Marriage, whether woven from love’s silk or the rough threads of contract, can’t shield you from the inevitable: the arrival of the mother-in-law. She sweeps in, a force of nature, trailing suitcases and opinions. Suddenly, your home feels smaller, its corners less yours.

Why don’t I like her? Perhaps it’s the way she eyes my art—those spray-painted walls, my rebellion against beige. Or maybe it’s the way she clings to tradition, while I dance on the edge of convention.

But here she stands, bags packed, ready to imprint her presence. And I? Well, I’ll brace for the storm, my tomboy heart unyielding. For whether she’s real or fake, this mother-in-law—this unwelcome guest—is a canvas I must navigate.

Sorry I just came in without informing you,” Kai’s mom said, as if teleportation was a perfectly normal mode of transportation.

“It’s ok, Mom,” Yeona replied, her inner monologue screaming, Did I really say that?

Kai, the enigmatic husband, sat nearby. His eyes avoided Sia's, as if they were playing hide-and-seek. But Kai's mom? She dropped a bombshell: “Kai adores you.” Sai’s heart skipped a beat. Either Kai was an Oscar-worthy actor, or he’d secretly joined a rice cake fan club.

“Delicious,” Kai’s mom continued, referring to the legendary rice cake. Sia’s suspicion radar pinged. Was this rice cake laced with truth serum?

Kai, ever the diplomat, chimed in: “Mom, she looks tired.”  Sia shot Kai a look—part gratitude, part Why didn’t we discuss this beforehand?

“Taking your wife’s side already, Kai?” Kai’s mom raised an eyebrow. Sia, caught in the crossfire, considered a career change to tightrope walking.

 “Let’s prepare dinner together, Sia,” Kai’s mom declared. Sia found herself in the kitchen, apron-clad, like a contestant on “Iron Chef: In-Law Edition.” Kai’s mom spilled Kai’s childhood secrets—tree-climbing mishaps, oven mitt escapades, and the Great Bean Debacle.

“Kai was a mischievous rascal,” she confided. Sia nodded, thinking, Beans? Really?

As the food bubbled in the oven, Sia faced her greatest challenge: sleeping arrangements. Would it be the couch (with springs that whispered secrets), the guest room (with a portrait of a judgmental ancestor), or the floor (with a pillow and existential questions)?

“Sia,” Kai’s mom said, “you’ll be sharing the bed with—”

“A ghost?” Sia interjected. “A friendly poltergeist?”

“With me,” Kai deadpanned.

Sia’s mind raced. This is fine. Everything’s fine.