My MIL says that I got pregnant to marry her son

At my mother-in-law Cornelia’s 50th birthday party on June 24, 2025, at 09:58 PM CEST, she hinted I married her rich, younger son Marcel to trap him, pointing at my 7-year-old Silas and calling him my “lottery ticket.” Tensions rose until she wailed that her priceless diamond necklace was missing, glaring at me as she suggested it might be in someone’s purse. Marcel defended me, but she persisted. Then Silas tugged my dress, holding the necklace—he’d found it on her closet floor, thinking it a toy. Cornelia blushed, admitting she dropped it, ending the party in

awkward silence. Later, Marcel agreed we needed distance from her—a breakthrough. Days later, Cornelia invited me for coffee, offering a half-apology, blaming champagne and protectiveness, then confessing fear of losing her place with Marcel. I reassured her, “You’re his mom; I’m his wife—there’s room for both.” She smiled, squeezing my hand. Since then, she’s tried—baking with Silas on weekends, curbing passive-aggressive remarks. We’re not close, but we’re progressing. Real change comes with effort, not perfect words.