All I wanted was a peaceful honeymoon. Just two weeks of quiet, connection, and my new husband. But when his mother showed up uninvited and refused to leave, everything spiraled.
I tried to stay polite. I tried to be patient. But some women mistake kindness for weakness…
Our honeymoon was supposed to be two weeks in Florida.
It was supposed to be soft mornings, the ocean breeze, and seafood by candlelight.
I’d planned every detail. I packed sunscreen, a silk nightgown, and a paperback romance novel I’d been saving for the occasion.
Instead, I got my mother-in-law, Giselle.
On the second morning of our trip, I padded to the door in my robe, expecting room service. Instead, Giselle stood in front of me, grinning beneath a massive sunhat, suitcase in hand.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she said brightly.
“I came to relax with you and Brian!”
Before I could speak, she strolled into the room like she owned it.
“Who is it, Marie?” Brian called from behind me, sprawled on the bed in his boxers.
“Your mom,” I said as we both walked toward him.
“No. No, she wasn’t supposed to,” Brian said, running a hand over his face.
“I’ll stay out of the way, kids,” Giselle called cheerfully from the loveseat. “You won’t even know I’m here.”
That was a lie.
Everywhere we went, Giselle followed like a shadow with opinions.
She “bumped into us” in the hallway, joined our breakfast table uninvited, and appeared at the pool in a neon sunhat that could’ve been seen from space.
Somehow, she always found a way to sit beside us at dinner, once even waving the waiter away mid-reservation.
And another thing? The commentary never stopped.
“Oh, Marie, you’re ordering pasta again? Carbs are so hard on the body after 30.”
At dinner, she reached for the wine list, then looked at Brian.
“You never told me she had tattoos, son.
You always liked girls who kept things classy. What happened?”
I kept my expression calm. I bit the inside of my cheek and let silence do the heavy lifting.
That night, I slipped out onto the balcony, phone in hand, and hit record on my voice memo app.
It had become a habit.
“If I speak up,” I whispered. “I’ll be the villain. I’ll be the hysterical new wife who couldn’t handle a little family time.”
Behind me, Brian slid the door open.
He handed me a glass of wine and leaned against the railing.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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