The image captures a woman lifting a young girl into the air. Fresh faced and rosy cheeked, the young girl smiles back at her mother, whose adoring gaze is locked onto the carefree child. Mother-In-Law pulled the image closer to her with one hand, and with the other she made a mark above Daughter-In-Law’s upper lip with a black pen. She held the modified picture up to the light. Yes, it had now become painfully obvious. Pale lips pursed underneath a dark moustache and lizard-eyes piercing through thick eyebrows. Mother-in-law knew then that Daughter-In-Law was Stalin reincarnate.
She stumbled out of her chair, her breath quickening, her chest tightening. Had she not always known? Since the day that witch had marched through the door? Even then, listening to Daughter-In-Law talk about her five-year plan, Mother-In-Law had recognized something despotic lurking beneath the surface. She hurried into her study, unlocking the filing cabinet with the key she kept on a chain around her neck. Fingering through the files, she arrived at the one she had been searching for, pulled it out, and laid it out on her desk.
Hundreds of screenshots; from text messages and emails to photos and letters. A collection of every single painful interrogation Mother-In-Law had suffered at the hands of Daughter-In-Law. But now it was evidence.
Hi all, I’m so sorry, but I won’t be able to make it to church today, I’ve come down with the flu.
That foul atheist.
Hi Mother-in-Law, I know that last Thanksgiving was stressful without proper organization. If it’s alright with you, I’d be more than happy to take central command of organizing Thanksgiving this year!
Central Command. Could her attempts at collectivization be anymore obvious? Would Mother-In-Law’s labor become a function of the state? Was privacy no longer a right she laid claim to? Mother-in-law gagged at the thought. She pulled out a postcard that made her ill just to touch, just to look at.
Missing you from our vacation in India, will follow up with more details, but just wanted to let you know about a wonderful charity that provides daycare for children whose parents are working in factories and such. I know you’re always looking for a cause to aid!
Daughter-In-Law’s obsession with the world’s proletariat was suffocating. Why couldn’t she just accept that the existence of poor people was God’s way of telling good people that He loved them? No! Instead, Daughter-In-Law wanted to lead the proletariat uprising. She would have a million eyes and a million ears. Never again could Mother-In-Law smoke in front of Baby. Her mouth dried at the thought.
She knew it wouldn’t stop there either. That dark ominous thing within Daughter-In-Law would lead her to kill. Mother-in-law saw the look in Daughter-In-Law’s eyes. From the way she had wrapped her skinny little hands around Son’s neck and taken him far away. She was an experienced killer. If she could kill one, would she stop at a hundred thousand? A million? Ten million? Stalin’s heart beat in Daughter-In-Law’s chest, Mother-in-Law knew that much.
She felt the blood rushing to her head and took a deep breath to cool her red-blooded American heart. She settled herself, took the hammer from her desk drawer, and smashed a hole into the wall. Yes, it was still there — a fully loaded revolver. When the time came, which it inevitably would, Mother-in-Law would have to be brave.
