I installed a hidden camera to keep an eye on my mother-in-law, but when I saw what she was doing, I was horrified

I never imagined I could live in a constant state of tension. Before marriage, I thought a mother-in-law would be like in the movies: strict but fair, someone who would eventually accept you—especially if you made an effort. And I did make an effort. Truly. But my mother-in-law seemed to have decided from the start: “You don’t belong here.”

She didn’t yell. She didn’t start fights. She just… slowly pushed me out of the picture.

At first, it was small things. I’d cook dinner — she would “accidentally” oversalt the soup while I wasn’t looking. I’d do laundry — she’d add bleach to my colored clothes. She claimed she hadn’t noticed.

Then my makeup started disappearing. My favorite lipstick suddenly turned up broken, my cream containers emptied. When I asked her, she just looked at me in surprise:

— Maybe you forgot you already used it all?

One night I woke up to a strange smell — the bedroom reeked of burnt fabric. I ran to the kitchen: the oven was on, and inside were my shoes. The same ones I was going to wear to a job interview. Of course, she denied everything:

— Must’ve been one of the neighbors playing a prank.

I almost laughed — but it wasn’t funny.

The final straw was the dress. The one I planned to wear to my friend’s wedding. It had been hanging in the closet for a week. I checked it every day. But two hours before leaving, I found it… slashed to pieces.

My mother-in-law passed by the room and quietly said:

— If it’s not yours, it’s not meant for you.

I told my husband everything, but he didn’t believe me. He said I was imagining things. That’s when I decided to install the camera—and what I saw left me in shock

I pointed the camera at the kitchen. Naively, I thought the worst I’d see was her spitting in my food or pouring salt on my plants. But the truth was far scarier.

On the second day, as I was reviewing the footage, I saw her walk up to my mug. She pulled out a small white packet. And poured something into my tea… it looked like sugar. But it wasn’t sugar. Then she took a spoon and stirred it thoroughly.

Her face had a chilling, lifeless smile. She whispered to herself:

— This is better. You shouldn’t be here.

I didn’t sleep that night. The next morning, I brought the USB stick to the police.

That evening, I packed my things and left. My husband was on a business trip at the time, and I didn’t explain anything over the phone. Safety first. Explanations later.

A week later, I got the results. The powder she was putting in my tea turned out to be a veterinary sedative used to euthanize animals. In small doses — weakness, dizziness, drowsiness. In larger amounts — loss of consciousness, possible respiratory failure.

I remembered feeling strangely weak a few times, like I was losing time. I thought it was just exhaustion.

Now she’s under investigation. My husband is still in shock. He can’t believe his mother was capable of something like this.