My MIL Left the House Every Thursday & Returned Smelling Terribly — I Went Pale When I Discovered Why

They say you never really know someone until you’ve lived with them. I thought I knew my mother-in-law, but everything changed when I decided to follow her. What I uncovered wasn’t just a secret; it was a ticking time bomb that threatened the peace of our home.

I used to think my life was predictable, with its comforting routine. I worked as a freelance graphic designer, which gave me the flexibility to be home most days while still bringing in a decent income.

A woman working on her laptop from home | Source: Midjourney

A woman working on her laptop from home | Source: Midjourney

Xander, my husband, worked long hours at his law firm, so I often had the house to myself. It was peaceful until my mother-in-law, Cordelia, moved in three months ago.

After her husband passed away, she called us one night, her voice trembling.

“Olive, dear… I don’t know how to do this on my own,” she’d sobbed over the phone. “The house is so empty, so lonely… I just need to be around my family.”

An extremely sad senior woman talking on her phone | Source: Midjourney

An extremely sad senior woman talking on her phone | Source: Midjourney

I glanced at Xander, and he nodded, looking concerned. We agreed to let Cordelia move in; it felt like the right thing to do for a grieving woman who’d just lost her partner of 40 years. But from the start, something felt off.

Cordelia had always been a little strange, but now her behavior was unpredictable. Every Thursday, she would leave early in the morning and return late in the evening, her clothes carrying a terrible stench: something rotten and damp, like decay. It lingered, clinging to the air and making me question what she was really up to.

A woman looks thoughtful and curious while sitting at home | Source: Midjourney

A woman looks thoughtful and curious while sitting at home | Source: Midjourney

“Mom, where were you today?” Xander asked her one Thursday evening as she shuffled into the kitchen, her eyes avoiding ours. I stood by the stove, pretending to stir a pot of soup, trying not to wrinkle my nose at the smell.

“Oh, just out with some old friends,” she said, waving a hand dismissively, her smile tight and unconvincing.

A senior woman forces a smile while looking at someone | Source: Midjourney

A senior woman forces a smile while looking at someone | Source: Midjourney

“Every Thursday?” I asked, keeping my tone casual. “That must be some social circle.”

She glanced at me, her eyes lingering a moment too long, then shrugged. “We like to meet regularly. It’s good for the soul, you know, catching up with old friends.”

But that smell — it was like she’d been crawling through a sewer. The scent lingered long after she’d passed, a pungent blend of garbage and something wet and decayed. I could feel my curiosity gnawing at me, the way you can’t help but poke at a sore tooth.

A curious woman standing in the kitchen and looking at someone | Source: Midjourney

A curious woman standing in the kitchen and looking at someone | Source: Midjourney

One Wednesday night, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Xander,” I whispered, nudging him awake. “Are you seriously buying that story?”

He blinked sleepily. “What story?”

“Your mom’s ‘out with old friends’ story,” I replied. “Every Thursday? And that smell… it’s not normal.”

He sighed. “Maybe she’s just grieving in her own way, Olive. People cope differently.”

I felt my jaw tighten. “And what way is that? Dumpster diving?”

He chuckled softly, half-asleep, “Let it go, love. It’s probably nothing.”

A man chuckles softly while lying in bed at night | Source: Midjourney

A man chuckles softly while lying in bed at night | Source: Midjourney

But it didn’t feel like “nothing.” It felt like a secret, and I needed to know.

The next Thursday, I called in sick and decided to follow her. I waited by the window, peeking through the blinds like some kind of amateur detective. Cordelia left the house at her usual time, dressed in her oversized coat, clutching her handbag tightly.

I kept a safe distance as she walked down the street, turning left at the end and then another left into an alley I didn’t even know existed. My heart pounded in my chest as I tailed her.

A woman is out on the street, looking at someone | Source: Midjourney

A woman is out on the street, looking at someone | Source: Midjourney

She stopped at the corner and looked around like she was checking for someone or something.

“Where are you going, Cordelia?” I whispered, more curious than ever.

I was expecting something harmless, maybe even laughable, like an old ladies’ knitting club or maybe a bingo night in a creepy basement. But what I found inside was nothing like that.

Cordelia didn’t meet up with friends. Instead, she made her way through the shadiest part of town, slipping into an old, run-down building that looked like it could collapse at any moment.

A senior woman standing outside an old building | Source: Midjourney

A senior woman standing outside an old building | Source: Midjourney

I hesitated outside, the walls covered in graffiti and the windows boarded up, but I took a deep breath and followed her inside. The air was thick with smoke, the kind that sticks to your skin, and the room was filled with the low hum of murmurs and distant laughter.

That’s when I saw it: a hidden, illegal casino tucked away in the back, reeking of stale smoke and the sour smell of desperation. The dimly lit room was filled with flashing lights and the sounds of poker chips clinking filled the air.

Stacks of poker chips on a table | Source: Pexels

Stacks of poker chips on a table | Source: Pexels

And there, in the middle of it all, was my mother-in-law. Not just “hanging out with friends,” but gambling away every penny she could get her hands on, her eyes fixed on the cards in front of her, her hands trembling with each bet she placed.

I stayed in the shadows, barely breathing, watching her play hand after hand. She looked different, haggard, almost like she was wearing the weight of every decision she’d ever made. Her lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying over the noise.

A grayscale photo of a senior woman sitting in a casino with gambling chips lying on her table | Source: Midjourney

A grayscale photo of a senior woman sitting in a casino with gambling chips lying on her table | Source: Midjourney

I saw her lose money, win a little, then lose it all again. She seemed almost possessed, her fingers shaking as she reached for the chips, her face lined with a mixture of desperation and obsession.

I wanted to pull her out of there, to grab her by the arm and drag her home, but I couldn’t move. I felt frozen, glued to the spot. I needed to see how far she would go. She didn’t leave until late in the evening, and when she finally did, she looked exhausted.

A senior woman looks exhausted while sitting in a casino | Source: Midjourney

A senior woman looks exhausted while sitting in a casino | Source: Midjourney

Her eyes were glazed over, and her shoulders slumped like she was carrying the weight of her losses on her back.

I waited until she turned the corner before I followed, keeping my distance. As we walked back, I felt a wave of anger and pity twisting in my stomach. What had she gotten herself into? And why hadn’t she told us?

The next morning, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. At breakfast, I set my coffee cup down a little too hard. “Cordelia, where were you yesterday?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

A woman looks serious while standing in the kitchen and looking at someone | Source: Midjourney

A woman looks serious while standing in the kitchen and looking at someone | Source: Midjourney

She barely looked up from her cereal. “With friends, like I told you.”

“Stop lying, Cordelia,” I snapped. “I followed you. I know where you were.”

Her spoon clattered against the bowl, and she went pale. “You… you followed me?”

Xander looked between us, confused. “What’s going on?”

“She wasn’t with friends, Xander,” I said, my gaze fixed on her. “She was at an illegal casino, gambling. And from the looks of it, she’s been doing it for a while.”

A senior woman gambling in a casino | Source: Midjourney

A senior woman gambling in a casino | Source: Midjourney

Cordelia’s face crumpled, and she broke down. “I… I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’ve lost everything… everything. I had nowhere else to go. That’s why I begged you to let me stay. I was ashamed, and I didn’t know how to tell you…”

Xander’s face turned a deep shade of red. “You mean to tell me you’ve been lying to us this whole time? Using us?”

“I didn’t mean to!” she cried. “I didn’t know how to stop. I thought maybe… maybe I could win it all back.”

A grayscale photo of a senior woman looking sad and desperate | Source: Midjourney

A grayscale photo of a senior woman looking sad and desperate | Source: Midjourney

I felt a pang of guilt, but it was overshadowed by the anger boiling inside me. “You’ve been draining us, Cordelia. We took you in because we cared, not so you could feed your addiction.”

She looked at me, her face streaked with tears. “I know, I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll change. Just… don’t throw me out. Please.”

That night, Xander and I lay in bed, unable to sleep. “We have to do something,” I whispered. “We can’t just let her keep doing this.”

Xander sighed deeply. “What do you suggest, Olive? Tough love?”

A man looking at his wife while sitting in bed at night | Source: Midjourney

A man looking at his wife while sitting in bed at night | Source: Midjourney

I nodded. “Exactly. If she’s not going to stop on her own, then we’ll have to make her stop.”

The following Thursday, I handed her a large sum of cash, more than she had seen in one place since she’d moved in with us. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, I saw that familiar spark of greed.

“Go ahead,” I said, forcing a smile. “Take this and do whatever you want with it.”

A woman forcing a smile while looking at someone | Source: Midjourney

A woman forcing a smile while looking at someone | Source: Midjourney

She hesitated for just a second before snatching the money and stuffing it into her purse.

“Thank you, Olive,” she murmured, her voice shaking, but she didn’t meet my eyes. And then she was gone, practically running out the door.

Xander stood behind me, his arms crossed. “Are you sure about this?”

“Trust me,” I replied. “She won’t get far.”

Earlier that day, I had made a few calls, and by the time Cordelia reached the casino, the place was swarming with undercover cops. The raid went down right as she was about to hand over the cash.

Two cops standing in a casino | Source: Midjourney

Two cops standing in a casino | Source: Midjourney

I wasn’t there to see it, but I could imagine the look on her face: shock, maybe a little betrayal, as they caught her red-handed, along with the owners of the illegal casino.

That evening, the phone rang. It was the police. “Mrs. Fields?” the officer said. “We have your mother-in-law in custody.”

“We know,” I replied calmly. “And we’re not bailing her out. You should know she’s been struggling with a gambling addiction. We want her to get help.”

A woman talking on her phone | Source: Midjourney

A woman talking on her phone | Source: Midjourney

The officer seemed taken aback but eventually agreed to include our statement in the report. The judge showed no mercy; Cordelia was sentenced to mandatory rehabilitation and a hefty fine.

Months later, when she was released from rehab, Cordelia looked different. She seemed smaller, more fragile. She stood in our doorway, wringing her hands.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice raw. “I know I hurt you both, and I’m ready to make it right. I want to rebuild my life.”

A senior woman looks sad and ashamed | Source: Midjourney

A senior woman looks sad and ashamed | Source: Midjourney

Xander and I exchanged a look. He stepped forward, his expression soft but firm.

“We’re willing to give you another chance, Mom,” he said, “but on our terms. We’ve found you a modest apartment nearby. We’ll cover the rent, but only if you keep your word and attend your support group meetings.”

Cordelia nodded eagerly, tears in her eyes. “I will. I swear. Thank you… thank you for giving me a chance.”

As we watched her walk away to her new home, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope mixed with the fear of another betrayal.

A woman looks hopeful and a bit fearful while standing outside her house and looking at something | Source: Midjourney

A woman looks hopeful and a bit fearful while standing outside her house and looking at something | Source: Midjourney

We’d done all we could, and the rest was up to her. The ball was in her court, and only time would tell if she could truly change.

But when Natasha starts to see a change in Marlene’s behavior, she begins to get worried about the old woman. Eventually, when the truth is revealed, Natasha doesn’t know what to do.

Two women cooking together | Source: Pexels

Two women cooking together | Source: Pexels

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

I Paid a Fortune Teller’s Bus Fare – The Note She Slipped Me Uncovered a Terrible Secret

Single dad Daniel’s quiet morning with his sick little son took an unexpected turn when he helped an elderly woman on the bus. The lady was a fortune teller and slipped a cryptic note into his hand. Daniel accepted it, unaware that her parting words would soon haunt him in ways he never imagined.

It was one of those gray mornings in California, the kind that makes you feel like the universe hit snooze and forgot to wake up. My one-year-old son, Jamie, was strapped in his stroller, his tiny breaths fogging the clear plastic cover. He’d been burning up with a fever all night, and every little whimper had cut through me like glass.

A baby boy in a stroller | Source: Midjourney

A baby boy in a stroller | Source: Midjourney

I shoved a pacifier into his hand and double-checked the diaper bag slung over my shoulder. Formula? Check. Spare clothes? Check. An exhausted father running on caffeine and prayer? Also, check.

Parenting solo wasn’t the life I’d envisioned. My wife Paulina had been my everything, and when she passed during childbirth, it felt like the air had been sucked out of my world. But Jamie was my anchor now, and every step I took was for him.

“Almost there, buddy,” I murmured, adjusting his blanket. “We’ll get you feeling better soon, I promise.”

I touched his forehead gently, remembering the sleepless night before. “Your mama would know exactly what to do right now,” I whispered, my voice catching.

A man pushing a baby stroller | Source: Pexels

A man pushing a baby stroller | Source: Pexels

The bus screeched to a halt, and I hauled the stroller up with one hand, gripping the railing for balance.

“Let’s go, man! People got places to be!” the driver snapped.

“My son’s sick,” I shot back, struggling with the stroller. “Just give me a second.”

“Whatever, just hurry it up.”

I bit back a stronger reply, settling Jamie into the corner. The bus wasn’t crowded… just a few commuters with headphones or half-open newspapers.

At the next stop, she got on.

Likely in her 70s, the lady looked out of place. Layers of flowing skirts draped around her fragile body, a scarf tied tightly over her head, and silver bangles jingled on her wrists. Her dark, kohl-lined eyes darted around nervously as she rummaged through an old leather purse.

An older lady in a colorful costume | Source: Midjourney

An older lady in a colorful costume | Source: Midjourney

“I don’t have enough for the fare,” she told the driver, her voice low and tinged with an accent I couldn’t place.

He scowled. “LADY, I’M NOT RUNNING A CHARITY. IF YOU DON’T HAVE THE MONEY, YOU CAN WALK. Pay or get off.”

She hesitated, looking visibly flustered. “Please. My name is Miss Moonshadow. I’ll read your fortune for free. Just let me ride.” Her hands trembled as she held them out. “Please, I… I need to get somewhere urgently.”

The driver rolled his eyes. “I don’t want any of that mumbo jumbo. Pay or walk.”

Her face flushed, and she looked over her shoulder, her gaze catching mine for just a second before darting away. There was fear there, raw and real. And something else I couldn’t quite place.

“Hey! If you can’t pay, get off the bus already!” the driver barked, his voice sharp enough to make her flinch.

An anxious older lady in the bus | Source: Midjourney

An anxious older lady in the bus | Source: Midjourney

That was enough. And I stood up. “I’ve got it,” I said, digging into my pocket. “Let her take the ride.”

The driver muttered something under his breath as I handed over a couple of bills.

The woman turned to me, her eyes meeting mine with a weight I couldn’t quite place. “Thank you,” she said softly. “You didn’t have to. You have enough burden already, I can see it in your eyes.”

“It’s nothing,” I said, brushing it off. “We all need help sometimes.”

Miss Moonshadow took a seat near the back, but I could feel her gaze following me. Jamie stirred in his stroller, and I leaned down to soothe him, my hand brushing his fever-warmed cheek.

Shhh, it’s okay, little man,” I whispered. “Daddy’s got you.”

A sad man sitting in a bus | Source: Midjourney

A sad man sitting in a bus | Source: Midjourney

When my stop came, I maneuvered Jamie’s stroller toward the door. As I passed her, Miss Moonshadow reached out, her bangle-covered hand gripping my arm with startling firmness.

“Wait, here,” she said, pressing a small folded note into my palm.

“What’s this?” I asked, confused.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “YOU’LL NEED IT. Trust me. Sometimes, the truth hurts before it heals.”

The driver barked for me to hurry up, and I nodded stiffly, stepping off the bus. The paper felt strangely heavy in my pocket, but I ignored it, although I was puzzled.

A man holding a small piece of paper | Source: Midjourney

A man holding a small piece of paper | Source: Midjourney

The pediatrician’s waiting room was a blend of crying babies and exhausted parents when I arrived. I kept my eyes on Jamie, who had fallen asleep again in his stroller, his feverish little face looked smaller than usual.

“Mr. Daniel?” the nurse called.

“That’s us,” I said, standing. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you checked out.”

The nurse stepped out and announced that Jamie was next, adding that the doctor would see him in five minutes. I sank into a chair in the waiting room, my exhaustion catching up to me. Almost without thinking, my hand drifted to the note in my pocket. I pulled it out, smoothing the creases before unfolding it.

The words hit me like a slap:

“HE’S NOT YOUR SON.”

A shocked man in a hospital | Source: Midjourney

A shocked man in a hospital | Source: Midjourney

I blinked, reading it again. Then again. My pulse roared in my ears, and I stuffed the note back into my pocket like it might burn me.

“Mr. Daniel?” the nurse called again. “The doctor’s ready.”

Jamie stirred, his little fists opening and closing. I reached out, brushing his cheek with my thumb. He was so real and so undeniably mine. The note was a lie. It had to be.

“He’s got your eyes,” the nurse kindly said as she led us to the exam room.

I forced a smile, but the words felt like daggers. Still, the note’s message clung to me like smoke, filling every corner of my mind with doubt.

A man lost in deep thought | Source: Midjourney

A man lost in deep thought | Source: Midjourney

The cryptic message haunted me for days. I kept telling myself it was nonsense and didn’t mean anything. But every time Jamie giggled or looked up at me with Paulina’s eyes, the doubt crept back in.

Then, one night, I caved. I ordered a DNA test online, the guilt swirling in my gut even as I clicked “confirm purchase.”

“What am I doing?” I whispered to myself, staring at the confirmation email. “This is crazy. This is absolutely —”

Jamie’s cry interrupted my thoughts. I found him standing in his crib, his arms raised.

“Da-da,” he whimpered, reaching for me.

A man using a laptop | Source: Midjourney

A man using a laptop | Source: Midjourney

I scooped him up, holding him close. “I’m here, buddy. I’m here.”

More than anything, I wished the DNA results would prove what I already felt in my heart — that Jamie was mine, that he belonged to me as much as I belonged to him.

I took the test, and the results came a week later. The envelope sat on the kitchen counter, unopened. Jamie babbled from his high chair, smearing pureed carrots across his tray.

“Alright,” I muttered to myself, ripping the envelope open.

The first thing I saw was the word “inconclusive.” Then, I found the part that mattered.

Jamie WASN’T mine.

I sank to the floor, the paper crumpling in my fist. “No,” I whispered. “No, no, no…”

“Da-da!” Jamie called out cheerfully, oblivious to my world crumbling.

A man shaken to his core | Source: Midjourney

A man shaken to his core | Source: Midjourney

I drove to Paulina’s mom’s house that evening, gripping the DNA results like they might dissolve if I let go. She answered the door with a warm smile, but it vanished when she saw my face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, stepping aside to let me in.

I didn’t bother with pleasantries. I dropped the paper onto the coffee table. “Did you know?”

Her eyes flicked to the document, then back to me. “Daniel, I —”

“DID YOU KNOW, JOYCE?” I snapped.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she sank into the couch. “She told me,” she whispered.

The words felt like a punch to the stomach. I stumbled backward, gripping the wall for support.

A disheartened older woman | Source: Midjourney

A disheartened older woman | Source: Midjourney

“My daughter… she made a huge mistake,” she continued. “One night. It was a stupid night at a work party. She wasn’t sure, Daniel. She wasn’t sure if the baby was yours. She was so scared. She begged me not to tell you.”

“So you BOTH lied to me?” I exploded. “Every day, every moment… it was all a LIE?”

“Daniel, please —”

“I held her hand when she died!” My voice broke. “I watched her slip away, promising I’d take care of our baby. OUR baby! And you knew? You knew all along?”

“She wanted to tell you,” Joyce sobbed. “The night before… before everything happened. She said she couldn’t bear it anymore. But then —”

“Then she died,” I finished, my voice hollow. “And you still said nothing.”

An emotional man with his eyes downcast | Source: Midjourney

An emotional man with his eyes downcast | Source: Midjourney

“She loved you,” Joyce added, tears streaming down her face. “She loved you so much, Daniel. She was scared, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t love you.”

“Love?” I laughed bitterly. “Love isn’t lies. Love isn’t —” I choked on the words. “Every time you looked at Jamie, every time you held him… you knew.”

“He’s still your son,” she whispered. “And you’re the only father he’s ever known.”

“I can’t…” I shook my head. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

I left without saying another word, her sobs following me out the door.

A man walking away | Source: Midjourney

A man walking away | Source: Midjourney

That night, I sat by Jamie’s crib, watching him sleep. His chest rose and fell in rhythm, and his tiny hand curled around his favorite blanket. The moon cast shadows through the window, and I remembered all the nights I’d spent here, singing lullabies, wiping tears, changing diapers, and fighting fevers.

“Who am I to you?” I whispered. “Am I just some stranger who…”

“Da-da!” Jamie stirred in his sleep, his little face scrunching up before relaxing again. I reached down, touching his hand, and his fingers automatically wrapped around mine.

I thought about Paulina — her laugh, smile, and how she used to hum when she cooked. The betrayal cut deep, but so did the memory of her last moments and the way she’d looked at me with such trust and love.

A heartbroken man lost in deep thought | Source: Midjourney

A heartbroken man lost in deep thought | Source: Midjourney

“Your mama made mistakes,” I whispered to Jamie. “Big ones. And right now, I don’t know how to forgive her.”

Jamie sighed in his sleep, still holding my finger.

“But you,” I continued, tears falling freely now, “you’re innocent in all this. You didn’t ask for any of it. And this past year…” My voice caught. “Every diaper I’ve changed, every fever I’ve fought, every smile, every tear, and every moment… they’re real. They’re OURS.”

The anger and betrayal still simmered, but they couldn’t touch the love I felt when I looked at him. This little boy had become my whole world and given me purpose when I thought I had none left.

A baby fast asleep | Source: Midjourney

A baby fast asleep | Source: Midjourney

“Hey, buddy,” I whispered, brushing a curl from his forehead. “You’re stuck with me, okay? No matter what. Because being a father… it’s not about blood. It’s about every sleepless night, every worried moment, and every celebration. It’s about choice. And I choose you. I’ll always choose you.”

Jamie stirred, his lips curving into a tiny smile.

This little miracle wasn’t my son by blood, but that didn’t matter. He was mine in every way that counted and in all the ways that truly mattered. And that was enough, more than enough.

As I watched my son sleep, I realized that sometimes the greatest truths come from the deepest lies, and the strongest bonds are the ones we choose to forge, not the ones we’re born with.

“Sweet dreams, my baby boy,” I whispered, and for the first time since reading that note, the word ‘son’ felt more true than ever before.

A man smiling warmly | Source: Midjourney

A man smiling warmly | Source: Midjourney

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

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