Those first months of pregnancy nearly broke me.

The nausea never eased. My body felt hollowed out by weakness, my nights dissolved into fragments of restless sleep. And as if that weren’t enough, I lived under the same roof as my mother-in-law—who seemed determined to make every day unbearable.

Each morning began the same way.
Criticism before breakfast. Mockery before noon. Accusations before sunset.
And whenever I dared to defend myself, she would immediately run to my husband, painting herself as the victim and reminding us—coldly—that this was her house, and we were guests who could be thrown out at any moment.

That night, sleep barely touched me.
Around five in the morning, just as my eyelids finally grew heavy, a voice sliced through the darkness like a blade.

“Get up. I’m hungry.”

I felt her breath near my ear.
“Cook something,” she snapped. “Or you’ll waste the whole day lying around like a parasite.”

I turned my face to the pillow, pressing my eyes shut, fighting back tears that burned my throat.

“Mom,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I really don’t feel well. I’ve been sick all night…”

She laughed—short, cruel, dismissive.

“Save your complaints,” she said sharply. “Women in my day gave birth without whining. No one babied us.”

So I got up.

I stood in the kitchen, pale and shaking, forcing myself to make breakfast while my stomach twisted in revolt.

And somewhere between the clatter of dishes and the smell of cooking oil, something inside me cracked—quietly, but completely.

In that moment, I understood the truth:
I couldn’t survive like this.
Enduring her cruelty was no longer an option.

If she wanted to rule this house through fear and humiliation…
then I would need a plan—one that would finally remind my insolent mother-in-law that even patience has a breaking point.

That night, when everyone was asleep, I played a recording on the speaker—quiet whispers, a baby crying, sighs. I turned the volume down so it sounded like it was coming from far away.

For the first few minutes, nothing happened. Then I heard the bed creak in the next room—my mother-in-law had woken up.

The house seemed quiet, but from the kitchen she heard a soft feminine whisper. It sounded like someone was crying. The mother-in-law listened closely, but the sound faded. She decided she must have dreamed it.

A few minutes later, there was more crying, then rustling, then a man’s voice, barely audible. The mother-in-law jumped up in bed, her heart pounding.

“Who’s there?!” she shouted.

There was no answer. Only a light knock on the wall and then silence again.

By morning she still hadn’t closed her eyes.

“Did you hear anyone talking last night?” she asked me in the morning, her eyes frightened.

I smiled innocently:

“No, Mom, I stayed up all night reading a book, but there were no voices. Maybe you dreamed it?”

The next night, it all happened again. Whispers, knocks, the quiet cry of a child.

The mother-in-law began crossing herself and whispering prayers. She thought her late husband had come for her.

Towards the morning, with trembling hands, she came to me.

— I can’t take it anymore, something’s going on in the house…

I looked at her calmly and said quietly:

“Maybe God is punishing you. Maybe you should be a little kinder to others.”

She changed since then. She no longer yelled, reproached, or woke me up in the morning. On the contrary, she brought me tea and asked how I was feeling. And at night, the house was perfectly quiet. The voices disappeared… because I turned off the speaker.