I thought spending a weekend at my future in-laws’ lake house would be a nice break—relaxing and peaceful. But I was so wrong. From the moment we arrived, Josh’s mom put me to work like I was her personal maid. Cleaning, cooking, and then… a broken shower that forced me to bathe outside in a basin. It was humiliating. And the worst was yet to come—I overheard a phone call that changed everything.
A few days before the trip, I got a call from Josh’s mom. Her voice was all sweet and smooth, like honey dripping from a spoon.
“We’d love to get to know you better,” she said, cooing through the phone. “Just a quiet little getaway at our lake house. Nothing fancy at all.”
I looked over at Josh, sitting on the couch with that excited grin only he could pull off. He gave me a thumbs-up.
His smile made my heart flutter in a way I couldn’t explain.
We’d been engaged for three months. It felt like the perfect time to spend more time with his family.
“That sounds lovely,” I said, trying to match her syrupy tone. “We can’t wait.”
Three days later, I stepped out of Josh’s car, and my stomach dropped.
The lake house stood before us like something straight out of a scary movie. The paint was peeling, the windows dusty, and the whole place smelled like damp earth and old mold. The front porch sagged, and the wooden steps creaked under our feet.
As soon as we stepped inside, a heavy, musty smell hit me hard.
Josh’s mom came out of what I guessed was the kitchen, wiping her hands on a faded, stained dishrag.
“There you are,” she said, wrapping Josh in a quick hug before turning to me.
She stared at me, head to toe, then wrinkled her nose just a little, like I was the one who smelled bad.
“Oh, we didn’t have time to clean,” she said in a voice that was way too sweet, like fake whipped cream from a can. “Would you mind helping out? You know… since you’re going to be family.”
Josh jumped in right away.
“Mom, we just got here. Maybe we can settle in first?”
“Nonsense!” she said, waving him off like he was a pesky fly. “The sooner we get this place livable, the sooner we can all relax. Cleaning supplies are under the sink.”
Josh looked at me with an apologetic glance. I smiled tightly and said, “No problem. Happy to help.”
Three long, exhausting hours later, I was kneeling on the cold floor next to the toilet, scrubbing the rim with an old, scratchy brush.
Outside the open window, I heard the pop of a cork. Then laughter. Josh, his mom, and his dad were sitting on the porch, relaxing and having a good time while I worked.
“Doing such a good job, sweetie!” his mom called out through the screen door, her voice dripping with fake kindness. “We really appreciate it.”
I clenched my jaw so tightly my face ached.
By the time dinner rolled around, the house was about as clean as it could get with just a few hours and a lot of elbow grease. I was starving.
I walked into the kitchen and asked, “So, what’s for dinner?”
“We’re grilling tonight!” Denise said, tossing me a tray loaded with raw steaks, chicken, and burgers. The marinade smelled strong—garlic and soy sauce mixed in a way that made my stomach turn a little.
She gave me a sly smile. “Hope you know how to work a barbecue. We like our women capable.”
Josh reached out to help, but his mom cut him off.
“No, no,” she said, waving him away. “Let her handle it. We want to see if she can keep up with our family traditions.”
I accepted the tray, feeling like I’d just been handed a torch in some bizarre challenge.
Flipping burgers with one hand and pushing my hair out of my face with the other, I glanced through the kitchen window. Josh’s mom was watching me with a glass of wine, a tiny smile on her lips.
It was clear this wasn’t really about dinner or cleaning. This was about watching me try to fit in.
After dinner, still smelling like charcoal and cleaning spray, I asked the question I’d been holding in all day.
“Could I take a quick shower?”
Josh’s mom’s eyes lit up with something that looked suspiciously like amusement.
“Oh, sweetie,” she said slowly, like she was sharing a secret. “The indoor shower’s broken. But don’t worry—we have a wash basin out back. There’s a hose to fill it, and even a little privacy curtain!”
She said it like she was doing me a big favor, like letting me bathe outdoors was some kind of treat from the 1800s.
Josh shifted beside me, his eyes on the floor, his jaw tight. But he didn’t argue.
“Right,” I said, swallowing my pride for what felt like the hundredth time that day. “Thanks.”
Barefoot, clutching my towel to my chest, I walked through the wet grass.
The plastic curtain flapped wildly in the breeze, barely hanging on to the thin metal frame that surrounded the “bathing area.”
The basin was metal, shallow, and the hose sputtered out freezing cold water that made my teeth chatter.
I scrubbed in silence, under the open sky, fighting back tears.
I’d thought this weekend would bring me closer to Josh’s family. Instead, it felt like his mom was testing me, trying to break me.
The next morning, I woke early. My skin still sticky from the night’s cold wash. Josh snored softly beside me in the guest bed that was somehow both too soft and too hard.
I slipped out quietly, hoping for a moment of peace in the kitchen.
Through a slightly open window, I heard Josh’s mom on the phone in the backyard. Her voice was low and giggly—like a teenager sharing juicy gossip.
“I made her scrub the whole place, cook for us, and bathe outside,” she said, chuckling. “She really believes the shower’s broken. Please. It works fine. I just wanted to see what kind of girl she is. A little test. Let’s see how long she plays Cinderella.”
My heart dropped.
I backed away from the window, my chest tightening with anger and shock.
I wanted to yell at her. I wanted to march outside and splash her with the freezing water I had to bathe in last night. But I didn’t.
Instead, I grabbed a glass and went to fill it at the sink.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps sounded behind me.
“You won’t get any water from that sink,” Josh’s dad said. “The plumber’s coming later to fix it. For now, try the bathroom.”
I nodded, my mind spinning. I had bigger things to worry about.
Later, I avoided Josh’s mom all morning. Finally, just before noon, I pulled Josh aside.
“Can we take a walk by the lake?” I asked.
The sun filtered through the trees, birds chirped happily, and the water lapped gently at the shore.
“Sorry about all this,” Josh said, running a hand through his hair. “Mom can be… intense.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” I teased, but the hurt in my voice was clear.
He sighed. “She’s just protective. Wants to make sure you’re right for me.”
“By making me scrub toilets and cook over an open flame?”
“It’s not ideal, I know,” he said. “But she’ll come around.”
I wasn’t so sure, but I nodded.
As we neared the house, a truck was parked in the driveway.
“Looks like we have company,” Josh said.
Just then, a scream cut through the air—a loud, shattering scream. It was his mother’s voice.
We ran inside to find Josh’s dad standing in the living room, looking stunned.
“What happened?” Josh asked.
His dad pointed toward the hallway. “The plumber came early to fix the kitchen sink. Your mom was… well, she was coming out of the shower.”
The shower. The one we were told was broken.
A red-faced man in overalls hurried past us, toolbox in hand.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I used the code she gave me. Didn’t know anyone was here… I thought the house was empty.”
The bathroom door slammed behind him.
Josh turned to his dad. “I thought you said the shower was broken?”
His dad looked confused. “No, it’s the kitchen sink that’s been acting up. Why would you think—”
At that moment, Josh’s mom appeared, wrapped in a towel, hair dripping wet, face red with embarrassment and fury.
“Why didn’t you tell him I was here?!” she shouted at her husband.
I couldn’t help but smile just a little.
“I thought the shower was broken,” I said, sounding innocent but locking eyes with her.
Josh blinked, looking from his mom to me and back again.
“You lied?” he asked her.
She didn’t answer. Her silence said everything.
That night, we packed our bags.
Josh didn’t speak to his mother, and she didn’t try to stop us. She didn’t have to—the game was over.
As we loaded the car, the lake sparkled in the fading sunlight. The porch swing creaked in the evening breeze.
Josh was quiet as he drove. His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally, “for not standing up for you. For letting her treat you like that.”
I reached over and touched his arm.
“Some tests backfire,” I said softly.
He looked at me, curious.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“She wasn’t just testing me, Josh. She was testing you. To see how much you’d put up with. And I think we both learned something important.”
The highway stretched ahead, carrying us far away from the lake house and its cruel games.
Karma doesn’t knock. She just lets herself in—unexpected, perfect, and right on time.
I rolled down the window and let the cool wind wash over me, feeling clean and free for the first time all weekend.
