When Ellie’s family returns from their Christmas getaway, they’re shocked to find their house egged and a cryptic note left behind. Determined to uncover the culprit, Ellie checks the security footage, only to discover the vandal is someone very close to her. Confronting the person reveals years of hurt and manipulation that nearly tears their bond apart. Can Ellie handle it?
Christmas has always been about family. That’s why, for the last four years, my husband Ethan, our seven-year-old daughter Maddie, our five-year-old son Noah, and I had made it a tradition to escape to the islands.
Just the four of us, basking in the sun, recharging before the whirlwind of holiday dinners and social obligations hit.
Two children at the beach | Source: Midjourney
And this year was no different. Or so I thought.
When we pulled into our driveway after the trip, I froze.
Our house looked like a crime scene.
Raw eggs dripped from the walls in sticky streams, the porch was littered with broken shells, and even the holiday wreath I’d lovingly crafted was a splattered, smelly mess.
A house covered in eggs | Source: AmoMama
“What the hell?” Ethan muttered, stepping out of the car, Noah on his heels.
“Mom, what happened?” Maddie asked from the backseat.
“I don’t know, sweetheart,” I said, feeling a knot tighten in my chest.
Noah crouched beside the mess.
A little girl sitting in a car | Source: Midjourney
“Could a bird do this, Dad?” he asked.
I tried to keep calm for the kids, but inside, I was fuming.
Who would do this?
We were good neighbors — no, we were great neighbors! I baked cookies for new families, helped organize block parties, and I never turned down a chance to lend a hand.
This wasn’t random vandalism. It was targeted. It had to be.
A plate of cookies | Source: Midjourney
Then Ethan found the note. It was stuffed under the doorframe, the edges crumpled and damp. He handed it to me.
This is for what you took from me before Christmas.
I stared at the words, my mind racing.
What had I taken? And from whom?
That night, after putting the kids to bed, Ethan and I went straight to the security cameras. As we scrolled through the footage, my stomach churned.
A piece of paper on the floor | Source: Midjourney
The camera captured a hooded figure sneaking up our driveway, cartons of eggs in hand. Each throw was deliberate, as though they’d rehearsed the motion. This wasn’t a prank; it was a vendetta.
“This is insane,” Ethan said. “Who even does this anymore? This is a drunken prank for rowdy teens. Eggs and toilet paper.”
Then, something about the figure made me freeze. The way they tilted their head. The way their shoulders slumped between throws. My breath caught in my throat.
A person holding a carton of eggs | Source: Midjourney
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “It can’t be.”
But it was.
The hooded figure vandalizing our home was my mother.
The next morning, I left Ethan with the kids and drove to my mom’s house. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly I thought I might snap it in two.
A woman in a car | Source: Midjourney
When I rang the bell, she opened the door with her usual warm smile.
“Ellie! What a surprise!”
“Why?” I blurted, skipping the pleasantries. “Just explain why.”
Her smile faltered.
“Why what? Explain what?” she asked.
A woman standing in a doorway | Source: Midjourney
“Why would you do that to us? Don’t even try to hide it, Mom. Come on!”
She blinked, her face going pale as she tried to figure out what to say. Then, she looked away, her expression clouded with guilt.
“Come sit down, El,” she said.
“I don’t want to sit down, Mom. I want to know why you took it upon yourself to mess up my house.”
A woman standing in a living room | Source: Midjourney
“It was because of your mother-in-law,” she said finally, her voice tight.
“What does Gloria have to do with it?” I asked.
“She called me, Eleanor,” my mother snapped, anger seeping into her voice. “Right before Christmas, she called to gloat about how you and Ethan were taking her on your precious island vacation. She said you made her feel so included, so special. And that she got quality time with the kids. And me? Oh, I was just left here to sit alone in the cold.”
An older woman at the beach | Source: Midjourney
I stared at her, completely stunned.
“Mom,” I said softly. “We didn’t take Gloria with us. That’s not true at all. She wasn’t on the trip, I promise!”
My mom’s eyes widened.
“But then… why would she say that?”
“To hurt you,” I said, my voice soft but firm. “To make you feel exactly this way. To drive a wedge between us. Why would I take Gloria and not my own mother?”
An upset woman | Source: Midjourney
She sank onto the couch, covering her face with her hands.
“I was so angry, Ellie. I felt invisible, like I didn’t matter to you anymore. And I… I lost control.”
Her words cut deep because they weren’t entirely wrong.
A woman holding her head | Source: Midjourney
If I’m being completely honest, the truth was that I had let my mom drift to the edges of our lives. I adored her, of course, but between raising two young kids, managing a full-time job, and keeping up with everything else, I hadn’t noticed how isolated she’d become.
Looking back, the signs were there. The hesitation in her voice during phone calls, the way she’d stopped dropping by unannounced, usually with baked treats for us all.
I’d let my schedule get away with me. And I hadn’t thought about the consequences.
A woman working at her laptop | Source: Midjourney
“Mom,” I said gently, sitting beside her. “What you did was wrong. But I understand why you felt hurt. And I’m sorry if I made you feel left out. I’ve let life get away with me, Momma. It’s been a challenge, juggling work and the kids.”
Her face crumpled.
“I’m so sorry, Ellie,” she said. “I’ll fix everything! I promise! I’ll pay for the cleaning, and I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”
A crying older woman | Source: Midjourney
“We’ll clean it up, Mom,” I interrupted. “Together. But it starts with us fixing us. No more games. No more letting other people’s words twist how we feel. Okay?”
She nodded, her relief palpable. We hugged, and for the first time in years, it felt like the walls between us were finally coming down.
That afternoon, Mom came over with a bucket of soapy water and a stack of rags. Together, we scrubbed the egg off the walls, the porch, and the windows.
A bucket of soapy water | Source: Midjourney
It was messy, smelly, exhausting work, but somehow, with each streak we wiped away, it felt like we were wiping away years of tension too.
By the time we finished, the house looked — and felt — whole again.
That night, after Ethan and I made grilled cheese sandwiches for the kids and put them to bed, we sat down to talk with a glass of wine.
Grilled cheese sandwiches | Source: Midjourney
“Babe, it was your mom that started this whole thing. Gloria called my mom and told her that she was on vacation with us and was having the time of her life. She made it seem so real that my mom broke.”
“You’re kidding, El,” Ethan said, shaking his head. “She really did that? What on earth was she thinking?”
“I have no idea, but I think you need to talk to her. I need to focus on my mom, honey. She’s been feeling abandoned for years, and this was just her breaking point. I’m sorry, but Gloria is on you.”
A man sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
“I’ll call her,” Ethan said, his voice firm. “She’ll have no choice but to tell me the truth.”
Ethan went into our bedroom and called his mother, while I called my mom again.
“Mom, why don’t you come over to celebrate New Year’s Eve with us? We’re just going to be at home, okay? Let’s just eat and drink and have a good time!”
A woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then her voice brightened in a way I hadn’t heard in a long time.
“You really mean that?” she asked.
“I do, Mom,” I said. “It’s time.”
On New Year’s Eve, Mom arrived with a tray of homemade dumplings, a chocolate cake, and lamingtons for the kids. She was wearing a sparkling dress that made her look about ten years younger.
A platter of lamingtons | Source: Midjourney
Maddie and Noah rushed to greet her at the door, clinging to her legs as she fussed over them. Ethan handed her a glass of champagne and even managed to make her laugh with one of his notoriously terrible jokes.
At midnight, as the fireworks lit up the sky outside, we raised our glasses together.
“Cheers to new beginnings,” my mom said softly.
Fireworks in the night sky | Source: Midjourney
I looked around the room — at my kids’ happy, sleepy faces, my husband’s arm draped around my shoulders, and my mother, glowing with joy. Something shifted.
A week later, Ethan and I sat down with Gloria at a coffee shop.
“Mom, explain yourself,” Ethan said, adding sugar to his coffee. “And don’t deny anything. Be honest.”
A woman sitting in a coffee shop | Source: Midjourney
“I lied to your mother because I was hurt that you guys didn’t invite us. I don’t know why I did it, but I did. I think I felt overcome with loneliness too. You know how the holidays can creep up on widows…”
“Why didn’t you just go over and spend time with her?” I asked, taking a bite of my croissant. “You were both lonely. You could have spent time together and enjoyed the holidays getting to know each other better. You could have watched movies and baked and talked until the early hours of the morning.”
A croissant and coffee at a coffee shop | Source: Midjourney
“I wasn’t thinking, Ellie,” she said, her voice breaking. “I would take it all back in a heartbeat if I could, I promise you that.”
We were all silent for a while.
“So, now what?” Ethan asked.
“I’m going to phone Irene and make things right. I’m going to plan a tea party with her and make this better. We’ll fix it. Just you see.”
A tea party setting | Source: Midjourney
“I hope so, Gloria,” I said. “Because we can’t have the kids torn between their grandmothers. I’m not going to allow that.”
“As you should!” she exclaimed. “I wouldn’t allow it either. I’ll fix it, Ellie. Don’t you worry about that, love.”
In the end, we left our mothers to themselves, and slowly but surely, they did fix their relationship. Now, they are mahjong buddies who bake something new every weekend.
And for the record, I can’t stand eggs anymore.
A carton of eggs on a counter | Source: Midjourney
What would you have done?
If you’ve enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you:
When Sarah gets home from the usual errands with her kids, the last thing she expects is to hear her husband spilling his true feelings about her — that she is just a means to an end in his life. But Sarah isn’t about to let Ethan get away with his callous behavior. Instead, she decides to teach him a lesson.
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.
My Husband Refused to Replace Our Broken Vacuum and Said I Should Sweep Since I’m ‘Just on Maternity Leave’ — So I Taught Him a Lesson He’ll Never Forget
When our vacuum broke, my husband said I should just sweep because I’m “home all day anyway.” So I grabbed our newborn and a broken broom and showed up at his office to remind him exactly what that really looks like.
I’m 30. I just had my first baby, a sweet little girl named Lila. She’s 9 weeks old, and yeah—she’s perfect. But also? She’s chaos. She screams like she’s in a horror movie. Hates naps. Hates being put down. Basically lives in my arms.
A fussy baby in his mother’s arms | Source: Pexels
I’m on unpaid maternity leave, which sounds relaxing until you realize it means I’m working a 24/7 shift with no help, no breaks, and no paycheck.
I’m also handling the house. And the laundry. And the meals. And the litter boxes. We have two cats, both of whom shed like it’s their full-time job.
A tired woman sitting on a couch | Source: Pexels
My husband Mason is 34. He works in finance. Used to be sweet. When I was pregnant, he made me tea and rubbed my feet. Now? I’m not sure he sees me. I’m the woman who hands him the baby so he can say “she’s fussy” and give her back five seconds later.
Last week, the vacuum died. Which, in a house with two cats and beige carpet, is like losing oxygen.
A woman vacuuming | Source: Pexels
“Hey,” I told Mason while he was playing Xbox. “The vacuum finally kicked it. I found a decent one on sale. Can you grab it this week?”
He didn’t even look up. Just paused his game and said, “Why? Just use a broom.”
I blinked. “Seriously?”
He nodded. “Yeah. My mom didn’t have a vacuum when we were kids. She raised five of us with a broom. You’ve got one. And you’re home all day.”
A man lounging on the couch | Source: Pexels
I stared at him.
“You’re not joking,” I said.
“Nope.” He smirked. “She didn’t complain.”
I let out this weird laugh. Half choking, half dying inside.
“Did your mom also carry a screaming baby around while sweeping with one arm?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Probably. She got it done. Women were tougher back then.”
A man arguing with his wife | Source: Pexels
I took a breath. Tried to keep calm. “You do know the baby’s crawling soon, right? She’s going to have her face in this carpet.”
Another shrug. “The place isn’t that bad.”
I looked around. There were literal cat tumbleweeds in the corner.
“And anyway,” he added, “I don’t have spare money right now. I’m saving for the yacht trip next month. With the guys.”
“You’re saving for what?”
A man turning away from his wife | Source: Pexels
“The boat weekend. I told you. I need the break. I’m the one bringing in income right now. It’s exhausting.”
That’s when I stopped talking. Because what was I going to say?
“You haven’t changed a diaper in days?” “You nap while I pump milk at 3 a.m.?” “You think scrubbing spit-up off a onesie is relaxing?”
I didn’t say any of it. I just nodded.
A sad woman sitting on the couch | Source: Pexels
Apparently, child-rearing is a spa retreat now, and the woman doing it doesn’t deserve a working vacuum. That night, after Lila finally fell asleep on my chest, I didn’t cry. I didn’t yell.
I just sat in the hallway. The light was off, but the dim glow from the nightlight hit the baby monitor just right. It was quiet. Too quiet.
I looked at the broken vacuum. Then I looked at the broom.
A crying woman | Source: Pexels
I got up. Took the broom in both hands. Snapped it clean in half.
The next morning, while Mason was at work, I texted him.
“Busy day at the office?”
“Yeah. Back-to-backs. Why?”
“Oh. No reason. I’m just on my way.”
A woman talking on her phone at home | Source: Pexels
I packed Lila into the car, still red-faced from her morning meltdown. I tossed the broken broom in the back.
And I drove.
I pulled into the parking lot of Mason’s office with Lila screaming in the back like I’d strapped her into a rocket seat instead of a car seat. She’d just blown out her diaper on the drive, and she wasn’t shy about letting me know how she felt about it.
A baby crying | Source: Pexels
Perfect.
I wiped spit-up off my shirt, threw a burp cloth over my shoulder, hoisted the broken broom, and unbuckled the baby.
“Alright, Lila,” I muttered. “Let’s go say hi to Daddy.”
His office building was all glass and steel and fake smiles. I walked in with a red-faced baby in one arm and a jagged broom handle in the other.
A woman holding a baby | Source: Pexels
The receptionist blinked twice when she saw us.
“Can I help—?”
“I’m Mason Carter’s wife,” I said, smiling widely. “He left something important at home.”
“Oh. Um. Sure. He’s in a meeting, but you can go back.”
I walked past her desk like I owned the place.
A kind woman holding a baby | Source: Pexels
Lila started wailing again just as I turned the corner into the conference room. There he was. Mason. Sitting at a long glass table with four coworkers, laughing about something on a spreadsheet like he didn’t have a wife slowly unraveling at home.
He looked up. His face went white.
“Babe—what are you doing here?” he said, standing up fast.
I walked straight in and laid the two snapped broom pieces gently on the table in front of him.
A shocked man | Source: Pexels
“Honey,” I said, shifting Lila on my hip, “I tried using the broom like your mom did with her five kids. But it broke. Again.”
The room went silent. Someone coughed. One guy just stared at his laptop like it was suddenly the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.
I looked around the room and kept going.
A woman cuddling a sleeping baby | Source: Pexels
“So,” I said calmly, “should I keep sweeping the carpet with my hands while holding your daughter? Or are you going to buy a new vacuum?”
Mason looked like he might actually faint. His eyes darted between me, the broom, and his coworkers. His jaw opened and closed like he couldn’t decide which disaster to address first.
“Can we talk outside?” he said, his voice sharp and low, already standing.
“Of course,” I said with a smile.
A tired man looking at the camera | Source: Pexels
He yanked the door closed behind us hard enough that the glass shook.
“What the hell was that?” he hissed. His face was bright red now, all his calm corporate charm gone.
“That was me being resourceful,” I said. “Like your mom.”
“You embarrassed me!” he snapped, glancing over his shoulder toward the conference room. “That was a client pitch. My boss was in there.”
An angry businessman | Source: Pexels
“Oh, sorry,” I said, cocking my head. “I thought you said this was all part of the job. Housewife stuff. What’s the issue? I’m just doing what you said.”
He ran a hand over his face, frustrated. “I get it, okay? I messed up. I’ll get the vacuum today.”
“No need,” I said. “I already ordered one. With your card.”
I turned and walked out, Lila still crying, broom handle still under my arm.
A baby crying in their mother’s arms | Source: Pexels
Mason got home that night quieter than usual. He didn’t toss his shoes in the hallway. Didn’t drop his keys on the counter like usual. Didn’t even glance at the Xbox.
I was on the couch feeding Lila. The living room was dim except for the glow from a floor lamp and the soft hum of the white noise machine in the corner. He sat down across from me, hands folded like he was waiting to be called into the principal’s office.
A serious man sitting down | Source: Pexels
“I talked to HR today,” he said.
I looked up slowly. “HR?”
He nodded, staring at the carpet like it had answers. “Yeah. About our… situation. I said we were going through an adjustment. Stress at home. Lack of sleep. You know.”
I blinked at him. “You mean, you told your job your wife embarrassed you because she’s tired and doesn’t have a vacuum?”
A woman talking to an annoyed man | Source: Pexels
He rubbed his neck. “That’s not what I said. I just… I didn’t mean to be dismissive, okay? I’ve got a lot going on too.”
I let a beat pass. Lila made a soft grunt in her sleep.
I didn’t yell. Didn’t even raise my voice. I just looked at him and said, calm as ever, “Mason, you’re either a husband and a father, or you’re a roommate with a guilt complex. You decide.”
A woman talking to her husband | Source: Pexels
He opened his mouth like he might argue. Then he closed it. Just nodded slowly, lips pressed together like he was swallowing something bitter.
The next morning, the yacht trip got canceled. He said the guys were “rescheduling,” but I didn’t ask questions. Pretty sure “the guys” didn’t even know it was happening.
A man talking on his phone | Source: Pexels
That week, he vacuumed every rug in the house—twice. He looked like he was fighting a war with the dust bunnies. Didn’t say a word about it.
He changed three diapers without being asked. Took the 3 a.m. bottle shift two nights in a row, even when Lila screamed in his face like she knew he was new at it. He paced the hallway with her until she passed out on his shoulder.
A man on his laptop while holding a baby | Source: Pexels
He even took her for a walk Sunday morning so I could nap. Left a sticky note on the bathroom mirror that said, “Sleep. I’ve got her.”
I didn’t gloat. Didn’t say “told you so.” Didn’t bring up the office.
But the broken broom? Still sitting in the hallway, right where I left it. Just in case he forgets.
A wooden broom | Source: Pexels
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