I never thought I’d play a part in karma’s plan, but when my sister-in-law moved in after mocking my home for years, she pushed me too far. Her meddling with my skincare was the final straw, and what happened to her face the next day? I’ll always remember it.
I’m the kind of person who supports others. When a friend’s struggling, I’m there with a hug and kind words, believing women should cheer each other on. That’s what I love about my husband, Arnold. He’s gentle, respectful, and always uplifting. We met two years ago, got married last year, and our life is full of warmth. Our friends enjoy our company because we’re all about love, not conflict.
Then Janice, Arnold’s brother Ben’s wife, came along. I’d heard she was critical, but meeting her was a wake-up call. Six months ago, I hosted a family dinner, cleaning our home spotless and cooking special dishes. Janice walked in, her fancy bag and nails screaming superiority. “What a sweet little house!” she said. “So cozy. I’d feel trapped, but you’re doing great!” I smiled, hiding my hurt.
Her comments didn’t stop. At dinner, she said, “Amelia, a better concealer could hide those tired eyes. That drugstore stuff is… bold.” Arnold held my hand, his face tight. We wanted family peace, so I steered the talk to neutral topics. But Janice kept jabbing at my “old” furniture and “basic” cooking. By the end, I felt worn out. Arnold, washing dishes, said, “She’s too much.” I agreed, feeling deflated.
I chose to respond with kindness at family gatherings, though her remarks about my “odd” style or “tiny” home stung. I’d stare in the mirror, questioning my choices. “She’s just insecure,” Arnold would say, holding me close. I hoped she’d soften. Then, three weeks ago, Ben called—their apartment had flooded, and they needed a place to stay. I said yes, though I dreaded it.
Janice and Ben moved into our guest room, which she called “cute, like a cabin.” Ben was helpful, but Janice acted entitled. Then I noticed my skincare products vanishing—my pricey moisturizer, eye cream, and serum were running low. I caught Janice using my $80 retinol serum. “I just borrowed a drop!” she said, brushing me off. She kept denying it, even as my products disappeared.
At dinner, she mocked my “cheap” skincare while stealing my stuff. That night, I decided to act. I filled an old serum bottle with a strong prescription for rough skin—safe but irritating for her face. I left it out and waited. The next morning, Janice’s scream filled the house. She ran in, her face red and splotchy, frantic. “My face is burning!” I acted surprised. “That bottle? It’s a prescription, not for sharing.” Her eyes showed she knew I’d won.
Janice stayed quiet after that, leaving my things alone. When they left, she couldn’t meet my gaze. Ben thanked us warmly, unaware of our clash. As they drove off, Arnold grinned. “You’re pleased,” he said. I laughed. “Just glad to help family,” I replied. Karma needed a push, and it worked. Janice hasn’t said a word since. What would you have done?
