealthy, full of additives." He checked milk dates: "Too much fresh milk—wasteful. Buy smaller cartons." He inspected like a quality controller; the fridge clicks felt like invasions. Our first anniversary, I'd booked a famed rooftop restaurant.
NEXT >>