“You’ve been through so much, Lucy,” she’d say. “Let me take care of things for a while.”
For a while, it was peaceful. I had never really spent a long period of time with Connor and Eve before—not in their own home—but I appreciated the warmth they provided.
But then, things began to change.
It was gradual at first.
Eve stopped doting on me, which I honestly didn’t mind at all.
I didn’t need to be waited on, after all.
But then she started assigning me more tasks around the house.
“Could you load the dishwasher while I finish this show?”
“Would you mind folding the laundry, Lucy? I’ve got a headache.”
Of course, I didn’t mind helping out. I was living with them, after all.
I wanted to contribute in some way.
But slowly, the requests became more frequent and demanding. Suddenly, I found myself doing all the cooking, all the cleaning, and running all the errands.
I was no longer a guest in their home. I had become the housekeeper.
One afternoon, just days before Christmas, Eve was lounging on the couch, laughing at some silly romantic comedy on TV.
Without even looking up, she called out.
“Lucy, after you finish the laundry, can you go grocery shopping? We need food for tonight and for Christmas dinner. I’ll give you the money before you leave.
Nine people are coming over, so get enough for everyone.”
I stopped folding the laundry and just stared at her, my heart sinking.
Nine people?
And I was supposed to plan, shop for, and cook Christmas dinner for all of them? I couldn’t believe how casually she had assigned me this huge responsibility, as if I were her personal maid.
At that moment, something shifted inside me. I had been trying so hard to be helpful, but it was clear that the longer I stayed, the more I was being treated like a servant.
I mean, really?
I realized that I needed to do something to remind Eve that I wasn’t there to simply be ordered around.
But I didn’t want to make a scene.
I didn’t want to cause a fight, especially not right before Christmas.
So instead, I decided that it was time to teach Eve a little lesson in my own way.
Christmas dinner was a big deal in my family growing up. We always had a massive spread, enough food to feed twice as many people as we invited. Cooking for a crowd was second nature to me, and I decided to put all my energy into preparing the best Christmas dinner they’d ever had.
I spent hours planning every dish, thinking about how to make everything perfect.
If Eve thought I was going to do all the work, then I’d do it, but on my own terms.
When Christmas Eve rolled around, I woke up early and headed straight to the kitchen.
I made a mental checklist: roast turkey, garlic mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, stuffing, honey-glazed carrots, and my famous pecan pie for dessert.
The whole works. If I was going to cook, I was going to do it right.
All day, I cooked along to Frank Sinatra playing on the kitchen speaker.
The smell of roasting turkey filled the house, and I heard Connor and Eve’s guests arriving, their voices excited as they greeted each other.
By the time dinner was ready, the table was laden with food. I put out a platter of canapés and poured mulled wine for the guests as they gathered in the living room.
As they began to eat, I could see the admiration on their faces.
“Aunt Lucy, this food is incredible!” one of Connor’s friends exclaimed.
“Did you cook all of this yourself?”
I smiled, proud of what I had accomplished.
“I did,” I said simply.
My son was positively beaming. He looked so pleased with how everything had turned out, and I couldn’t help but feel a small sense of triumph.
I’d shown Eve just what I was capable of.
And Eve?
I watched her from the corner of my eye as she quietly ate her dinner. She hadn’t contributed a single thing to the meal, but here she was, enjoying every bite.
For the first time since I’d moved in, she seemed a little… embarrassed?
I could tell that she hadn’t expected me to pull off such a flawless dinner, and she didn’t quite know how to respond.
After dinner, as we cleared the table and started washing dishes, Eve finally spoke up.
“Lucy, can we talk?”
I glanced at her, wiping my hands on a dish towel.
“Sure, what’s on your mind?”
She hesitated for a moment, then sighed.
“I didn’t realize how much I’ve been putting on you. I’ve been so tired lately, and I guess I’ve been relying on you too much. I’m really sorry.”
Her words took me by surprise.
I hadn’t expected her to admit what she’d been doing.
For a moment, I didn’t know what to say.
“It’s okay, Darling,” I said. “I don’t mind helping, but you’ve got to remember, I’m not as young as I used to be. These old knees can only take so much.”
She smiled back, looking relieved.
“We make a great team, though.
From now on, I’ll be helping out more. Let’s go put your feet up. I’ll make you a cup of tea, okay?”
And just like that, the tension between us seemed to dissolve.
It was a small Christmas miracle. As we sat down with our tea, Eve even offered to massage my knees.
It was something I never would have expected.
As I sipped my tea, I realized that maybe things would be okay after all.
Eve had returned to being the kind, thoughtful daughter-in-law I knew, and for the first time in a while, I felt like I could finally relax.
Now, everything feels as it should be. I’m not a servant.
I’m family. And as we sit on the porch together, sipping our tea, I can finally relax, knowing that I’ve taught Eve a lesson without a single harsh word.
But that’s just my story.
What would you have done in my shoes? Would you have taught a lesson, or would you have put your foot down from the start?
If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
When Chad meets Camille at university, he thinks that he has met the love of his life.
But later on, after the couple are married and hosting Camille’s French parents for dinner, Chad’s friend, Nolan, uses his ability to understand French and eavesdrops on the dinner conversation… only to discover something horrible about Chad and Camille’s marriage.
I never thought inviting Nolan over for dinner would blow up my entire life. But that’s exactly what happened the night he helped uncover the truth about my wife, Camille.
We met in college when Cami was an exchange student from France, studying International Politics, and I was finishing my degree in Business Management. There was something magnetic about her from the beginning.
Camille was as French as they come, with an effortless charm and sophistication I’d never seen before.
We spent hours talking about everything from culture, politics, food, and life goals.
That instant connection was enough to make me fall hard and fast.
Our relationship blossomed quickly, and we were inseparable. After graduation, we moved in together and eventually tied the knot. Camille’s parents still lived in France, and although I hadn’t learned much French, they visited us twice a year.
And as always, while they conversed in their native language during dinners, I mostly just smiled and nodded along, picking up bits and pieces.
Do you have any opinions on this?
