Every family has characters.
In my life, one character deserves a special award — my mother-in-law.

If hypocrisy had an Olympic event, she would win gold, silver, and bronze in the same competition.

Let me explain.

When my wife became pregnant with our second child, my mother-in-law questioned us as if we had committed a national crime.
“Why second child now?”
“Why this timing?”
“Are you people even thinking?”

That lecture triggered months of arguments between my wife and me.

Life was already heavy then. My business was going through a rough phase. Instead of support, we received a full-time investigation committee.

But here comes the interesting twist.

Her own son made his wife pregnant within a month of their first delivery.
They quietly went for an abortion.
Two years later they had their second child.

No lectures.
No committee meeting.
No moral science class.

Apparently, family planning rules apply only to sons-in-law.

Another favorite sport of my mother-in-law is property comparison.

Whenever I buy a property, she becomes restless.

During my house-warming ceremony, instead of blessing the house she said:

“Her son still hasn’t bought a house, but you people are buying.”

It sounded less like a blessing and more like a real-estate grievance meeting.

Then there is the myth she spread to my daughter.

According to her version of reality:

• My wife works like a machine.
• I do absolutely nothing.
• I just lie on the bed and live a luxury life.

The truth?

I run a business.
Sometimes business work happens from a laptop.
Sometimes from a phone.
Sometimes while lying on the bed thinking.

Entrepreneurs don’t punch attendance.

But explaining entrepreneurship to someone who measures work only by office attendance and sweating in traffic is like explaining Wi-Fi to a 19th-century postman.

The irony?

Her own son was jobless for months and was financially supported by her.
Even his car was gifted by her.

Yet somehow, I became the unemployed villain in the family story.

For 13 years she mastered one particular skill —
whenever my wife and I were peaceful, she would plant a small spark.

A sentence here.
A complaint there.
A comparison somewhere.

Soon a small spark would become a domestic wildfire.

But something interesting happened in the last two years.

My wife finally started seeing the pattern.

When manipulation loses power, the next step is usually character assassination.

So now I have apparently become the official villain of extended family WhatsApp discussions.

And honestly, I’m fine with that.

Every good story needs a villain.

If she is the Olympic champion of double standards,
I’ll happily play the misunderstood character in the family drama.

After all, life without such characters would be a very boring story.