I thought spending a weekend at my future in-laws’ lake house would be peaceful and relaxing. I imagined lazy days by the water, cozy evenings, and getting to know Josh’s family better. But I couldn’t have been more wrong.
From the moment we arrived, it felt like I was put to work — cleaning, cooking, and then, when the indoor shower broke, I had to wash myself in a basin outside like I’d stepped back in time. And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, I overheard a phone call that changed everything.
The plan started off so nicely. Josh’s mom, Denise, called a few days before.
“We’d love to get to know you better,” she purred sweetly over the phone, her voice smooth like honey. “Just a quiet getaway at our lake house. Nothing fancy.”
I smiled and glanced at Josh, who was grinning across our small apartment, giving me a hopeful thumbs-up.
We’d been engaged for three months, so this seemed like the perfect chance to spend some quality time with his family.
“That sounds lovely,” I replied, trying to sound as warm and enthusiastic as she was. “We can’t wait.”
Three days later, I stepped out of Josh’s car and felt my stomach twist. The lake house wasn’t cozy or charming at all — it looked like it belonged in a horror movie. The wood was old and creaky, paint peeling from the windows, and the smell hit me like a slap — a heavy, musty mix of mold and something earthy.
Denise appeared from what I guessed was the kitchen, wiping her hands on a rag that looked like it had been through a war.
“There you are,” she said, hugging Josh tightly before turning to look me over.
Her eyes flicked up and down my outfit, and then she scrunched her nose as if I was the one who smelled bad.
“Oh, we didn’t have time to clean,” she said, voice light and fake like whipped cream from a can. “Would you mind helping out? You know… since you’re going to be family now.”
Josh jumped in, trying to smooth things over. “Mom, we just got here. Maybe we could settle in first?”
“Nonsense,” she waved him off like a pesky fly. “The sooner we make this place livable, the sooner we can relax. Cleaning supplies are under the sink.”
I caught Josh’s apologetic look but forced a smile and said, “No problem. Happy to help.”
Three hours later, I was on my knees scrubbing the toilet rim with a worn-out brush, my hands sore and my knees aching.
Through the open window, I heard the pop of a cork and laughter. I stood and looked out. There were Josh, his mom, and his dad — all sitting on the porch, sipping drinks and enjoying the evening while I worked like a maid.
“You’re doing such a good job, sweetie,” Denise called out, her voice syrupy and fake. “We really appreciate it.”
I clenched my jaw so tight my teeth hurt.
By dinner, I was starving. I went into the kitchen, hoping to find a break.
“We’re grilling tonight!” Denise announced with a proud smile. “Hope you know how to work a barbecue — we like our women capable.”
She handed me a tray loaded with raw steaks, chicken, and burgers, all marinated in a strong garlic and soy sauce mix that made my stomach flip.
Josh tried to help. “I’ll take care of this—”
“No, no,” Denise cut him off, waving him away like a child. “Let her handle it. We need to see if she can keep up with our family traditions.”
I took the tray, feeling like I’d just been given a challenge in some reality show.
Flipping burgers with one hand and holding my hair back with the other, I glanced through the kitchen window and saw Denise watching me, glass of wine in hand, a small, knowing smile on her face.
This wasn’t about dinner or cleaning. It was about watching me struggle.
After dinner, smelling like charcoal and cleaner, I finally asked the question that had been bugging me since we arrived.
“Could I take a quick shower?”
Denise’s eyes twinkled with something that felt like amusement — or worse, a game she was enjoying.
“Oh, sweetie,” she said, stretching the words slow and sweet, “the indoor shower’s busted. But don’t worry — we have a wash basin out back. There’s a hose to fill it with water, and even a little privacy curtain!”
She made it sound like I was about to have a luxury spa experience. Like bathing outside in a basin was some kind of gift.
Josh shifted beside me, staring at the ground, his jaw tight. But he didn’t argue.
“Right,” I said, swallowing my pride for what felt like the hundredth time. “Thanks.”
Barefoot, I walked through the damp grass, clutching a towel to my chest.
The plastic curtain flapped wildly in the wind, barely hanging onto the metal frame around the “bathing area.”
The basin was shallow and metal, and the water from the hose was so cold it made me shiver and chatter my teeth.
I scrubbed in silence, under the open sky, fighting back tears that wanted to fall.
I’d thought spending time with Josh’s family would be nice. Instead, it felt like his mom was setting me up to fail.
The next morning, I woke early, my skin still sticky from the night air and the cold water rinse.
Josh was snoring softly beside me in a guest bed that somehow felt both too soft and too hard at the same time.
I slipped out quietly and headed to the kitchen to get some water.
Through a slightly open window, I heard Denise on the phone in the backyard.
Her words made my heart stop.
“I made her scrub the whole house, cook for us, and bathe outside,” she giggled like a teenager sharing juicy gossip. “She thinks 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 stomach flipped and my hands trembled.
I stepped back from the window, heart racing like a drum.
I wanted to yell at her, confront her, maybe even splash her with the freezing water from the basin — but I didn’t.
Instead, I got a glass and poured myself some water.
Just then, heavy footsteps sounded behind me.
Josh’s dad stepped into the kitchen.
“You won’t get any water from that sink,” he said calmly. “The plumber’s coming later to fix it. For now, try the bathroom.”
I nodded, not saying a word.
I had bigger things on my mind.
Later that morning, I avoided Denise as much as I could. Finally, just before noon, I pulled Josh aside for a walk around the lake.
The sun shone softly through the leaves, birds chirped cheerfully, and the water gently lapped at the shore.
“Sorry about all this,” Josh said as we walked. “Mom can be… intense.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” I teased, but my voice was tight.
He sighed. “She’s protective. She wants to make sure you’re right for me.”
“By making me scrub toilets and cook over a fire?” I asked.
“It’s not ideal, I know,” he admitted. “But she’ll come around.”
I wasn’t sure if she would, but I nodded.
As we rounded the bend toward the house, a truck pulled into the driveway.
“Looks like we have company,” Josh said.
Suddenly, we heard a scream — sharp, glass-shattering, and unmistakably Denise’s voice.
We ran inside to find Josh’s dad standing in the living room, looking confused.
“What happened?” Josh demanded.
“The plumber came early to fix the kitchen sink,” his dad said. “Your mom was… well, she was coming out of the shower.”
The shower. The supposedly broken shower.
Just then, a red-faced plumber hurried past, toolbox in hand.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I used the code she gave me. Didn’t know anyone was here. Thought the house was empty.”
The bathroom door slammed, and we heard frantic sounds behind it.
Josh looked at his dad, confused.
“I thought the shower was broken?” he asked.
His dad shrugged. “No, it’s the kitchen sink that’s been acting up. Why would you think otherwise?”
Just then, Denise appeared, wrapped in a towel, hair dripping, face bright red with embarrassment and anger.
“Why didn’t you tell him I was here?!” she yelled at her husband.
I couldn’t help it — a small smile spread across my lips.
“I thought the shower was broken,” I said, voice sweet but my eyes locked on hers.
Josh blinked, looking from me to his mom.
“You lied?” he asked.
Denise said nothing. Her silence spoke louder than words.
That evening, we packed our bags. Josh didn’t say a word to his mother, and she didn’t try to stop us.
No words were needed — the game was over.
As we loaded the car, the lake shimmered in the setting sun. The porch swing creaked quietly in the breeze.
Josh drove in silence, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
Finally, he spoke.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
“For what?” I asked, though I already knew.
“For not standing up for you. For letting her treat you like that.”
I reached over and squeezed his arm.
“Some tests backfire,” I said.
He looked at me curiously. “What do you mean?”
“She wasn’t just testing me, Josh. She was testing you, too. To see how much you’d tolerate. I think we both learned something important.”
The highway stretched ahead, carrying us away from the lake house and its twisted games.
Karma doesn’t knock. She lets herself in — unexpected and perfectly timed.
I rolled down the window and let the fresh wind wash over me, feeling clean for the first time all weekend.
