I Caught My Ex-MIL Stealing My Shower Cabin and Ripping off Wallpaper Her ‘Son Had Glued’

I’m Kelly, and I’ve been divorced from my ex-husband, Peter, for about six months now. We were married for ten years, and while the marriage wasn’t perfect, it was my life.

Until I found out about his affair.

That was the last straw, and everything came crashing down. The divorce was messy and painful, and to top it off, I had to deal with his mother, Lorraine, who was a nightmare in human form.

Lorraine never liked me. Even when we were married, she made it perfectly clear that I wasn’t good enough for her son.

“I’m just being honest with you, Kelly. Peter is used to a certain way of life since being with me. I’m his mother, and I taught him that perfection is the only option here. You’re… I mean. Let’s face it, doll. You’re far from perfect.”

When Peter and I split up, she went out of her way to help him get as much as he could from me. Money, property, some of my wedding jewelry, you name it. If it was valuable, she made sure that I lost it.

I kept telling myself that once the divorce was over and Peter moved out, I’d finally have peace.

But the peace didn’t last.

One day, I came home from work early because I had a headache from staring at my laptop all day, and I was exhausted, ready to collapse, only to stop dead in my tracks in the hallway outside my apartment.

Sitting there, in the common corridor, was my shower cabin. It had a big, bold “Peter’s Property” sticker plastered across it as if I might somehow forget who it belonged to. My stomach sank.

What the hell was going on?

When I stepped into my apartment, I was hit by a cloud of dust and ripped wallpaper. The walls were half-bare, and I heard a ripping sound coming from down the hallway. Turning the corner, I came face-to-face with Lorraine, my ex-mother-in-law, tearing the wallpaper right off my walls.

She muttered under her breath about how she didn’t want to leave any “traces” of Peter’s work.

“What the hell, Lorraine?” I demanded, pushing my way into the kitchen, the only place untouched by her hands.

Lorraine looked up at me, not even flinching.

“This is all his work,” she said with that haughty tone she’d perfected over the years. “He put up this wallpaper, so it’s his to take down. And the shower cabin, it’s coming with us too. We’re not leaving anything for you.”

I was stunned. How low could they go? I’d already been drained emotionally by the divorce, and now this?

I felt helpless, watching her tear apart my home, muttering the whole time about how Peter “wasn’t leaving a single thing behind” for me. She was ripping wallpaper, unplugging light fixtures, and muttering about every single piece of the apartment that Peter had once touched.

“Lorraine,” I said. “Please, just stop. This is unfair…”

But she didn’t even look at me. She just kept on, pulling down wallpaper and yanking at the shower frame. I felt a familiar lump rising in my throat. I was tired, too tired to fight anymore, so I just slumped onto the couch feeling numb and defeated as I watched her continue her destruction.

The next day, just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, Lorraine stormed back into my apartment. This time, though, she wasn’t there to take anything; she was there for help.

“Kelly,” she cried, grabbing my arm with a desperation I’d never seen in her before. “You have to help me. Please. I’ll give you anything. Just… please help him.”

I blinked at her, confused.

“Help who? What are you talking about?”

“Peter!” she wailed, her voice breaking. “He’s in trouble. I don’t care what it takes. Please, you have to save him.”

I pulled my arm free.

“Lorraine, what are you talking about?”

She looked at me, her eyes wide and pleading.

“Peter had an accident. A really terrible one. He was out drinking, and it was late. It’s really bad, Kelly. He’s hurt. Please, you have to help him.”

A pang shot through my chest. Peter, the man who had cheated, manipulated, and broken me, now needed my help?

A tiny voice in my head whispered that I should help him, that it was the right thing to do. But then the memories of all he’d done to me resurfaced — all the lies and manipulation.

He’d torn apart my life, and now he was paying the price.

Wasn’t that fair? Wasn’t it poetic justice in a way?

I looked back at Lorraine, who was practically on her knees.

“I’m not saving Peter, Lorraine. He made his choices. He’s finally dealing with the consequences of his actions. It was his drinking that made things really unpleasant for us. It brought out the worst in him. And you want me to get involved again?”

Her face twisted with anger and her mouth set into a tight line.

“You’ll regret this, Kelly,” she hissed. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

I crossed my arms and met her gaze.

“No, Lorraine, I think you’re the one who’ll regret it.”

The days that followed were filled with rumors. I heard bits and pieces about Peter’s accident, about how he’d been drinking, how he was lucky to be alive, apparently. But his recovery was rough. He was in debt, and things were piling up.

I felt a mix of relief and anger. Finally, Peter was facing something that he couldn’t charm his way out of. I decided to go to his place. I mean, I was done with Peter, but I wasn’t heartless. I just wanted to see what he looked like in the aftermath of it all.

“Come in,” he called as I knocked on the front door of Lorraine’s house.

At least she wasn’t home. I didn’t want to see the satisfaction on her face. To Lorraine, it would look like I wanted to help, as though I couldn’t help myself and couldn’t stay away from Peter.

“Kelly?” he enthusiastically said when he saw me.

“Peter,” I said, taking in the room.

It was a far cry from the strict house that Lorraine usually kept. Instead, there were containers of Chinese food lying around, discarded bottles of water, chocolate wrappers, and dirty mugs. Peter had really taken Lorraine’s house and made it a mess.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he said, lying on the couch. “I need some help, Kelly. I need my hospital bills to be paid as soon as possible. Can you do it? Please? They’ll take my car!”

“Seriously, Peter?” I asked. “I just came to make sure that you were okay physically. I’m not about to sort your life out. I’m not spending a cent on you.”

“Then why bother to come here?” he demanded.

“I don’t know, but clearly it was a mistake,” I said, turning around and leaving without another word.

Then, about a week later, Lorraine showed up at my door again. She wasn’t the same person who’d stormed in before. Her shoulders were slumped, her eyes tired and haunted. She looked like a woman who’d aged ten years in a matter of days.

“Kelly,” she began, her voice barely a whisper. “I know I don’t deserve it, but… but I came to apologize.”

I didn’t say anything. I just put the kettle on and allowed her to keep talking.

“I was wrong about Peter,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “He’s not the man I thought he was. He ruined everything, and he pushed everyone away. I thought I was helping him all these years, but I was only making things worse.”

A part of me felt a glimmer of satisfaction seeing her so defeated. But then I noticed the genuine grief in her expression, the regret she could no longer hide.

She wasn’t just devastated about Peter’s actions; she was grieving the son she thought she had. The realization was so clear: he had been just as manipulative with her as he’d been with me. Lorraine had been caught in his web of lies, just like I had.

At that moment, something inside me softened. Lorraine wasn’t just the bitter woman who had fought against me during the divorce. She was a mother, broken by the son she’d devoted her life to.

Still, I didn’t really want to allow myself to get back into their lives. So, I invited Lorraine to stay for dinner. At least I could give her a decent meal before she went back to Peter.