A husband came home one evening and found his wife sitting on the edge of the bed, crying uncontrollably. Papers were scattered on the floor, and her face was red from sobbing.

“I’ve been insulted,” she cried. “Your mother insulted me.”

“My mother?” he said, shocked. “That’s impossible. She lives in a different city.”

“I know,” the wife sniffed. “But she sent me a letter.”

The husband picked it up, confused, and asked, “Well… what did she say?”

His wife wiped her tears and read aloud:

“Dear Daughter-in-law,
I’m sorry to hear you’re not feeling well. I’ll never forget the day my son married you. I knew right away you weren’t good enough for him — but I hoped time would prove me wrong. Sadly, it hasn’t. Please remember, I raised him better than this.”

The husband stared at the letter in disbelief.

“That’s awful,” he said. “I can’t believe she wrote that.”

The wife nodded. “That’s not even the worst part.”

He looked up. “What do you mean?”

She handed him the envelope.

He turned it over and read the return address.

It was written in his own handwriting.