I thought my mother-in-law's passive-aggressive comments were bad, but nothing could have prepared me for what I saw on national TV. When I heard what she said, I was frozen in absolute shock. What came next? Let’s just say she had it coming.

Charlene, my dear mother-in-law, has never been my biggest fan. In fact, she has been borderline obsessed with tearing me down since the moment her precious son, Holden, slipped that ring on my finger. It was mostly subtle—well, most of the time.

Her favorite tactic? Snide comments about how much happier Holden was when he dated his high school sweetheart. I heard that story at almost every single family meal.

"Oh, Holden and Sarah were just perfect together. Do you remember how she used to make those adorable pies for him?" Charlene would sigh wistfully, shooting a pointed glance in my direction.

Uh, no, Charlene. I wasn’t there because Holden and I are married now.

But I always played nice. "Oh, I’m sure Sarah was wonderful," I’d say with a smile so tight it could cut glass. And when she'd "accidentally" call me Sarah? I’d laugh it off. Totally fine, right?

That was until one lazy Saturday morning, coffee in hand, flipping through channels, trying to enjoy a rare moment of peace, I stumbled upon something that made my stomach drop.

It was one of those overly dramatic daytime talk shows—the kind where people spill their deepest, darkest secrets for fifteen minutes of fame. I wasn’t paying much attention until a familiar face popped up on the screen.

Charlene.

I blinked. I rubbed my eyes. Surely, I was still half-asleep, hallucinating. But no. It was her. Sitting there, all dolled up like she was about to walk the Oscars red carpet, chatting away with the host as if they were old friends.

Curious, I turned up the volume. The moment the words left her mouth, I nearly choked on my coffee.

"I just want a true wife for my son. Someone who can give him the life he deserves."

My grip on the mug tightened. At first, I thought, "There's no way this is about Holden." Maybe she was talking about another poor soul. But then—

"My son is a widower."

I nearly dropped my coffee. Widower? Last I checked, I was very much alive, breathing, and oh yeah—still married to her son!

I bolted upright, my heart pounding.

Charlene took a deep, theatrical sigh, as if she were about to shed tears. "His late wife was sweet, but honestly? She wasn’t a good match. She didn’t know how to take care of him the way a real wife should. I’ve been waiting for him to find someone… worthy of our family."

Late wife? Not a good match?!

I stared at the TV in disbelief. This woman was on national television, announcing my fake death, tarnishing my name, and for what? To find her son a replacement? Like I was some expired carton of milk she could just toss out?

Charlene kept going, her voice dripping with exaggerated sorrow. "He deserves someone who can give him the life he truly wants. A family. Children. I’m just trying to help him move on from his loss and find the perfect woman to replace the one he lost."

I was shaking. THE ONE HE LOST?!

I didn’t know whether to scream, cry, or throw something. Instead, I grabbed my phone and hit record. This was too insane not to have proof. Holden needed to see this.

That night, when Holden came home, I didn’t even say hello. I shoved my phone in his face, hit play, and watched his expression morph from confusion to absolute fury.

"What the hell is this?!" he snapped, his eyes practically bulging out of his head.

"Oh, just your mother going on TV to declare me dead and find you a new wife. No big deal."

Holden turned pale. "She did WHAT?"

I crossed my arms. "We’re going to teach her a lesson she’ll never forget."

And just like that, the plan was born.

The next morning, Holden put on his best "devastated son" voice and dialed Charlene.

"Mom," he started, voice breaking. "I’ve got… I’ve got terrible news."

There was silence on the other end before Charlene asked, "Holden? What’s wrong? What happened?"

Holden sniffed, making it sound like he was barely holding it together. "You were right, Mom. Something awful happened to my wife. She… she's gone. She died."

I heard the sharp intake of breath from Charlene’s end. She was hooked.

"WHAT?! No! Holden, no!" she shrieked. "What do you mean?! How could this happen?!"

Holden sighed dramatically. "It happened so suddenly. You said it yourself, she wasn’t the right match, and now… now she’s gone."

Charlene wailed, her voice cracking. "Oh, God! This is all my fault! I never meant for any of this! I—"

"Mom," Holden interrupted. "I need you to come over. Right now. Please."

"I’m coming! I’m coming right now!" The line went dead.

An hour later, the front door slammed open. Charlene burst into the living room like a hurricane, mascara-streaked, eyes wild.

"Where is she?! What happened to her?!" she shrieked, scanning the room frantically, as if expecting to find my lifeless body laid out.

Instead, there I was, lounging on the couch, sipping tea.

Her eyes locked on me, and the color drained from her face. She froze, mouth hanging open as realization dawned.

She’d been played.

I raised my teacup, smirking. "Morning, Charlene. You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

Charlene stammered, but Holden cut her off coldly. "You thought your little ‘widow’ stunt would make her disappear?"

Charlene’s lips quivered. "I-I didn’t mean—"

"Didn’t mean for what? For me to think my wife was dead? For you to broadcast to the world that I needed a new one?" Holden's voice was razor-sharp.

Charlene trembled. "I was just trying to help—"

"No," Holden snapped. "You crossed a line. A big one. And if you ever pull a stunt like this again, I’ll be the one going on TV… looking for a new mother. One who actually respects me."

The room fell into thick silence.

Charlene’s face crumpled as the weight of her actions sank in. Without another word, she turned on her heel and fled, her sobs echoing down the hall.

I let out a low whistle. "Well, that was… something."

Holden rubbed his temples. "I can’t believe she did that."

I chuckled, handing him my tea. "At least she knows now. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes."

Holden took a sip, exhaling. Then, with a smirk, he turned to me. "Maybe next time, we’ll throw a real funeral. For her delusions."