I Helped My Pregnant Sister-in-Law with Everything — Until She Took Things Too Far

My Pregnant Sister-in-Law Turned Me into Her Maid – I Played Her Game Until She Crossed the Line

I remained silent and went along with my pregnant sister-in-law’s decision to make me her personal servant.

However, everything changed when my own brother told me that I was useless because I was unable to conceive. I stopped playing the victim at that point and began making plans to get away.

I’m Liz, and I’m thirty-five years old. I was married to Tom until around six months ago. On Sunday mornings, he brought me coffee in bed and made me giggle. He was a kind man.

We dreamed of filling the extra bedrooms with the sound of tiny feet and had a lovely home with a white picket fence.

However, dreams aren’t always realized, are they?

For four years, we attempted to conceive. Four years of hormones, hope, and misery. Every month was an exhilarating ride that ended in heartbreaking despair.

We experimented with reproductive therapies that were more expensive than our vehicle. We took supplements, made dietary changes, and even visited doctors in three different states. I prayed fervently, counted the days, and monitored my temperature.

However, nothing was effective.

The question, “When are you two going to have kids?” was always asked. I wanted to vanish into the ground.

At first, Tom was patient. When I cried, he hugged me. He assured me that we would work things out together. He made all the correct statements.

However, it seems that patience has a limit.

He didn’t even glance up from his newspaper when he remarked, “I can’t wait anymore,” one Tuesday morning.

As simple as that.

He was prepared to let me go, as if I were a squandered investment.

“What do you mean?” Even though I already knew, I asked. The way he avoided making eye contact and recoiled when I touched him was something I had anticipated for months.

“Liz, I want kids. actual kids. Not merely the notion of them. He spoke in a bland tone. “I can’t spend my whole life hoping for something that’s never going to happen.”

“We could try adoption,” I muttered.

What I saw in his eyes when he finally turned to face me shattered something within of me that I doubt can ever fully recover.

When he said, “I want my own kids,” “My blood.”

He vanished six weeks later. took up residence with his secretary, who was three months along in her pregnancy.

His heritage. Apparently, I was unable to give him the item.

My parents were the only people who ever actually loved me, so I returned home devastated.

As I had anticipated, they embraced me wholeheartedly.

My mother prepared my favorite dishes and remained silent while I sobbed over the meatloaf. When I spent whole days in my childhood bedroom, my dad repaired the lock and pretended not to notice.

That’s when I felt secure.

However, that tranquility was short-lived—about two months.

After that, my brother Ryan moved in with his expectant wife, Madison.

They said that they were remodeling their new house across town.

Madison responded, “Just for a few weeks,” with the charming smile she always had when she had something to desire. “Until the dust settles and it’s safe for the baby.”

Ever the giving ones, my parents offered them their guest room and assured them that they would not be charged a dime.

After all, they were family.

The initial days were tolerable.

Madison generally remained to herself, complaining of morning sickness and sore feet, while Ryan assisted Dad with yard chores. Perhaps, I reasoned, we could all live in harmony until their house was finished.

I was mistaken.

Like all such enterprises, it began modestly. Madison would talk about how exhausting it was to stand for extended periods of time. She would glance at the unmade bed or the unclean dishes and sigh loudly.

She then stated unequivocally that she wanted to be treated like a king or queen.

“I need something sweet but savory,” Madison declared one morning as I was peacefully eating my toast and he waddled into the kitchen. “Like bacon and chocolate pancakes. and a side of hot syrup. Not poured. “On the side.”

She settled herself at the kitchen table and switched on the little television that my parents had on the counter.

“You’re not doing anything, right?” Without glancing at me, she said. “You can whip that up?”

“Sorry?”

“You’re living here for free too, right?” Examining her nail paint as if it were the most significant thing in the world, she said. “Let’s help each other out.”

And that was only the start.

Madison’s list of requests kept expanding, and she added something new every day.

Chicken pot pie made from scratch one day, “with the peas picked out because they make me gag.” On another occasion, she decided she had to try a Thai peanut noodle meal that she watched on TikTok, even though it took two hours to prepare and called for items we didn’t have.

I prepared food. She offered criticism.

She would say, “This is too salty,” and abruptly shove the plate away. “The baby doesn’t like salt.”

“Is it possible to recreate this? Could you, however, use less garlic this time? No garlic at all, actually. I get heartburn from it.

The duties followed.

pointing to the guest bedroom, she said one afternoon, “Could you vacuum our room while you’re at it?” “I can hardly walk because my ankles are so swollen. And perhaps clean the mirrors, too? Water stains bother me as I’m getting ready.

I said nothing. I simply followed her instructions because I didn’t want to cause a scene.

My parents didn’t step in, despite my expectation that they would. They were too preoccupied with being overjoyed to have their future grandson live with them.

They excitedly discussed nursery colors and baby names while swooning over Madison’s expanding tummy. While they were at work or running errands, they were blind to what was going on behind closed doors.

And Ryan, my brother? He remained silent.

He simply browsed through his phone, nodded in agreement with anything Madison said, and muttered “thanks” every now and then when I delivered their personalized dinner trays to bed.

However, the last straw occurred on a Thursday at 2:30 a.m.

Like the house was on fire, Madison pounded on the door of my bedroom. I was startled awake by the sound and staggered out of bed in my pajamas, my heart pounding.

“What’s wrong?” I threw open the door with a gasp. “Is it the baby?”

She appeared absolutely composed and unconcerned that she had just terrified me to no end as she stood there in her pink silk robe.

When she said, “I need sour cream and onion chips,” As in, right now. They are what the baby wants, and I have to give him what he wants.

I am aware that the 5th Street gas station is open twenty-four hours a day. Are you able to leave? Ryan becomes irritable when he doesn’t get enough sleep, so I don’t want to wake him.”

I simply gazed at her.

“Hey? Are you leaving or what? Before my face, she waved her hand. “Time is kind of important here.”

In her face, I closed the door.

Madison was still asleep after her midnight yearning problem when I cornered Ryan in the kitchen the following morning.

Silently, “I need to talk to you,” I said. “This situation with Madison is getting completely out of hand.”

He was already irritated that I was disturbing his breakfast when he looked up from his bowl of cereal.

I went on to say, “She treats me like her personal servant,” “She has me washing your clothes, cleaning your room, and preparing lavish meals, and now she’s waking me up for errands in the middle of the night. Ryan, I can’t do this much longer.”

With a heavy groan, he set down his spoon. “Look, Liz. Just follow her instructions, please. It’s not that difficult at all.”

“Excuse me?”

His words, “She’s pregnant,” She is carrying the only blood grandchild that her parents are likely to have. You simply couldn’t accomplish that.”

“What did you just say to me?”

He shrugged, utterly indifferent to my face’s destruction. “Liz, it’s simply the reality. Don’t worry about it too much.

I couldn’t trust myself to stay in that kitchen, so I left. I was having trouble breathing. The guy who was meant to love and protect me, my own brother, had just bluntly told me that I was inferior. that I had no value. since I was unable to have a grandchild for our parents. since I was infertile.

Sitting on the old swing set Dad had constructed when Ryan and I were kids, I sobbed for an hour in the backyard. I didn’t want my parents to see my emotional collapse.

However, I made a decision that night while resting in my childhood bed and gazing up at the ceiling.

I had decided to stop crying. I refused to plead for respect at my own family’s house. Furthermore, I refused to watch while someone ruled over everyone around them by using their pregnancy as a crown and scepter.

So, I called the following morning.

I gave my friend Elise, who works at a community organization in my area that helps women going through significant life changes and divorce, a call. She was fully aware of my background and had previously stated that she knew someone in need of assistance.

Elise clarified, “There’s this lovely older woman named Mrs. Chen,” “She needs assistance with cooking and minor housework because her spouse passed away last year.

She pays extremely well, and it’s a live-in, part-time position. All she wants is a nice person to help her around the house.

I wasn’t prepared when Elise first informed me about Mrs. Chen. I was still too damaged.

I was prepared now.

Madison and Ryan withdrew to their room with their food trays that evening, and I joined my parents at the dinner table.

Calmly, “I’ve found a job,” I said. “A place to reside is included. Next week, I’ll be moving out.

They were taken aback.

“Sweetheart, we don’t want you to go,” my mother put it. “You’re still recovering from Tom’s ordeal. You don’t need to commit to anything right now.

With a “I’ll be okay, Mom,” I answered. “I can’t continue to be treated disrespectfully here every day. None of us benefit from it.

Madison bounded down with a broad smile on her face, as if she had been listening from the top of the steps.

“Guess that means I get the bigger bathroom now!” She chirped, already making plans to reorganize the house in a way that pleased her.

I didn’t answer. Nothing else could be said.

Over the following three days, I wrapped up my belongings in silence.

I didn’t make theatrical speeches, bang doors, or have tantrums. Before I went, I prepared a final meal for my parents that they would like.

Three weeks later, Mom informed me that Ryan and Madison also needed to leave the house.

When Madison threw a full-blown tantrum over a little cold omelet and labeled my mom a “useless old woman” who didn’t know how to cook properly, it seemed that my parents finally saw Madison’s true colors.

The following day, Dad asked them both to go.

Mom called me while crying, but I wasn’t there to witness it.

She said, “We’re so sorry, honey,” “We ought to have noticed what was going on sooner. We ought to have kept you safe.

I understood, so I was able to forgive them. Love can often cause us to lose sight of the people we love the most.

And I felt like I could finally breathe for the first time in months as I sat in Mrs. Chen’s warm kitchen with a cup of tea and a work that made me feel useful once more.