When my husband left for a week, I expected a few awkward days with my grieving mother-in-law, Cynthia, who had recently moved in. Instead, she shocked me with a bizarre rule — no one was allowed to use the only working bathroom in the house “for a week.” She even slept on the couch in front of the door, guarding it like a sentry.
For two days, I made do with sink baths and wiping the kids down with wet wipes. Finally, one night, I couldn’t take it anymore. While Cynthia slept, I unlocked the bathroom and nearly screamed. In the tub were four live timber rattlesnakes, coiled and breathing.
Cynthia burst in and calmly explained she had “rescued” the snakes from the roadside, claiming they were injured and needed warmth to recover. She insisted they were harmless, but I called my husband immediately. His response was short and firm: “They leave. Tonight.”
Reluctantly, Cynthia packed the snakes into plastic bins and drove them to her own house. Later, she sent a photo of them in glass terrariums under heat lamps, saying they were “safe and happy now.” Since then, she hasn’t moved back in. I’ve learned some boundaries aren’t just about comfort — they’re about safety.