I never imagined I’d outsmart my sister-in-law, but after years of her mocking my home and style, karma got a helping hand. When she moved in and started using my skincare products, she crossed a line. The next morning, her face told a story I’ll never forget.
I’m the kind of woman who builds others up, not tears them down. When my friends are down, I’m there with coffee and kind words, believing women should support each other. That’s why I fell for Arnold, my husband. He’s warm, respectful, and always lifts people up. We met two years ago, married last year, and our life together is filled with joy. Our friends love us because we’re the couple who shares laughter, not arguments.
Then Janice, Arnold’s brother Ben’s wife, entered the picture. I’d heard she was tough, but meeting her was a shock. Six months ago, I hosted a family dinner, spending days cleaning, cooking, and decorating with flowers. Janice arrived, her designer bag and perfect nails oozing judgment. “What a cute little place!” she said, eyeing our living room. “I’d feel so cramped, but you’re making it work!” I forced a smile, brushing it off.
Her jabs continued over dinner. “Amelia, some high-end concealer could really wake up your face. That drugstore vibe is… brave.” Arnold squeezed my hand, his face tense. We wanted to keep family harmony, so I changed the topic. But Janice kept going, critiquing my “vintage” furniture and “simple” cooking. By the night’s end, I was drained. Arnold, scrubbing dishes, muttered, “That was rough.” I nodded, feeling small.
I decided to handle Janice with grace, smiling through her comments at family events, though they hurt. I’d catch myself checking my makeup or wondering if our home looked cheap. “She’s just lashing out,” Arnold would say, hugging me. I hoped kindness would soften her. Then, three weeks ago, Ben called—their apartment had flooded, and they needed a place to stay. I agreed, though my gut screamed no.
Janice and Ben moved into our guest room, which she called “charmingly basic.” Ben was kind, helping with chores, but Janice acted like we were her staff. Then my skincare products started disappearing—my costly moisturizer, eye cream, and serum were vanishing. I thought I was imagining it until I caught Janice slathering my $80 retinol serum. “Just a tiny bit!” she said, dismissing my protest. She kept denying it, even as my products dwindled.
At dinner, she had the nerve to mock my “low-end” skincare while stealing my stuff. That night, I planned my move. I filled an old serum bottle with a prescription treatment for rough skin—strong enough to irritate her face with redness and peeling. I left it with my products and waited. The next morning, Janice’s shriek rang out. She rushed in, her face red and blotchy, panicking. “What’s wrong with my face?” I played innocent. “Oh, that bottle? It’s a prescription, not for everyone.” Her glare showed she knew I’d caught her.
Janice stayed silent after that, leaving my things alone. When they moved out, she avoided my eyes. Ben thanked us, clueless about our bathroom battle. As they left, Arnold chuckled. “You enjoyed that,” he said. I grinned. “Just glad we helped,” I replied. Karma needed a nudge, and it worked. Janice hasn’t commented since. What would you do in my place?