My Monster-In-Law Demanded My Bank Statements—Now She's RuinedChapter 1

My mother-in-law forwarded me an article called "Judging a Daughter-in-Law's Character From the Annual Report," and demanded I send every app's yearly recap into the group chat.

"Not just the bills—your music app and food delivery records too!"

"The article says it all: what songs you listen to shows your state of mind, and what takeout you order shows whether you can run a household. Maya, since you married into our family, you need to be open and honest—don't hide things."

Looking at that long string of "Received" replies in the group chat, I turned around and sent one line:

"Mom's right. Since we're judging character, let's be fair. Everyone in the family sends theirs, especially Dad's and my husband's. Let's start with browsing history—whoever doesn't send it is the one with something to hide!"

——

My mother-in-law, Lola Lawrence, @-mentioned me in the group chat and sent several clickbait videos.

"Judging a Daughter-in-Law's Character From the Annual Report: You Absolutely Must Not Marry This Kind of Woman!"

"@Maya Galloway, now every app shows annual bills. Screenshot your PayPal, Amazon, and DoorDash bills and send them in the group chat so everyone can take a look."

I opened the article and skimmed it.

Good lord—start to finish, nothing but twisted nonsense.

Stuff like "ordering takeout means you're not a proper woman," and "spending more than five thousand means you're a spendthrift."

This wasn't sharing an article—this was her using a feather as a command arrow, trying to hold a public trial against me in front of all the relatives.

I replied:

"Mom, this is private. There's no need to send it in the group chat, right?"

Lola replied instantly, clearly guarding her phone, waiting for me to jump into the trap.

"What privacy is there in a family? If you haven't done anything wrong, you don't fear ghosts knocking at night. Only people who spend money in improper places don't dare show their bills!"

As soon as she said that, the aunts and relatives started popping up, sending a bunch of popcorn and side-eye emojis.

This old woman was trying to guilt-trip me.

If I sent it, she'd take a magnifying glass and pick everything apart—$200 skincare would be "wasteful," and $15 fried chicken would be "not caring about the family."

If I didn't send it, I'd be "hiding something."

I clattered away typing: