Starving and Weak after Feeding My Baby, My Mother-in-Law Still Forced Me to Wash All the Party Dishes — Until My Daughter-in-Law Found Out

Five weeks ago, my life transformed in the most beautiful yet utterly draining ways when I became a mother. My son, with his tiny hands and soft murmurs, became my entire universe. But amid this fierce love, a dark cloud loomed over our small family’s joy—my mother-in-law.

From the moment we brought our son home, she claimed our living room as her domain, turning it into her personal hub. “I’m here to help you both get settled,” she said with a tight smile, and my husband, Zevran, nodded eagerly. “Mom’s just trying to ease things for us, Liora,” he reassured me.

But her presence quickly became a suffocating burden. She invited a parade of guests—friends, neighbors, even distant relatives—filling our home with chatter and chaos when all I longed for was a quiet moment to connect with my baby. I clenched my jaw, swallowing my mounting irritation to keep the peace, but each day chipped away at my strength, leaving me frayed and hollow.

Caught in the relentless cycle of breastfeeding, diaper changes, and soothing my son to sleep, I had no time to breathe, let alone eat. My eyes burned from sleepless nights, my body ached with exhaustion, and hunger gnawed at me like a constant companion. My mother-in-law, Seraphine, promised to cook, offering a sliver of hope.

“Don’t worry, Liora, I’ve got meals covered,” she said cheerfully. But her help ended there—she never touched a diaper or offered to hold the baby. She’d sit, laughing with her guests, while I struggled alone with spit-up and cries, my stomach twisting in hunger as I pushed through another hour without food.

Last night, everything shattered. After an exhausting evening of breastfeeding, my son finally drifted off, and I stumbled out of the nursery, weak and ravenous, my hands trembling as I hoped for a plate of food. Instead, I found Zevran sprawled on the couch, engrossed in his phone, and Seraphine cleaning the kitchen—empty of any leftovers.

“Seraphine, is there anything left to eat?” I asked, my voice shaking with fatigue, barely holding back tears. She didn’t even glance my way. “Oh, Liora, I assumed you weren’t hungry since you stayed in there so long.

We ate everything. Sorry,” she said, her tone icy and careless, as if I were an afterthought in my own home. My chest tightened, the hurt cutting deeper than the hunger.

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