Chapter 2: The Mother-in-Law from Hell

I lean against the cool metal shelving, feeling the weight of unsaid words pressing down on my chest. Tina's concerned gaze meets mine as she restocks the screwdrivers, her dark hair swaying with each movement.

"You look like you're carrying the world on your shoulders, Sam," she says, her voice gentle. "What's going on?"

I sigh, running a hand through my wavy brown hair. "It's Eleanor," I admit, the name tasting bitter on my tongue. "Alex's mother."

Tina's eyebrows raise slightly. "Ah, the infamous mother-in-law. What's she done now?"

"It's not what she's done, exactly," I explain, my fingers absently tracing the edge of a nearby shelf. "It's how she is. She's nice, you know? Always smiling, always polite. But..."

"But?" Tina prompts, setting down a handful of Phillips heads to give me her full attention.

I close my eyes briefly, gathering my thoughts. When I open them, I see understanding in Tina's warm gaze. "She has this way of complimenting me that somehow feels like criticism. Like yesterday, she said, 'Oh Samantha, your hair looks so nice today. It's amazing what a good styling can do for you.'"

Tina winces. "Ouch."

"Yeah," I nod, feeling a mix of relief and frustration at finally voicing these thoughts. "It's like she's implying my hair usually looks terrible. And it's not just that. It's constant little digs about everything."

As I speak, I can't help but wonder if I'm being too sensitive. Maybe I'm reading too much into Eleanor's words. But the ache in my chest tells me otherwise.

"That sounds exhausting," Tina says, reaching out to squeeze my arm supportively. "Have you talked to Alex about it?"

The mention of my husband's name sends a fresh wave of emotion through me. I shake my head, blinking back unexpected tears. "He doesn't see it. Or maybe he doesn't want to."

Tina's expression softens further. "Oh, Sam. That must be so frustrating."

I nod, grateful for her understanding. "It is. I just... I don't know how to handle it anymore. I feel like I'm constantly on edge, waiting for the next backhanded compliment or subtle criticism."

As I speak, I realize how much I've been holding in. The words pour out of me now, a dam finally breaking. "It's like nothing I do is ever good enough for her. And by extension, for Alex."

Tina listens intently, her presence a comforting anchor in the storm of my emotions. When I finally fall silent, she offers a small, sympathetic smile.

"You know," she says, her voice thoughtful, "sometimes the nicest-seeming people can be the most hurtful. It's like they've found a socially acceptable way to be mean."

Her words hit home, and I feel a wave of validation wash over me. "Exactly," I breathe, feeling some of the tension leave my shoulders. "That's exactly it."

As we stand there in the hardware aisle, surrounded by tools and supplies, I feel a glimmer of something I haven't felt in a long time: understanding. And with it comes a tiny spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, I'm not alone in this after all.

I run my fingers along the edge of a shelf, feeling the cool metal beneath my skin. "You know, it's not just the cooking," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Eleanor has opinions on everything - how I clean, how I parent. It's like she's keeping a running tally of all my perceived failures."

Tina's eyes widen. "That must be exhausting," she says, her voice filled with empathy.

I nod, feeling a lump form in my throat. "It is. And the worst part? Alex isn't even really a parent unless I'm pushing him to be. But I'm the only one who gets criticized."

My hands clench into fists at my sides, frustration bubbling up inside me. "Just last week, Eleanor made a comment about how the living room could use a 'woman's touch.' As if I hadn't spent hours tidying up before she arrived."

I pause, taking a shaky breath. "And Alex? He just stood there, silent. He never says a word when his mother criticizes me."

Tina reaches out, her hand resting gently on my arm. "That's not fair to you, Sam. Not at all."

I feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. "I know," I whisper. "I just... I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. It feels like I'm fighting a losing battle, you know?"

As I speak, I realize how true those words are. How long have I been feeling this way? How much longer can I endure this constant scrutiny, this feeling of never being good enough?

The fluorescent lights of the hardware store suddenly feel too bright, too harsh. I blink rapidly, trying to regain my composure. But inside, I'm a storm of emotions - anger, frustration, and a deep, aching sadness that threatens to overwhelm me.

I swallow hard, pushing down the lump in my throat. "It's like I'm always on the backburner with Alex," I confess, my voice barely above a whisper. "Whether it's his work, his mother, or... anything, really. I'm never the priority."

Tina's brow furrows in sympathy, but I can't bear to see pity in her eyes. I turn away, pretending to straighten a display of paint swatches.

"You know," I say, forcing a lighter tone into my voice, "Victoria's been doing really well in school lately. She's got this big art project coming up."

I feel a genuine smile tugging at my lips as I think about my stepdaughter. Despite the tension at home, Victoria has always been a bright spot in my life.

"Oh?" Tina asks, clearly sensing my need for a change of subject. "What's she working on?"

"It's a mixed media piece," I explain, my fingers absently tracing the edge of a color sample. "She's combining photography with painting. You should see the way her eyes light up when she talks about it."

As I speak about Victoria, I feel some of the tightness in my chest begin to loosen. It's a welcome respite from the heaviness of my earlier thoughts, a reminder that there's still joy to be found in my life, even if it's not where I expected it to be.

The bell above the shop door chimes, and I turn to see Alex striding in, his face set in its usual mask of stern professionalism. My heart sinks a little, knowing our moment of peace is about to shatter.

"Samantha," he nods curtly, barely acknowledging Tina. "I need to talk to you about Victoria's report card."

I feel my muscles tense. "What about it?" I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral.

Alex's jaw clenches. "Her grades in math and science are slipping. She's not taking her studies seriously enough."

"That's not fair," I say, feeling a surge of protectiveness. "She's working incredibly hard on her art project. It's important to her."

"Art won't get her into a good college," Alex snaps. "She needs to focus on what matters."

I take a deep breath, feeling my frustration bubble up. "What matters is that she's passionate about something. She's developing her creativity, her problem-solving skills. That's valuable too."

Alex scoffs, and I feel something inside me snap. The weight of years of criticism and dismissal crashes down on me.

"You know what?" I say, my voice trembling slightly. "I'm tired of this. I'm tired of you and Eleanor constantly finding fault with everything. With Victoria, with me, with how I run the house. It's always negativity with you two."

I can see the surprise in Alex's eyes, but I can't stop now. The words pour out of me like a dam breaking.

"Do you have any idea how it feels? To constantly be judged, to never be good enough? And you never stand up for me, Alex. Not once. It's like I don't even matter to you."

My hands are shaking, and I clench them at my sides. I can feel Tina's concerned gaze on me, but I keep my eyes locked on Alex's stunned face.

"I'm doing my best," I say, my voice dropping to a near-whisper. "For Victoria, for you, for our family. But it's never enough, is it?"

The silence that follows feels suffocating. I wonder if I've finally gone too far, if this is the moment our fragile facade of a happy family finally shatters completely.

The tense silence is broken by the sudden vibration of my phone. I fish it out of my pocket, grateful for the momentary distraction from Alex's bewildered stare. But as I read the text, my stomach twists into knots.

"Great," I mutter, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice.

"What is it?" Tina asks, her voice soft with concern.

I look up, meeting her eyes. "It's Eleanor. She wants us to host a family gathering next weekend. Says it's been too long since we've all been together."

Alex perks up at this. "That sounds nice, doesn't it? Mom's always good at bringing everyone together."

I can't help but laugh, a short, humorless sound. "Nice? Alex, do you even hear yourself? Your mother, who constantly criticizes everything I do, wants me to host a gathering where she'll have free rein to pick apart every detail of our home, our lives?"

My hands are trembling again, and I set the phone down before I drop it. I can feel the pressure building behind my eyes, tears of frustration threatening to spill over.

"I can't do this anymore," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can't keep pretending everything's fine when I'm drowning here. The constant judgment, the lack of support... it's too much."

I look at Alex, really look at him, willing him to understand. "I need you to see me, Alex. To hear me. Because right now, I feel invisible in my own life, and I don't know how much longer I can take it."

The words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of years of unspoken pain. I wait, heart pounding, for some sign that he finally understands.