Food kept disappearing from Christine’s home. At first, it was small things—just a few chocolates missing, juice boxes vanishing faster than usual. It was strange, but not alarming. Maybe she had eaten them absentmindedly. Maybe her husband, Samuel, was sneaking snacks. She wasn’t sure.
But then it got worse.
One day, the fancy cheese she had bought for a dinner party was half gone before the guests had even arrived. Then the expensive bottle of wine she had been saving for their anniversary mysteriously ended up in the recycling bin. And the final straw? The caviar—premium Osetra, worth $200, meant for Samuel’s birthday—vanished without a trace.
Christine was determined to figure out what was happening. She started keeping a log:
- Monday: Half a box of imported cookies missing.
- Wednesday: Three pieces of dark chocolate gone.
- Friday: The special raspberry preserves she had ordered online? Completely missing.
It wasn’t just any food being taken—it was the special stuff, the treats she had carefully chosen, the things she truly looked forward to. She couldn’t ignore it anymore. She had to confront Samuel.
“Hey, babe,” she said one morning, keeping her voice casual. “Did you finish that box of Belgian truffles I bought last week?”
Samuel looked up from his coffee, eyebrows furrowing. “What truffles?”
Christine’s stomach twisted. “The ones on the top shelf of the pantry. Behind the cereal.”
“Haven’t touched them. Didn’t even know we had any,” he replied, taking another sip.
She stared at him, searching his face. Samuel wasn’t a liar. If he said he hadn’t eaten them, then he hadn’t.
That meant someone else had.
Her heart pounded. “Are you sure? The caviar from your birthday is gone too. And that wine we were saving for our anniversary? The one from our trip to Napa?”
Samuel’s coffee cup stopped midair. “What? That stuff was expensive! And I was looking forward to opening it next month.”
Christine crossed her arms. “Unless we have a very sophisticated mouse with expensive taste, someone has been in our kitchen.”
Samuel’s face darkened. “Maybe we should set up cameras. Just to be safe?”
Christine nodded. “Yeah. Maybe we should.”
They installed small wireless cameras around the house, hiding one behind cookbooks in the kitchen and placing others in key areas. Then, they waited.
Two days later, Christine was at work when her phone buzzed with a motion alert. She ducked into an empty conference room and pulled up the live feed.
Her heart pounded as she watched. She expected a maintenance worker. Maybe a thief. Maybe—she didn’t know—a very ambitious raccoon?
But what she saw made her blood run cold.
Pamela. Her mother-in-law.
Christine watched in shock as Pamela strolled into the kitchen like she owned the place. With practiced ease, she took a wine glass from the cabinet and poured herself a glass of the expensive Bordeaux. Then, she reached for the gourmet cheese without hesitation, as if she had done this a hundred times before.
Christine’s hands shook. How often had Pamela been coming over uninvited? And why?
Then Pamela did something even worse.
She finished her impromptu wine and cheese party and strolled down the hallway. Toward the bedroom.
Christine quickly switched to the bedroom camera feed and nearly dropped her phone.
Pamela was trying on Christine’s favorite dress, admiring herself in the mirror. Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, she turned and opened the underwear drawer, rummaging through Christine’s lingerie.
Christine’s mouth went dry. Pamela wasn’t just taking their food—she was wearing her clothes! Trying on her intimate things!
The next day, Christine called in sick. She stayed home, hiding in the hallway, waiting for Pamela to return.
Right on schedule, at 2 p.m., the door opened. Pamela walked in, completely at ease, and went straight to the kitchen for her usual stolen treats. Then, as expected, she made her way to the bedroom.
Christine stepped into the room, arms crossed. “Enjoying yourself?”
Pamela spun around so fast she nearly tripped. “Christine! I—I was just—”
“Just what?” Christine’s voice was eerily calm, though her skin burned with anger. “Just breaking into our house? Just eating our food? Just trying on my underwear?”
Pamela’s face turned red, but there was no shame—only indignation. “I was checking to make sure your wardrobe still suited you! As Samuel’s mother, I have a responsibility—”
Christine laughed coldly. “To what? Approve my outfits? Where did you get a key?”
Pamela lifted her chin. “Samuel gave it to me! He said I could stop by anytime!”
Christine’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? That’s funny because he was just as confused as I was about the missing food.”
Something flickered in Pamela’s eyes—fear, maybe—but she quickly masked it with her usual self-righteous attitude.
“Get out, Pamela.” Christine grabbed her arm and marched her to the door. “And give me the key.”
Pamela yanked herself away, glaring. “This is my son’s house too! I’ll come by whenever I like!”
That night, Christine showed Samuel the footage. His face darkened with fury.
“I never gave her a key,” he said tightly. “How the hell did she get one?”
They got their answer the next morning when Pamela showed up again, acting like nothing had happened.
Samuel blocked the doorway. “Mom. Where did you get the key?”
Pamela blinked innocently. “Oh, that? I just made a copy! For emergencies, you know.”
Christine scoffed. “Like emergency wine drinking? Emergency dress-up sessions in my clothes?”
Pamela pouted at Samuel. “Well, maybe if you spoiled your Mommy with delicious food and bought me the beautiful clothes you buy for your wife, I wouldn’t have been so curious.”
Christine had enough. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to give us back every copy of that key you made.”
Pamela smirked. “And what if I don’t?”
Samuel dropped a brand-new lock set onto the table. “Then you’ll be wasting your time trying to break into a house you can’t get into anymore.”
Pamela’s face twisted with rage, but she snatched the key from her purse and slammed it onto the counter. “Fine! But don’t expect me to help you when you need me!”
Christine smirked. “Oh, we never did.”
Pamela stormed out, slamming the door so hard the windows rattled.
For weeks, she sulked, bombarding Samuel with texts about how unreasonable Christine was. But Samuel stood firm.
That same day, they changed the locks.
Now, whenever Christine opens her fully stocked fridge or slips into an unworn dress, she smiles, knowing her home is truly hers again.
And if Pamela wants to know what she’s eating or wearing these days? Well, she’ll just have to use her imagination.
