For three years of marriage, I never told my mother-in-law what I actually did for a living. In her eyes, I was nothing more than the unemployed wife who stayed home all day while her precious son worked himself to exhaustion to support us.
She made her opinion clear at every family gathering. Little comments about how lucky I was to have married well. Pointed questions about when I might finally get a real job instead of this vague work-from-home situation. Suggestions that I should be more grateful for the lifestyle her son provided.
I never corrected her. I never pulled out my credentials or explained the real reason I worked from home several days a week. It was safer to let her believe what she wanted to believe.
My husband Andrew knew the truth, of course. He’d known from the beginning that I was a federal judge presiding over serious criminal cases. He understood why I maintained a low public profile, why I didn’t advertise my position, why I preferred to keep my professional life separate from my personal life.
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