From the moment Dylan brought me home, Monica hated me — subtly, of course. Backhanded compliments. Constant interference. She’d fake dizzy spells just to steal his attention. But I played the long game, and I won: the wedding, the house, Dylan’s love.Then came the necklace. A simple gift from Dylan — but when he gave it to me in front of her, something snapped. “You didn’t get anything for me?” she said. It wasn’t a joke. She couldn’t stand being replaced.hings escalated when I planned a cozy birthday dinner for Dylan. Monica hijacked the whole thing, insisting we throw it her way. I agreed, for peace. We went grocery shopping together. I paid for everything — or so I thought.

At the exit, security stopped me. They found a box of tampons in my coat pocket. I hadn’t put it there. Monica smirked nearby, pretending to be concerned. “How embarrassing,” she purred. I was humiliated. Fined. Framed.But I wasn’t done.The next day, I called Monica and played sweet. “I forgot to pick up Dylan’s favorite shirt at the dry cleaner. Near you…?” She offered to help — just as I hoped. I rushed to the cleaner first, warned my best friend, and hid in the back.

When Monica came in, we stalled her, locked the door, and left a note:You humiliated me. But the game’s not over. If you want to wish Dylan a happy birthday, you know where we live. See you in the morning. — Your DIL.”We raced to the store, cooked everything from scratch, and threw Dylan the best birthday ever.When Monica showed up the next morning — flawless, cake in hand — I welcomed her with a smile. She smiled back. But her eyes said it all.I won. Again.And that round?Was mine.