At six in the morning, my mother-in-law yanked off my blanket. “Get up, you lazy woman! I’m hungry!” she barked — ignoring that I was pregnant and sick.
Those first months were miserable — nausea, sleepless nights, and her constant yelling. If I ever spoke up, she’d run to my husband and threaten to kick us out.
One night, after another round of insults, I’d had enough. I set up a hidden speaker and played faint whispers, a baby crying, soft sighs — just eerie enough to sound real.
By dawn, she was pale and shaken. “Didn’t you hear voices last night?” she asked nervously.
I smiled. “No, Mom, maybe you were dreaming?”
After two more nights of “hauntings,” she begged for it to stop. That’s when I told her, “Maybe it’s a sign to be kinder.”
From that day on, she was different — gentle, quiet, even bringing me tea in the mornings. And the voices? Gone — because I’d finally turned off the speaker.
