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

"Good morning," she said with a warm smile. "We've received multiple wellness calls from this suite, and we just want to make sure everything's alright."

"I'm fine," Giselle called sharply. "I'm just resting. Can't this wait?"

"It will only take a minute," Sarah said gently. "We just need to assess your ability to bear weight, per our policy. Would you mind standing up for me?"

"I'm just resting. Can't this wait?"

My mother-in-law hesitated, then glanced my way. I said nothing.

Slowly, she stood.

There wasn't a flinch, nor a tremble from Giselle. She rose evenly onto both feet like nothing had ever been wrong.

"You brought this woman to humiliate me?" she hissed at me, eyes narrowing.

Slowly, she stood.

We'd drifted into the open-air lobby during the conversation. Sarah wanted to see Giselle move.

I hadn't even noticed until I felt the breeze and turned to see two guests watching us from the elevator.

Sarah remained professional the entire time.

"You're standing confidently, ma'am. That's surprising given the pain you reported."

A hotel manager arrived, clipboard in hand, his expression unreadable.

"You're standing confidently, ma'am."

"We've logged multiple requests from your suite," he said, repeating the receptionist's words. "Without medical verification, we'll need to apply an incident fee to the account. If this is determined to be a false report —"

"Are you accusing me of lying?" Giselle snapped, folding her arms, both legs planted firmly.

Sarah, the nurse, simply raised an eyebrow.

"You're standing, ma'am. You've shown no visible signs of distress. It's... unusual."

"Are you accusing me of lying?"

The manager didn't move.

"We'll be noting today's interaction. And if there are any further wellness alerts without proper documentation, hotel security will be involved."

That was karma's first hit. Two more were coming.

**

Later, back in our room, I moved quietly. I didn't want to talk. Brian tried anyway.

"I didn't know what to do," he said. "She's my mom. I thought she was hurting."

That was karma's first hit

"She is," I said flatly, folding my clothes. "But not the way you think."

She flew home the next day — silent, stiff, and unwilling to meet my eyes.

I thought that was it.

But two days after we returned, the phone rang.

"Brian," she said sweetly. "I still can't manage the stairs in my apartment. Just until I'm better?"

I thought that was it.

"It's just for a few days," Brian said, looking at me — the guilt crawling all over his face.

I walked out of the room. Again.

Only this time, I knew: this wasn't over. Not even close.

**

Our month from hell didn't begin on the honeymoon — it began just after. When Giselle moved into our guest room, claiming that she really couldn't do stairs, and started ringing her little bell like royalty.

I knew this wasn't over.

"Marie!"

"Marie, the soup is too salty!"

"Marie, where's that pillow I like? No, not that one! The firm one! Pay attention, girl!"

She "forgot" which leg she'd injured. She forgot her crutches when company dropped by, and she did annoying tasks around the house — like rearranging my spice rack while I was at work.

"Marie!"

She even read through my journal and told Brian it was because she was "worried" about my state of mind. She even suggested that I take more expensive birth control pills.

I started locking my bedroom door whenever I left the house.

But the night of Brian's cousin Molly's visit — that's when it all cracked wide open.

We'd just finished dinner. I was refilling wine glasses when Giselle stood up to grab another napkin — fast, light-footed, and using the wrong leg.

She even read through my journal...

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