At my anniversary, my mother-in-law raised her glass: «To the daughter of a cleaning lady who got married successfully!» My husband was choking with laughter and filming it on his phone. My mother stood up and said three words, after which my mother-in-law turned pale…

Anna met Steven at a corporate event for the construction company where she worked as an office manager. He was there representing a supplier of building materials—tall, with dimples on his cheeks and a thoughtful gaze in his brown eyes. A spark flew between them when she accidentally spilled champagne on him, and he laughed, saying it was good luck. Their romance blossomed quickly.

Within a month, Steven introduced her to his family—his father, a retired colonel, and his mother, Margaret Johnson, a former head of the local library. Anna remembered her first visit to Steven’s parents’ home. She was nervous, bought a cake from an upscale bakery, and wore a modest dress with a collar.

“So, you’re a secretary?” Margaret asked, peering at Anna through glasses on a chain. “Office manager,” Anna clarified, feeling her cheeks flush. “Same thing,” Margaret dismissed with a wave.

“And your parents, what do they do?” Anna hesitated for a moment. “My mom works at a business center, in the cleaning service. My dad passed away when I was 14.”

“In the cleaning service?” Margaret raised her eyebrows. “So, a janitor?” Steven coughed, clearly uncomfortable, but said nothing. Anna nodded, lifting her chin slightly.

Yes, her mom cleaned offices to put her through school. And Anna was never ashamed of it. “Interesting,” Margaret said, setting her cup aside.

“Steven, you said she was from a good family.” “Mom,” Steven finally interjected, “Anna’s from a wonderful family.”

But it was too late. From that moment, Margaret saw Anna as a gold-digger after her son’s money, though he was just a sales manager, not a millionaire. They married six months later.

Margaret insisted on a grand reception in a restaurant with marble columns, attended by half the neighborhood. Anna had dreamed of an intimate ceremony but quickly learned that marrying Steven meant accepting Margaret as the commander-in-chief of their family life. “You must understand, you’re a Thompson now,” Margaret told her at the wedding, adjusting her pearl necklace. “Our family is well-known in town. We’re intellectuals.” Their honeymoon was in the Bahamas.

At a resort chosen by Margaret. She even packed Steven a separate suitcase with medications and instructions on where to eat and which excursions to take. The first year of marriage was spent trying to measure up.

Anna cooked from Margaret’s recipes, learned to set the table properly, and endured weekly inspections from Margaret. “There’s dust under the TV,” she’d typically begin, running her finger over surfaces. “Steven can’t live like this. He has allergies.” Steven had no allergies, but he never contradicted his mother. Then they started trying for a baby.

Month after month passed with no results. At first, Margaret asked delicately, then began bringing articles on female infertility and addresses of gynecologists. “Steven’s a healthy boy, always was sturdy,” she’d say, flipping through family albums. “The problem must be something else.” Anna had all the tests; no issues were found. Then it was Steven’s turn.

He resisted for a long time but, after a year of failed attempts, agreed. The results were discouraging. Serious issues with his sperm count, low motility, and concentration.

“It’s temporary,” Steven brushed off, hiding the doctor’s report in a drawer. “Work stress.” Margaret refused to accept the diagnosis.

She called clinics, demanding retests, accusing labs of incompetence. When a third test confirmed the initial diagnosis, she offered an unexpected solution. “Maybe you’re just not compatible,” she told Anna privately. “Sometimes there’s a mismatch. Perhaps Steven needs another woman to become a father.” Anna told Steven about this conversation.

He laughed nervously. “Mom’s just worried about the family line. Ignore her.”…