My MIL Started Coming to Our House in Latex Gloves, Saying She Was Disgusted to Touch Anything – The Truth Was Much Worse

When my MIL started visiting wearing latex gloves, claiming she was “disgusted to touch anything,” it felt like a slap in the face. I was juggling newborn twins and exhaustion, yet her judgment pushed me to the brink. But one day, a ripped glove revealed a shocking secret she’d been hiding.

When my perfectionist MIL, Marilyn, first started wearing latex gloves while visiting, I was too exhausted to think much of it.

An exhausted woman resting on a kitchen table | Source: Midjourney

An exhausted woman resting on a kitchen table | Source: Midjourney

The twins, Emma and Lily, were two weeks old, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept more than two hours straight.

At first, I’d managed to keep up with the housework between naps and caring for the twins. But now, the days blurred together in a haze of baby powder, formula, and endless loads of laundry that never quite made it from the dryer to our dresser drawers.

Marilyn’s house was always immaculate, but I’d never held myself to such high standards. Besides, the babies were my priority now. I assumed Marilyn would understand that, but it seemed I was wrong.

A woman resting on a sofa holding her twin daughters | Source: Midjourney

A woman resting on a sofa holding her twin daughters | Source: Midjourney

Every one of Marilyn’s visits followed the same pattern. She’d arrive precisely at ten in the morning to “help me out” wearing her perfectly fitted latex gloves and make a beeline for the kitchen.

But she didn’t seem to be doing much in the way of helping me. Sometimes she unpacked the dishwasher or folded laundry, but mostly she just walked around the house, moving things here and there.

One day, I couldn’t take it anymore!

“Marilyn,” I said, “why are you always wearing gloves lately?”

A person wearing latex gloves | Source: Pexels

A person wearing latex gloves | Source: Pexels

The silence that followed felt endless. Marilyn’s eyes darted to the side and her brow crinkled as though I’d asked her a complicated math problem.

Then she said something that devastated me.

“Your house is just so messy and dirty,” she said. “It’s disgusting. I’m afraid to touch anything with my bare hands.”

I stood there, holding Emma against my shoulder, her tiny body warm and real while my mother-in-law’s words echoed in my head.

A woman holding a baby | Source: Midjourney

A woman holding a baby | Source: Midjourney

I was too shocked and hurt to reply, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what Marilyn said. Later that night, after we’d finally gotten the twins down, I tried to talk to Danny about it.

“I’m sure she doesn’t mean it like that,” he said, not meeting my eyes as he cleaned a spot of baby spit-up on the carpet. “Mom’s just… particular about cleanliness and keeping things tidy.”

“Particular?” I laughed, but it came out more like a sob. “Danny, she’s wearing surgical gloves in our home. What’s next? A mask and scrubs?”

He sighed, running his hands through his hair. “What do you want me to do? She’s my mother.”

A man spot-cleaning a carpet | Source: Midjourney

A man spot-cleaning a carpet | Source: Midjourney

After that, I became obsessed with cleaning. Between feedings and diaper changes, I scrubbed and organized like a woman possessed.

I’d stay up long after the twins fell asleep, wiping down surfaces that were already clean, reorganizing cabinets that didn’t need it, desperate to create some semblance of the perfection Marilyn seemed to demand.

The house smelled perpetually of bleach and baby powder. Nevertheless, Marilyn kept arriving with her gloves.

A woman wearing latex gloves standing in an entrance hallway | Source: Midjourney

A woman wearing latex gloves standing in an entrance hallway | Source: Midjourney

“You really should consider a cleaning service,” she said one afternoon. “It might help with… all of this.”

Her gesture encompassed the entire room: the basket of unfolded laundry, the stack of unwashed bottles, and the scattered baby toys that seemed to multiply overnight.

I bit my tongue so hard I tasted blood. Behind me, Lily started to fuss, her tiny face scrunching up in preparation for a cry that would surely wake her sister.

A baby lying in a crib | Source: Pexels

A baby lying in a crib | Source: Pexels

The invisible weight of Marilyn’s judgment pressed down on my shoulders as I hurried to soothe my daughter.

Weeks passed, and the twins were starting to smile — real smiles, not just gas. They were developing personalities: Emma, the serious observer, and Lily, our little comedian.

Danny and I were on the couch, watching them play on their mat, enjoying one of those rare perfect moments when both babies were content and quiet.

Marilyn arrived for her usual visit, the soft swoosh of her designer slacks announcing her presence before she even spoke.

A woman wearing latex gloves | Source: Midjourney

A woman wearing latex gloves | Source: Midjourney

She set her bag down, surveying the room with her critical eye. “Oh, I see you’ve cleaned a bit. Good effort.”

Her gaze fixed on the roses Danny had bought for me yesterday. She immediately honed in on the bouquet, changing the water in the vase and rearranging the flowers. I didn’t pay her much attention until a sharp ripping sound broke the silence.

Danny and I both turned. Marilyn’s glove had torn, and through the gash in the latex, I glimpsed something that shocked me.

A woman on a sofa staring at something in shock | Source: Midjourney

A woman on a sofa staring at something in shock | Source: Midjourney

Marilyn had a tattoo on her hand! Not just any tattoo, but a heart with a name inside it: Mason. That flash of ink seemed impossible for my proper, perfect mother-in-law.

Marilyn quickly stuffed her hand into her pocket, but it was too late. Danny and I exchanged puzzled looks.

“Mom?” Danny’s voice was careful, measured. “What was that on your hand?”

“I-It’s nothing,” Marilyn stammered, already turning toward the door.

“It isn’t.” Danny stood to face his mother. “Who’s Mason?”

A man in a living room speaking to someone | Source: Midjourney

A man in a living room speaking to someone | Source: Midjourney

She froze, her shoulders tight, and then her perfect posture crumbled.

“Mason… was someone I met a few months ago,” she began. Her voice was small, nothing like the confident tone that had delivered so many critiques of my housekeeping.

“He’s… younger than me,” she continued. “I know it’s crazy, but he was so charming. So sweet. He told me everything I wanted to hear. He told me I was beautiful, that I was special. I hadn’t felt that way in a long time, Danny.”

An emotional woman wringing her hands | Source: Midjourney

An emotional woman wringing her hands | Source: Midjourney

Tears began rolling down Marilyn’s cheeks, smearing her mascara. “After your father passed, I was so lonely, and Mason… he seemed to understand.”

“You’re telling me you… you’re dating this Mason guy?” Danny’s voice cracked.

Marilyn shook her head. “No! We were dating, but… I thought he cared about me, Danny. He convinced me to get this tattoo, told me it would prove how much I loved him, but…” Marilyn’s voice broke.

“What happened?” I asked softly. “You can tell us, Marilyn.”

A woman sitting on a sofa speaking to someone | Source: Midjourney

A woman sitting on a sofa speaking to someone | Source: Midjourney

“After I got the tattoo… he laughed at me. Said it was a joke. Said he’d been wondering how far he could push the uptight widow. Then he left.”

The silence in the room was deafening. Lily chose that moment to coo softly, the sound almost jarring in its innocence. Emma reached for her sister’s hand, and I watched as their tiny fingers intertwined.

“I was so humiliated,” Marilyn continued, her words coming faster now. “I couldn’t let you see how stupid I’d been. The gloves… they were my way of hiding it. Every time I looked at this tattoo, I saw my own foolishness staring back at me.”

An emotional woman hanging her head | Source: Midjourney

An emotional woman hanging her head | Source: Midjourney

Danny moved first, stepping forward to hug his mother. “Mom… I don’t even know what to say. But you didn’t have to go through this alone.”

I looked at Marilyn, really looked at her. Behind the perfect makeup and coordinated outfit, I saw something I’d never noticed before: vulnerability. The weight of her secret had been crushing her, just like the weight of new motherhood had been crushing me.

We’d both been drowning in our own ways, too proud or scared to reach out for help.

A woman with a thoughtful look on her face | Source: Midjourney

A woman with a thoughtful look on her face | Source: Midjourney

“We all make mistakes,” I said softly. “But we can’t let them define us.”

Marilyn turned to me, her carefully constructed facade completely shattered. “I’ve been so hard on you. I didn’t want to face my mess, so I focused on yours. I’m sorry.” Her voice caught. “The twins… they’re beautiful, and you’re doing an amazing job. I’ve been terrible, haven’t I?”

Tears welled in my eyes as I nodded. “Let’s move forward. Together.”

A smiling woman standing in a living room | Source: Midjourney

A smiling woman standing in a living room | Source: Midjourney

As if on cue, both twins started fussing. Without thinking, Marilyn peeled off her remaining glove and reached for Emma.

Her hands were perfectly manicured, with that small heart tattoo telling its own story of human imperfection. For the first time since the twins were born, I felt like we could be a real family.

Later that night, after Marilyn had gone home and the twins were asleep, Danny found me in the nursery.

A woman in a nursery glancing to one side | Source: Midjourney

A woman in a nursery glancing to one side | Source: Midjourney

“You know,” he said quietly, “I think this is the first time I’ve seen Mom cry since Dad died.”

I leaned against him, watching our daughters sleep. “Sometimes we need to fall apart before we can come back together stronger.”

He kissed the top of my head, and I felt something shift between us — a new understanding, perhaps, or just the recognition that perfection isn’t nearly as important as connection.

A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney

A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney

The next morning, when I found Marilyn’s discarded latex gloves in our trash, I smiled. Some messes, it turns out, are worth making.

Here’s another story: When my 12-year-old son Ben took up our wealthy neighbor’s offer to shovel snow for $10 a day, he couldn’t wait to buy gifts for the family. But when that man refused to pay, calling it a “lesson about contracts,” Ben was heartbroken. That’s when I decided to teach him a lesson he’d never forget.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

I Got a Frantic Video Message from My Mom — I Was Shocked to Find Out What Dad Had Done to Her

While Annie is having a lazy Saturday, sitting around and scrolling through social media, a video message from her mom pops up. As she hits play, Annie discovers that one of her father’s pranks has left her mother scared and alone. Annie rushes over to her parents’ house, ready to teach her father a lesson.

I didn’t think my dad would ever take one of his dumb jokes this far, but here we are, having lived through it. My phone lit up earlier today with a video message from my mom that made my heart stop for a second.

I wasn’t prepared for what I saw, and now, hours later, I’m still trying to process the whole thing.

A worried young woman | Source: Midjourney

A worried young woman | Source: Midjourney

Let me back up a second and give you some context on how everything went down. My dad is what you’d call “old school.” He has this grumpy exterior, like he came straight out of the 1970s and never quite adapted to life in the present.

He’s not a bad guy, but he can be ridiculously difficult to get along with. He doesn’t do heart-to-hearts or deep conversations. Instead, he sheds part of his grumpiness off when he’s at home and leans into his pranking nature. They are harmless, annoying little pranks that he thinks are hilarious but leave my mom rolling her eyes and sighing.

A grumpy man | Source: Midjourney

A grumpy man | Source: Midjourney

Most of the time, Dad does really stupid stuff like hiding Mom’s glasses when she’s looking for them or misplacing her keys right when she’s about to leave. These pranks have always been annoying, but nothing too wild.

Except today.

Today, Dad decided to really outdo himself.

I was in my little apartment about 20 minutes from my parents’ house. I was minding my own business, sipping on a soft drink and scrolling through TikTok, when my phone pinged with a message from my mother.

A woman sitting in her living room | Source: Midjourney

A woman sitting in her living room | Source: Midjourney

A video message.

The thumbnail was black, and all I could hear was her voice, which was muffled and kind of shaky. Like she was afraid of something.

That’s when I got a bit panicked. Mom wasn’t the type to send video messages. To be honest, I didn’t think she knew how to do it. Immediately, I knew that something was off.

I tapped play, and there she was. The camera was all shaky, and she was crouched in a corner, whispering like she was about to be caught by someone or something.

A close up of a woman | Source: Midjourney

A close up of a woman | Source: Midjourney

“Annie,” she breathed into the phone. “Sweetheart, your dad… he locked me in the basement. Can you come help me? He thinks this is funny. All because he wanted to eat in peace. I think there are rats or mice in the basement, Annie. Come quickly.”

What. The. Hell.

I was so shocked, I nearly dropped my phone onto the floor. Locked in the basement? He locked her in the basement? And it was supposed to be funny?

A worried woman | Source: Midjourney

A worried woman | Source: Midjourney

My dad, in all his “wisdom,” had apparently decided that the best way to enjoy his dinner in peace was to lock my mother in the basement. Just so that she wouldn’t remind him to eat his veggies during a precious football game? He truly didn’t care about his cholesterol.

I called her back immediately, but it went straight to voicemail.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up!” I muttered.

A worried woman | Source: Midjourney

A worried woman | Source: Midjourney

My brain went straight into overdrive. My mom never asked for help unless things were way beyond something she could do for herself. She was a woman who could handle herself. I mean, she’s lived with my father for years, so that had to count for something. But she was also a woman who was deeply afraid of the dark and confined places.

So now, she was locked in the basement and not answering her phone. Dad had really crossed a line with this one.

I texted her, but there was no response.

A woman sitting in a basement | Source: Midjourney

A woman sitting in a basement | Source: Midjourney

“Maybe her phone died, Annie,” I told myself. “She must be so afraid… and livid.”

I knew I had to get to her as soon as possible.

I grabbed my keys and bolted out of my apartment. I live about twenty minutes away from my parents, but I swear, I made it in twelve.

Car keys on a table | Source: Midjourney

Car keys on a table | Source: Midjourney

The entire drive, I was fuming, and I already knew how this was going to end. My dad thought he was clever, but if there’s one thing I inherited from him, other than his eye color, it’s the ability to come up with a solid revenge plan.

“I can’t believe the nerve of this man,” I said to myself as I turned into our street.

When I got to the house, I didn’t even bother knocking. I had my spare key, so I let myself in. As soon as I stepped inside, I could hear the muffled sound of the TV blaring from the living room.

A woman in a car | Source: Midjourney

A woman in a car | Source: Midjourney

Classic Dad.

He was probably sitting there, stuffing his face with steak. It was a home routine—Saturdays meant steak for dinner. Little did he know, I was about to teach him a lesson, too.

I headed straight for the basement. Sure enough, the door was locked, but the key hung from the hook next to the door.

I knocked softly, and Mom’s relieved voice came through the wood.

A woman standing next to a door | Source: Midjourney

A woman standing next to a door | Source: Midjourney

“Honey, is that you?” she whispered.

“Yeah, it’s me, Mom,” I said. “Hang tight, we’re getting you out of there.”

I unlocked the door, and when my mother stepped out, she didn’t even look mad. She just looked tired. But there was a glint in her eye, like she wanted to get revenge on my father, too.

“Dad’s still in the living room,” I said. “He didn’t even hear me come in.”

A frowning older woman | Source: Midjourney

A frowning older woman | Source: Midjourney

“Oh? He’s still enjoying his victory, then?”

“Yeah, well, that’s going to be short-lived, Mom,” I said.

There’s one thing about my father: he loves his “throne.” It’s a ridiculous electric recliner that he spent way too much money on a few years ago. He loves it more than any person in the world, which is sad and pathetic, but true.

A man sitting on a recliner | Source: Midjourney

A man sitting on a recliner | Source: Midjourney

The chair has heated seats, a massage feature, and even USB ports. He treats it like it’s something sacred in our home.

Naturally, I aimed my revenge at it.

I told my mom the plan, and she laughed nervously. We crept toward the living room where Dad was zoned out, still glued to his game, digging into his dinner.

A woman laughing | Source: Midjourney

A woman laughing | Source: Midjourney

I quietly unplugged his precious chair from the wall. And the best part? This man didn’t even notice a thing. Then, with my mom watching, I pulled a little tube of super glue that I had taken from the kitchen.

I smeared it over the chair’s buttons, still absolutely perplexed that my father didn’t register that I was in the room, right next to him.

After that, Mom and I went back to the kitchen. We sat on the bar stools in silence as Mom opened a tub of cookies for us to nibble on.

A container of chocolate chip cookies | Source: Midjourney

A container of chocolate chip cookies | Source: Midjourney

Ten minutes later, the game went to half-time. We could hear Dad shift in his chair and he tried to press the recline button. Nothing happened. He frowned and pressed it again, harder this time.

Still nothing.

“What the heck?” he grumbled, fiddling with the controls. Then, I saw it. The moment when the realization hit him.

A man sitting on a recliner | Source: Midjourney

A man sitting on a recliner | Source: Midjourney

He started pulling at the armrests, trying to get up, but his hands were stuck. His face turned from confusion to full-on panic.

“What’s wrong, Frank?” Mom asked, strolling into the living room.

“The darn chair is broken!” he complained.

“Oh, really? Maybe because you overuse it. But wasn’t it fine before you locked me in the basement?” Mom asked.

My father’s eyes widened.

An expressionless woman | Source: Midjourney

An expressionless woman | Source: Midjourney

“You didn’t… Wait! How did you get out?” he asked.

“Annie,” Mom said simply.

I stepped out from my spot in the kitchen, where I had been recording their conversation.

“Smile for the camera, Dad,” I said. “This is going in the family group chat!”

“You wouldn’t dare, Annie!” he barked at me, tugging helplessly at his stuck hands.

“Oh, but I would,” I said.

A man sitting in a recliner | Source: Midjourney

A man sitting in a recliner | Source: Midjourney

I pressed send, and the replies started rolling in soon. If there was one thing my father hated, it was being seen beyond his usual façade. He didn’t want people to see the real him. And this was him, an ugly person.

“I’m taking Mom home with me for the rest of the weekend,” I said. “You can figure out how to get yourself off your throne.”

Mom went upstairs to pack herself an overnight bag. I didn’t want to leave her with Dad. But I doubt he’ll be locking anyone in the basement anytime soon.

A smiling young woman | Source: Midjourney

A smiling young woman | Source: Midjourney

What would you have done?

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