I really thought a weekend at my future in-laws’ lake house would be calm and peaceful. I imagined late mornings, warm coffee on the porch, maybe a swim or two. But instead, it turned into a weekend from hell — all thanks to my future mother-in-law, who clearly had other plans. Plans that included me scrubbing toilets, cooking dinner like a personal chef, and even bathing outside like I was living in the 1800s. And then I heard a phone call… and everything changed.
It all started with a sweet phone call.
“We’d love to get to know you better,” my future mother-in-law said with a fake sweetness that almost gave me a toothache. “Just a quiet getaway at our lake house. Nothing fancy.”
I looked over at Josh, my fiancé. He was sitting on the couch, smiling at me like a puppy. He gave me a big thumbs-up. I smiled back, but something inside me felt tight. I couldn’t explain it.
We had been engaged for three months. It seemed like the right time to spend more time with his family. To show them I was serious. To try and fit in.
“That sounds lovely,” I replied, forcing my voice to sound cheerful. “We can’t wait.”
Three days later, we pulled up to the lake house, and my stomach dropped like a stone.
It didn’t look cozy or peaceful. It looked haunted.
The house stood in front of us, worn down and sagging, like it was tired of standing. Moss crept along the edges. The air smelled wet and moldy, like something had been rotting inside.
Josh’s mom came out, wiping her hands on a dishrag that looked like it had survived a war.
“There you are,” she said warmly, giving Josh a tight hug. Then she turned to me.
Her eyes scanned me from head to toe. I saw her nose wrinkle just slightly, like I had something on me that didn’t belong.
“Oh, we didn’t have time to clean,” she said, her voice fake sweet, like canned whipped cream. “Would you mind helping out? You know… since you’re going to be family.”
Josh tried to step in. “Mom, we just got here. Maybe we could settle in first?”
But she just waved him off. “Nonsense. The sooner we get this place habitable, the sooner we can relax. There are cleaning supplies under the sink.”
Josh gave me a look that said “sorry,” but I just forced a smile and said, “No problem. Happy to help.”
But deep down, I wanted to scream.
Three hours later, I was on my knees scrubbing a toilet with an old, crusty brush. I was sweating, dirty, and starting to feel like Cinderella — before the ball.
Through the open window, I heard a cork pop. Then laughter. Josh’s mom. His dad. And Josh.
I stood up and peeked into the living room. All three of them were lounging on the porch, drinks in hand, having a great time — while I was on bathroom duty.
“You’re doing such a good job, sweetie,” his mom called through the screen door, smiling like she actually meant it. “We really appreciate it.”
I clenched my teeth so hard I felt my jaw pop.
By the time evening rolled around, I was starving and exhausted. I stepped into the kitchen hoping to finally sit down and eat.
But instead of dinner waiting for me, Josh’s mom clapped her hands like she was announcing a competition.
“We’re grilling tonight!” she said, way too cheerfully. “Hope you know how to work a barbecue — we like our women capable.”
She handed me a huge tray of raw meat — steaks, chicken, burgers — all soaked in some strong-smelling marinade that nearly knocked me over.
Josh reached out to help, but she stopped him.
“No, no,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “Let her handle it. We need to see if she can keep up with our family traditions.”
I took the tray, heart sinking. This wasn’t about dinner. This was a test. One I hadn’t signed up for.
So there I was, flipping burgers with one hand, holding my hair back with the other. Through the window, I saw her watching me — wine glass in hand, a smile playing on her lips. She was enjoying this. Every bit of it.
After dinner, smelling like smoke and cleaning supplies, I finally asked something that had been on my mind all day.
“Could I take a quick shower?”
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. I should have known something was coming.
“Oh, sweetie,” she said slowly, dragging out each word. “The indoor shower’s busted. But don’t worry — we have a wash basin out back. There’s a hose you can fill it with. There’s even a little privacy curtain!”
She made it sound like a fun little camping adventure. Like she was doing me a favor.
Josh stood there awkwardly, not saying a word. I looked at him. His jaw was tight, but he didn’t argue.
“Right,” I said softly, trying not to scream. “Thanks.”
So barefoot, clutching a towel, I walked across the damp grass like some poor old pioneer woman. The “bathing area” was a joke — a rusty metal basin, a hose that spit out freezing water, and a plastic curtain barely holding on to the metal frame.
I stood there shivering, trying not to cry as I washed myself in ice-cold water under the open sky.
I had wanted to get to know Josh’s family. But now, I was wondering if I had made a huge mistake.
The next morning, I woke up early. My skin still felt sticky from the cold and that useless “shower.” Josh was snoring beside me, completely unaware.
I tiptoed out of the room, hoping to get some water. As I walked past an open window, I heard something that made my blood freeze.
Josh’s mom was outside on the phone. Laughing. Talking.
“I made her scrub the place, cook for us, and bathe outside,” she giggled, like she was telling a joke. “She thinks the shower’s broken. Please. It works fine. I just wanted to see what kind of girl she is. A little test. Let’s see how long she plays Cinderella.”
I stepped back from the window, heart pounding. My ears were ringing.
She had lied. All of it had been a setup. I wasn’t imagining things — she was trying to break me.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to storm out there and pour that freezing hose water right over her smug little face.
But instead, I walked to the sink, trying to calm down. I needed to think.
Just then, I heard footsteps behind me.
“You won’t get any water from that sink,” Josh’s dad said as he stepped in. “The plumber’s coming out later to fix it, but for now, try the bathroom.”
I nodded. The bathroom. The same one that supposedly had a broken shower.
I walked back to the bedroom, my brain racing. I knew I had to talk to Josh. And I knew I couldn’t stay quiet any longer.
Later that morning, I pulled him aside and asked if we could go for a walk around the lake.
The sun peeked through the trees, the birds were singing, the lake was sparkling — but I was fuming inside.
“Sorry about all this,” Josh said, kicking a rock as we walked. “Mom can be… intense.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
He sighed. “She’s just protective. Wants to make sure you’re right for me.”
“By making me scrub toilets and cook over an open flame?” I snapped.
“It’s not ideal, I know. But she’ll come around.”
I wasn’t so sure. But I nodded, not wanting to argue.
As we walked back toward the house, I saw a truck in the driveway.
“Looks like we have company,” Josh said.
Then, a scream echoed from inside the house — high-pitched and furious. It was unmistakably his mom.
We ran.
Inside, Josh’s dad stood in the living room, looking confused.
“What happened?” Josh asked, panicked.
“The plumber came early to fix the kitchen sink,” his dad replied. “Your mom was… well, she was coming out of the shower.”
The shower. The broken shower.
A red-faced plumber rushed past us, toolbox in hand.
“So sorry,” he said quickly. “I used the code she gave me. I didn’t know anyone was… I mean, I thought the house was empty.”
Just then, the bathroom door slammed shut, followed by frantic noises from inside.
Josh turned to his dad.
“I thought you said the shower was broken?”
His dad frowned. “No, it’s the kitchen sink that’s been acting up. Why would you think—”
And then she came out.
Wrapped in a towel, hair wet, face red with anger and shame.
“Why didn’t you tell him I was here?!” she screamed at her husband.
I smiled. I couldn’t help it.
“I thought the shower was broken,” I said sweetly, looking her right in the eyes.
Josh looked between us. Confused. Angry.
“You lied?” he asked his mom.
She didn’t answer.
That was all the answer he needed.
We packed our bags that evening. No one said much. She didn’t try to stop us. She didn’t need to. She knew it was over.
As we loaded the car, the lake shimmered in the fading sun. The porch swing rocked in the wind, creaking like a warning.
Josh was silent for a long time as he drove. His hands were tight on the steering wheel.
Finally, he spoke.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“For what?” I asked, though I already knew.
“For not standing up for you. For letting her treat you that way.”
I reached over and touched his arm. “Some tests backfire.”
He glanced at me. “What do you mean?”
“She wasn’t just testing me, Josh. She was testing you too. She wanted to see how much you’d tolerate. And I think we both learned something important.”
The highway stretched ahead of us, smooth and wide. Behind us, the games were over.
Karma doesn’t knock. She just walks in — at the perfect time.
I rolled the window down and let the wind hit my face. For the first time all weekend, I felt truly clean.
