I was over the moon when my fiancé, Ryan, and I were invited to his parents’ lake house for a weekend. His mom, Diane, called it a chance to “get to know each other better,” her voice dripping with warmth. Ryan flashed me a grin from across our apartment, and I couldn’t resist. “We’d love to come,” I said, imagining a cozy retreat with my future family. But what I got was a weekend of surprises — and not the fun kind.
The lake house was a mess, smelling like damp wood and neglect. Diane hugged Ryan but gave me a quick, appraising look. “The place could use a little cleaning,” she said, handing me a rag. “You’re okay with that, right? We’re family now!” Ryan tried to protest, but she brushed him off. I didn’t want to start trouble, so I started scrubbing while Diane, Ryan, and his dad relaxed on the porch, their laughter echoing as I tackled dusty corners alone.
By dinner, I was exhausted, but Diane had more in store. “We’re grilling tonight,” she said, handing me a tray of burgers and chops. “Let’s see what you can do!” Ryan offered to help, but she insisted I handle it, calling it a “family thing.” I grilled, feeling her eyes on me like a judge at a competition. After dinner, desperate for a shower, I got another shock. “The indoor shower’s broken,” Diane said with a sly smile. “There’s a basin out back with a hose. It’s quaint!” Ryan shifted uncomfortably but stayed quiet. I washed in the cold, metal tub under a flimsy curtain, feeling exposed and humiliated.
The next morning, I overheard Diane on the phone, laughing. “I made her clean, cook, and bathe outside! The shower’s fine — it’s just a test to see if she’s tough enough for Ryan.” My stomach twisted. This wasn’t about family; it was a setup to make me squirm. I wanted to confront her but decided to talk to Ryan first. We took a walk by the lake, and I told him everything. He apologized, saying Diane was “just cautious,” but I could tell he was rattled.
Back at the house, a plumber’s truck was parked outside. Then we heard Diane scream. We rushed in to find Ryan’s dad looking baffled. The plumber, let in with Diane’s code, had walked in to fix the kitchen sink and caught her in the “broken” shower. She emerged, dripping and furious, wrapped in a towel. “I thought the shower was broken,” I said, my tone calm but my eyes locked on hers. Ryan turned to her. “You lied?” he asked. Her silence was answer enough.
We packed up and left that evening. Ryan didn’t speak to Diane, and she didn’t try to explain. As we drove away, the lake sparkled behind us, but I felt lighter. “I should’ve stood up for you,” Ryan said softly. I touched his hand. “She tested us both, Ryan. And we both learned something.” The road carried us away from her tricks. Karma doesn’t wait for permission — it arrives right when it’s needed.
