My MIL Ruined My Honeymoon – but Then Karma Hit Her Three Times Harder

"She's in pain," he told me. "We'll figure something out."

**

Brian helped his mother onto the bed and gently lifted her leg onto a pillow.

"We should get you looked at," he said. "There's a nurse on-site. Maybe even a doctor."

"No!" Giselle said quickly, her voice sharp. "Those places are filled with germs. I just need to rest."

"We'll figure something out."

"It won't take long. We could have someone come up —"

"Brian," she cut in, her lower lip almost trembling. "Please don't make me sit in a cold room with strangers poking at me. I just need my son."

"If it gets worse, we're going," he said, looking exhausted.

"It won't. I promise."

**

"I just need my son."

That night, the bell started — a literal bell. One she found in a drawer and rang every time she needed something.

By morning, I'd become her maid, her nurse, and her emotional punching bag, all while pretending we were still on vacation.

"Marie!" she called from the couch. "I need my lotion. It's in my suitcase. The blue one — no, the other blue one! Are you always this slow?!"

I took a breath.

"Are you always this slow?!"

When I didn't respond fast enough, she lowered her voice into a stage whisper.

"Brian, I only say this because I love you... but she's the worst option you could've chosen. She's the worst! You could've married someone with class."

My husband sighed and rubbed his temples.

"Can you two just... not do this right now?"

I didn't bother answering. I stepped outside, coffee in hand, and stared at the ocean. Even paradise felt like a cage.

"She's the worst!"

The next morning, I stepped out of the shower and froze in the doorway. Giselle was crouched beside the vanity, digging through my toiletry bag.

"I'm just looking for my Tylenol," she said breezily, not the least bit startled. "You really should keep this organized. I nearly mistook your makeup wipes for hemorrhoid pads."

She laughed loudly. I didn't.

Giselle was digging through my toiletry bag.

My wet hair clung to my shoulders as I stood there, the towel wrapped tight around me, heart pounding for no good reason and every reason at once.

"Next time," I said calmly, "just... ask, Giselle."

She waved a hand.

"Gosh, don't be so sensitive, Marie. We're family."

She waved a hand.

That was the moment something cracked. It wasn't loud, not explosive, but it was final.

I didn't yell. I didn't cry. I just sat down at the edge of the bed, picked up the room phone, and dialed the front desk.

"Hi, has a nurse been assigned to our suite?" I asked.

The receptionist's voice was pleasant but confused.

I didn't cry.

"Yes, ma'am. There have been several wellness check requests logged from your room over the last few days."

"I didn't make any."

"Would you like us to send someone now?" she asked.

I looked toward Giselle, now sprawled on the couch, watching TV like nothing hurt, remote in one hand and a bell in the other.

"Yes. Please."

The nurse arrived an hour later. She was young, professional, and cheerful despite the heavy atmosphere in the room. Her name tag read Sarah.

"Would you like us to send someone now?"

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