I was so excited when my fiancé, Tom, and I were invited to his parents’ lake house for a weekend. His mom, Karen, made it sound like a perfect chance to bond before the wedding. “Just a relaxed getaway,” she said over the phone, her voice warm and inviting. I glanced at Tom, who gave me an encouraging smile, and I couldn’t say no. “We’d love to come,” I replied, imagining a weekend of laughter and family connection.
When we arrived, the lake house was a letdown — dusty, damp, and smelling like old wood. Karen welcomed Tom with a big hug but gave me a quick once-over, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “The place needs a little sprucing up,” she said, handing me a sponge. “You’re practically family, so you’ll help, right?” Tom started to object, but she waved him away. I didn’t want to make waves, so I rolled up my sleeves and started cleaning while Karen, Tom, and his dad relaxed outside, their chatter and clinking glasses echoing through the house.
By dinner, I was wiped out, but Karen wasn’t done. “We’re grilling tonight,” she announced, handing me a platter of steaks and burgers. “Show us what you can do!” Tom offered to pitch in, but she insisted I handle it alone, saying it was a “family tradition.” I grilled, feeling her eyes on me, like she was grading my every move. After dinner, desperate for a shower, I got another surprise. “The indoor shower’s broken,” Karen said with a strange smile. “There’s a basin out back with a hose. It’s charming!” Tom looked uneasy but stayed quiet. I washed in the chilly outdoor tub, feeling exposed and humiliated behind a flimsy curtain.
The next morning, I overheard Karen on the phone, giggling. “I made her clean, cook, and bathe outside! The shower’s fine — it’s just a little test to see if she’s tough enough.” My stomach churned. This was no family bonding; it was a setup. I wanted to confront her but decided to talk to Tom first. We took a walk by the lake, and I told him everything. He apologized, admitting Karen could be “overbearing” but promising she’d warm up to me. I wasn’t convinced, but I nodded.
Back at the house, a plumber’s truck was parked outside. Then we heard Karen scream. We rushed in to find Tom’s dad looking puzzled. The plumber, let in with Karen’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, keeping my voice calm but my eyes sharp. Tom stared at his mom. “You lied to her?” he asked. Karen’s silence was all the answer we needed.
aWe left that evening, bags packed in silence. Tom didn’t speak to his mom, and she didn’t try to explain. As we drove away, the lake house faded in the rearview. “I should’ve had your back,” Tom said softly. I squeezed his hand. “She wasn’t just testing me, Tom. She was testing you, too.” The road carried us forward, away from her schemes. Karma, it turns out, has perfect timing — and a knack for exposing the truth.
