I came home to find my MIL soaking in my tub, using my candlelight, my gel, and my towel. That’s when I knew — she hadn’t moved in. She’d taken over. So I smiled… and got creative.
I liked our life.
I really, really did.
There was something deeply satisfying about the way our apartment smelled like vanilla and order. The way the sun hit the kitchen counter at exactly 4 PM.
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The gentle silence after work — no one talking, no TV blaring, just me and the soothing gurgle of my espresso machine. Our space was calm. Predictable. Mine.
Then husband, Daniel walked into the laundry room with that cautious look husbands get when they know they’re about to ruin your day.
I was pulling socks from the dryer, feeling rather proud of my folding technique, when he cleared his throat.
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“Babe… We need to take in my mom for a few days.”
I paused, holding one of his socks.
“She okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine. But her building had a pipe burst. Whole apartment’s soaked. Just a week. Maybe less.”
A week.
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I nodded. What else could I do? I wasn’t heartless.
“I’ll survive,” I muttered.
He kissed my cheek.
“You’re the best.”
Turns out, I overestimated myself.
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By day two, our apartment was unrecognizable. And not in a “cute makeover” kind of way.
My framed photos — gone. Just gone. Replaced with my MIL’s Linda sepia-toned portraits of her.
And with her first husband (Daniel’s dad, may he rest in peace). And her friend Carol from the hospital.
And a photo of a Chihuahua I’m 90% sure had been dead since the Clinton administration.
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And the smell. It hit you every time you walked into a room.
I found reed diffusers in the bathroom, little perfume balls on my vanity, and even a small pouch of potpourri in my underwear drawer. My underwear drawer.
Still, I didn’t say anything.
Linda was a guest. Until that night.
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I walked into the bathroom and saw her standing there, rubbing something into her décolletage.
It was MY precious, outrageously expensive, only-on-special-occasions, shipped-from-New-York-like-royalty cream.
“Oh, Emily! This cream! It’s divine. Where did you get it?”
My jaw made a noise but no words followed.
“It’s like silk!” she continued, squeezing out more. “You have such amazing taste.”
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She didn’t ask. She didn’t pause. She just helped herself.
I smiled. Nodded. Said nothing.
This is still tolerable. Barely. As long as she doesn’t cross the line.
***
The following day was brutal. Emails, phone calls, two back-to-back meetings, and a passive-aggressive lunch with my manager.
I just wanted peace at home. A shower. Ten minutes of being alone in my skin. I slipped off my shoes, turned on the kettle, and… froze.
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Singing. High-pitched, cheerful, and distinctly coming from the direction of our bedroom. I followed the sound. The door to our ensuite bathroom was cracked open. A thick curl of steam escaped into the hallway.
The scent hit me instantly — sweet, lush, unmistakably familiar. MY passionfruit bath gel. I pushed the door open, and there she was.
Linda. In MY tub!
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Reclining like she was in a commercial. Surrounded by candles, MY candles. Steam rising dramatically as if the universe was mocking me. She had MY bath brush, MY scrub, and MY purple towel folded nearby like a personal butler had placed it there.
“Emily!” she squealed, completely unbothered. “I thought you were asleep already!”
I just stood there.
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“Linda… this is our private bathroom.”
She waved a hand through the steam like she was shooing a fly.
“Oh, come on. We’re both women. You’re not using it right now, and this tub is perfect. Yours is so much nicer than the guest one.”
She picked up MY rose scrub like we were about to have a spa night together.
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“I didn’t think you’d mind. We girls share everything, right?”
I turned. Walked out.
That evening, I told Daniel — calmly. He slurped his soup and shrugged.
“She probably just needed a moment to herself. You know how she is. Besides, don’t women… do that? Share stuff?”
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I stared at him. Long and hard.
“You think this is normal?”
“It’s not not normal.”
I got up, went to the drawer, and found the old key to our bedroom. I had never used it before — but seemed like the time. Or so I thought.
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Because the following morning, I realized…
Locks mean nothing when the intruder has already decided she owns the place.
***
It was supposed to be my Saturday. My one day. No emails, no meetings, no small talk.
Just me, a yoga mat, lemon water, and my favorite playlist humming soft Tibetan bells. And finally — finally — felt like I could exhale.
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Until I heard it. Loud laughter. Music. Something clinked downstairs. Then footsteps — multiple — in heels.
No. No, no, no. Not today.
I grabbed my hoodie and padded down the stairs, barefoot and still slightly zen. But the moment I turned the corner into the living room, all chakra alignment vanished.
It looked like a senior prom with a dash of bingo night.
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There were at least six people — four older women in glittery tops and way-too-bold lipstick, two silver-haired gentlemen in suspenders sipping wine, and at the center of it all…
Linda! Waltzing.
With a tray of cheese cubes and mini crackers.
And what is she wearing? MY blouse.
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The one I bought three weeks ago to wear to my best friend’s birthday — silky, deep blue, low-cut but elegant.
I hadn’t even taken the tags off until the day before when I gently steamed it and hung it in the hall closet so it wouldn’t wrinkle. I felt my soul briefly leave my body.
“Emily, darling!” Linda beamed, spinning with a giggle. “We started without you! Come, meet everyone!”
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I stood frozen. Hair a mess, and barefoot, in my yoga top. One of the older gentlemen approached me with a charming bow.
“Care for a dance, my lady?”
Before I could respond, he took my hand and spun me once, twice, and I awkwardly stumbled right into a sequin-covered bosom.
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The woman he came with gave me a look that could curdle milk.
“Linda, honey… And who is this? What’s she doing in your house?”
My house?
I pulled away gently and marched Linda into the kitchen, still gripping the lemon water bottle like a weapon.
“What is this?” I hissed.
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“A party! Just a little something to lift the spirits. You weren’t using the living room anyway!”
“In my blouse? In my house?”
She gave me a look — sweet, almost maternal.
“I told them it was my home. Just to… you know, avoid questions. They wouldn’t have come if I’d said I was staying with my son and his wife. I just wanted to feel like a hostess again.”
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“And the blouse?”
“It was just hanging there. I thought, why not?”
“Everyone out. Now.”
She tilted her head.
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“Oh Emily, don’t be dramatic. What will Daniel say? Kicking his poor mother out after she’s had such a rough time?”
Her voice turned syrupy.
“He’ll be so disappointed.”
I stared at her. And smiled.
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“Fine. They can stay.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely,” I said, almost amused. “Make yourselves at home.”
Her face lit up with confusion and something that looked a lot like triumph.
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But inside me, something very different lit up.
Because if Linda thought she knew how to be petty… She hadn’t seen me take the tour group of silver-haired gentlemen through Daniel’s office yet.
Let’s just say…
Some people explore museums. I let them explore our home.
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With subtle suggestions and open doors.
And Linda?
She was about to find out what it felt like when someone touched what was mine.
***
The following morning began with a familiar, delicious tension in the air. Like the final act of a play where only I had read the script. Daniel’s voice cracked through the quiet,
“Emily! Why is my cologne bottle empty?!”
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I gently stirred my coffee, not even turning around.
“The brown one?” I asked sweetly.
He appeared in the kitchen doorway, holding the bottle as it had personally betrayed him.
“This was nearly full! Now it’s bone dry. What happened?”
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I squinted thoughtfully.
“Oh. That might’ve been Thomas?”
“Thomas?”
“One of your mother’s gentlemen friends. He said the scent reminded him of his wilder days in Paris. He may have… gone a little overboard.”
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Daniel just stood there, blinking.
“He used my cologne?”
“He seemed really enthusiastic.”
Daniel turned without another word and stormed to the bedroom. I took a sip of coffee. Calm. Serene. Focused.
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Thirty seconds later, his shout echoed through the hall.
“My ties collection! One of my tie pins is bent! Who’s been in my tie drawer?!”
“Oh no,” I said, very gently. “Maybe the gentlemen got curious. You know, your collection impressed them.”
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He looked at me like I had just told him I microwaved his record player.
And then, right on cue, Linda swept into the kitchen in a satin robe, holding a grapefruit half and smiling.
“Morning, sweeties! Isn’t the air just delicious today?”
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Daniel rounded on her.
“Mom. Did your guests go through my stuff?”
“Oh, sweetheart, of course not. They’re perfectly respectful!”
“I’m going to work. I’ll deal with this tonight.”
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“Oh, I’ll walk you to the door,” I said sweetly. “You seem a bit… rattled.”
As he slipped on his coat, he turned to me slowly.
“You didn’t take the car out yesterday, right?”
I widened my eyes.
“Me? No. I thought about getting it washed, but I was too tired. I left the keys on the hallway shelf.”
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Pause.
“Oh no. Oh no. They were admiring the car yesterday. Your mother’s friends…”
Daniel walked out in silence. Two seconds later, I heard a sharp yell from the driveway. I didn’t even flinch.
“What happened, honey?” I called sweetly from the doorway.
“Did you… did you drive it?”
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“No, darling! Like I told you. Keys were on the shelf. I was upstairs. Doing yoga.”
Daniel looked past me, jaw tight. Then he turned to Linda.
“Mom?”
She looked cornered for the first time in days.
“Well… they were admiring the vehicle and… your wife let us…”
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“Emily?” Daniel cut in.
I met his eyes.
“I never left the attic floor, love. Downward Dog was very demanding.”
Silence. Daniel shook his head and rushed out.
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***
By noon, my husband was folding Linda’s cardigans like he was preparing an offering to a volcano god. He drove her to her apartment, and tipped the contractors extra to “wrap it up the next few days.”
Meanwhile, I had a small talk with Linda.
“Oh, Linda,” I called sweetly. “By the way… while you and the girls were sunbathing by the pool yesterday, I gave the gentlemen a proper tour of the house. You inspired me — it felt good to let others experience things that aren’t technically theirs.”
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She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
When Daniel returned, he dropped onto the couch and stared blankly into space, like a man who had just survived both a war and a bake sale led by his enemies.
I let him rest. Only once he was upstairs, did I allow myself a smirk.
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I could still see them in my head — those silver-haired explorers. Touching the marble paperweight on Daniel’s desk. Opening drawers they thought were just decorative. One of them even asked, “Is this vintage Armani?” while holding up a tie like it was on auction.
I said nothing. Just smiled.
Linda was lounging in her robe by the pool, sipping wine and boasting about her imaginary art collection. And me? I was planting breadcrumbs all over the house. Letting her friends wander. Letting them wonder.
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Of course, it wasn’t Thomas who used the cologne.
I sprayed half the bottle myself and left it uncapped.
No one scratched the car — well, not no one. I may have gently, artistically brushed it against the mailbox.
And the bent tie pin? Gloves on. Very respectful.
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That night, I ran the perfect bath with my passionfruit gel, lit my vanilla candle, and dropped my robe onto the warm floor tiles like a queen shedding armor.
The house was silent.
And somewhere in the distance, I imagined Linda staring at her beige apartment walls, wondering what exactly had just happened.
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Because when a woman touches your cream, your tub — it’s not about the things. It’s about the line she crossed.
And darling, once she crosses it — you don’t lecture. You don’t scream. You win.
And finally, with every breath of peace, I could hear the house itself whisper back to me.
Welcome home.
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My MIL Went on My Honeymoon to Make My Life Hell — I Didn’t Want to Put up with It & Planned the Perfect Payback
My story is about learning to set boundaries, respect, and so much more. What started off as a trip for a loving couple ended up being a strained vacation which included my troublesome mother-in-law. Luckily, I had a plan that helped remedy my problem.
What was meant to be a romantic getaway for me and my new husband turned into a nightmare very quickly when an unexpected guest joined us. Let me backtrack a bit and explain how all this happened.
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My husband, Mike, and I were getting ready to go on our honeymoon. We had planned this trip for months, and I was buzzing with excitement! As we got into the car to head to the airport, Mike casually mentioned that we needed to stop by his mother’s place first.
“Why?” I asked, puzzled. “Because she’s coming with us.” I was confused and asked, “What?” Sighing, he explained, “She’s never been on a vacation or traveled abroad in her entire life, so it’s only fair she goes with us.”
An upset woman driving with a man | Source: Pexels
To say I was stunned would be an understatement! “When were you planning to tell me this? And what about our previous reservations?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm. “I changed the reservations and tickets a while ago,” he informed me.
“The truth is she insisted on it, and I thought you wouldn’t mind since you’re such a kind person.” That statement took me from confused to LIVID! I was furious that he had decided everything without me and had changed our bookings.
An upset woman arguing with a man | Source: Pexels
Just the idea of being away on the islands with my mother-in-law (MIL) for two weeks sounded like hell! I was so torn that I even considered canceling everything! But then a BRILLIANT IDEA STRUCK ME! When we got to my MIL’s place, my husband went out to fetch her.
While Mike was loading his mother’s luggage into our car, I made a quick phone call. “Mom, hi. I have a bit of a problem,” I began. “What happened, dear?” Her voice sounded concerned. “My MIL made Mike take her with us on our honeymoon.”
A bag tied on top of a car | Source: Pixabay
“What?! Oh no, Elle!” my mother exclaimed in shock and instant disappointment. “She’s coming with us to the islands, and I have no idea how I’m going to handle it. Could you and Dad join us? I’ll book your tickets.” Concerned, she asked, “How did that happen?”
“I can’t get into details now, Mom. I need to act quickly.” Mom immediately grasped the situation and replied with understanding, “Of course, dear. Your father and I would be happy to come! Let us know where you’ll be staying, and we’ll arrange everything.”
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I booked their tickets online without wasting any time and shared all the details with Mom. She promised to do everything possible to ensure I could enjoy my time with Mike without worrying about my busybody of a MIL.
When we arrived at the islands, the nightmare began immediately. Linda followed us EVERYWHERE! She was CONSTANTLY complaining and demanding her son’s attention. We couldn’t get a break or any alone time with her around.
A woman at an exotic location | Source: Midjourney
“Mike, bring me a towel. Mike, order me a cocktail. Mike, help me choose souvenirs.” Her incessant requests were ENDLESS! It felt as if she were his wife, not me. Instead, I felt like I was some sort of servant.
The first two days were a disaster! Linda ensured that she was the center of attention. And every romantic moment I had envisioned was quickly ruined. She criticized the hotel, the food, and EVEN the weather!
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Mike, caught between his mother and me, tried to keep the peace. But he ended up spending MOST of his time catering to her whims. On the second night, we decided to have a special dinner by the beach. Just as I thought we were about to enjoy a moment alone, Linda INSISTED on joining us.
She spent the entire meal complaining about the sand and the mosquitoes, leaving me seething with frustration! At one point, she even managed to spill her drink all over MY dress! Instead of apologizing, she laughed it off!
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“Oh dear, I’m so clumsy. Mike, can you get her another drink?” was her response to the disaster. I could see the strain on my husband’s face as he tried to juggle his mother’s demands with my growing frustration.
The romantic beachside dinner turned into another exercise in patience. The next morning, Linda decided that she wanted to go snorkeling. This was a plan Mike and I had initially made for ourselves. “It’s not safe for you to go alone,” she insisted. “Mike, you should come with me.”
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I had reached my breaking point. I needed an ally, someone who would understand my predicament and help me reclaim my honeymoon. Thankfully, two days later, my parents arrived. My mother, Diane, and my father, Jack, played the perfect loving couple!
Their gestures were romantic with movie-like kisses, driving Linda CRAZY with jealousy! See, my MIL had left her husband at home and came on vacation alone. So she was stuck being exposed to my mom and dad who looked like happy, affectionate old lovebirds.
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They laid the affection thick, holding hands, whispering sweet nothings, and kissing frequently. This made Linda’s jealousy palpable! I was honestly shocked as I’d never seen my parents act like that before. But they seemed to be enjoying themselves, so I didn’t mind.
“I’ve never seen such an old loving couple,” Linda grumbled as we all had dinner together. “All those hugs and kisses… it’s just ridiculous.”
“We’re enjoying life,” Mom replied with a smile. “What else is there to do in such a wonderful place?”
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Linda’s jealousy reached new heights when Mom and Dad joined us for breakfast the next day. They fed each other bites of fruit and laughed over shared memories. My MIL could barely contain her irritation.
“Jack, do you remember our trip to Paris?” Mom asked, her eyes twinkling. “That little café by the Seine?”
“Oh, how could I forget? The croissants were divine, but your company was even better,” Dad replied, kissing her hand.
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Linda rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath. I couldn’t help but smirk, feeling a small sense of victory. With my MIL preoccupied with my parents, Mike and I finally had a few romantic moments.
One evening, as we strolled along the beach, he stopped and looked into my eyes. “I’m sorry, my love,” he said quietly. “I realize now it wasn’t fair to you. My mom shouldn’t have come with us.” I sighed and took his hand. “The important thing is that we’re here together.”
A couple strolling on the beach | Source: Pexels
“And we’ll find a way to enjoy this honeymoon, even with your mom around.” Returning to our hotel, we saw Mom and Dad playing cards with Linda. They laughed and joked as if they were old friends. “How were your walks?” Mom asked, noticing us.
“Wonderful,” Mike replied, hugging me. “We found a cozy spot for dinner tomorrow. Maybe we could go just the two of us?” he asked. “Of course,” Mom winked. “We’ll stay here and take care of Clarissa.”
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The next day, Mike and I finally had a proper romantic evening. We sat on the beach, watched the sunset, and shared dreams about our future. “You know,” he said, holding my hand, “I never thought a honeymoon could be so… eventful. But I’m glad we’re here together.”
“Me too,” I replied, smiling. “And I’m grateful to my parents for coming. Perhaps we can find more time for the two of us.” Mike said he’d love that and we shared a warm and loving kiss.
A happy couple sitting on the beach | Source: Pexels
When we returned to the hotel, we saw my MIL saying goodnight to my parents. “It was a lovely evening,” she said to them reluctantly. “Thank you for the company.” My parents smiled and winked at me. They knew they were making our vacation better.
This honeymoon tested us, but we emerged stronger. And I was grateful to my parents for their support and love. In the end, what was supposed to be a nightmare turned into a memorable experience, thanks to my parents.
Three people playing a game | Source: Freepik
It taught Mike and me the importance of communication and setting boundaries. It showed Linda that her son’s happiness depended on his marriage, not her whims. A few weeks after we returned home, Mike and I sat down with Linda.
Gently but firmly, we set some new ground rules for our relationship. Surprisingly, she agreed, perhaps realizing that her son’s happiness was at stake. “Thank you for understanding, Mom,” Mike said, hugging her. “We love you, but we also need our space.”
A mother and her son hugging | Source: Freepik
“Of course, dear,” Linda replied, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “I just want you both to be happy.” And with that, we began to rebuild our lives, stronger and more united than ever.
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Elle managed to put her MIL in her place nicely. In the following tale, Barbara thought she would get into her MIL’s good graces by throwing her a surprise birthday party. Instead, the older woman thanked her by bringing her to tears and making her run away from her own party.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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