My mother-in-law, Ingrid, never missed a chance to remind me how wonderful Megan—my husband Mike’s ex-wife—was. Every visit brought a new comparison, a fresh jab, and a subtle reminder that in her eyes, I’d never measure up. But what she didn’t expect was karma showing up at her birthday party—and delivering a blow neither of us saw coming.
I was curled up on the couch with Mike, my husband of two years, enjoying one of our quiet, happy evenings. His arm wrapped around me felt like home. We laughed, shared stories from the day, and dreamed out loud about the future.
“I still can’t believe you said that to your boss,” I giggled. “You’re such a dork.”
Mike chuckled, pulling me closer. “Only for you, Gisselle.”
Our little living room wasn’t much, but with him, it felt like a castle. Pictures from our trips covered the walls, and the shelves overflowed with books we planned to read together. We were building a life. A peaceful, loving one.
That night, the air was filled with the smell of Mike’s favorite—spaghetti carbonara. Cooking for him was one of my favorite things to do. Seeing him light up over dinner was worth every minute in the kitchen.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” he said, checking the clock. “Want me to set the table?”
“Nope,” I smiled. “You relax. I’ve got it.”
He kissed my forehead. “You’re incredible, you know that?”
I blushed. “I try.”
It felt like nothing could disturb our happiness. But that calm was shattered when Ingrid stopped by a few days later.
She sat in the kitchen while I cooked soup, watching me like a hawk. I could feel her eyes on every move I made.
“You know,” she began, “Megan used to make this dish perfectly. She always finished it with a sprinkle of fresh basil. It made all the difference.”
I forced a smile through clenched teeth. “That’s nice, Ingrid. I’ll keep that in mind.”
She let out an exaggerated sigh. “I just don’t understand why you don’t try to improve your recipes like Megan did. Everything she made was just better.”
I bit my tongue. No matter what I did, it was never good enough for her. Megan was her gold standard, her perfect daughter-in-law. Never mind the fact that Megan and Mike divorced years ago.
Mike walked in and immediately felt the tension.
“Mom,” he said firmly, “Gisselle’s cooking is amazing. I love everything she makes.”
Ingrid waved him off. “Of course you’d say that. But you can’t deny Megan had a special touch.”
I shot Mike a grateful glance. He always had my back—but Ingrid’s constant comments still stung.
“I’m doing my best, Ingrid,” I said softly.
“Well, your best should be better,” she muttered.
Her comparisons were exhausting. I loved Mike deeply, but navigating his mother’s constant reminders of Megan was harder than I expected.
I tried to stay strong. I knew Mike supported me. That had to be enough. But that resolve was pushed to the limit during a family dinner at Ingrid’s house.
We were seated around the table when—once again—Ingrid brought up Megan.
“You should try adding cilantro to the pasta,” she chirped. “Megan used to do that. Mike loved it.”
My cheeks burned. I couldn’t even taste my food. After dinner, I asked to speak with her privately.
“Ingrid,” I said calmly, “I need to talk to you.”
She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “What is it, Gisselle?”
“I know you were close to Megan, and I respect that. But it really hurts when you constantly compare me to her. I love Mike and I’m doing my best. It’s affecting our relationship.”
She scoffed. “Don’t tell me how to act.”
“I’m not trying to control you,” I replied gently. “I just want you to understand how your words make me feel. I want us to get along.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Megan was like a daughter to me. You’ll never understand that.”
I blinked away tears. “I’m not asking you to forget her. I’m just asking for a little kindness.”
She turned away, clearly irritated. “I’ll think about it,” she said flatly, and walked off.
It broke my heart. All I wanted was respect. Was that too much?
Days later, Ingrid hosted a grand birthday party. Her house was buzzing with laughter, chatter, and relatives everywhere. But as Mike and I walked in, I felt a knot form in my stomach.
Then I saw her.
Megan.
She stood by the drinks, laughing with guests like she still belonged.
I turned to Mike. He looked just as stunned. Ingrid noticed and strolled over, smug as ever.
“Oh, didn’t I mention?” she said innocently. “I invited Megan. I thought it would be nice for her to see everyone again.”
I forced a smile. “How thoughtful.”
I tried not to let it ruin the night. I mingled. I smiled. I reminded myself I was here for Mike—and for Ingrid, even if she didn’t appreciate it.
When it was time for dinner, Ingrid made sure Megan sat at the table—right next to me.
Megan leaned over. “I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to finally meet.”
“Likewise,” I replied, masking my unease.
Then came the toast.
Ingrid’s husband, Walter, stood and clinked his glass. Everyone fell quiet.
“I have something to say,” he began, his voice suddenly serious.
My heart sank. Was he going to praise Ingrid’s perfect night?
But what came next made the whole room go silent.
“For five years, I’ve been seeing someone else,” Walter said. “I can’t live a lie anymore. Ingrid, my heart belongs to someone else—Dorothy. My ex-wife.”
Gasps. Utter silence.
Ingrid went ghost-pale, her mouth slightly open in shock.
“I’m sorry to say it like this,” Walter continued, “but I’m leaving you. I need to be honest—with you and with myself.”
The room erupted. Tears, whispers, stunned faces. Guests rushed to comfort Ingrid as her world crumbled.
I stood there, stunned, remembering every moment she had belittled me.
I didn’t feel glee—but I couldn’t ignore the twist of poetic justice. Karma, I realized, has a quiet way of showing up.
Mike took my hand. We didn’t need to say a word. We walked out together.
“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” he said softly once we got home.
“It’s not your fault,” I whispered. “I’m just grateful we have each other.”
He pulled me close. “I love you, Gisselle. Don’t ever forget that.”
I held him tightly. “I love you too. And we’re going to be just fine.”
That night, I didn’t dwell on Ingrid. I focused on what really mattered—our love, our home, and the peace we created together. Whatever storms came our way, we’d face them side by side.