Mia and Bob’s anniversary trip was supposed to be a time of love and relaxation — until her mother-in-law showed up uninvited and sabotaged everything. Linda sneaked into the same hotel, booked a room right next to theirs, and whispered cruel things to Mia. What she didn’t expect was that Mia was about to teach her a lesson she’d never forget.
Bob and I desperately needed this trip.
After months of juggling work, parenting, and living with his mother Linda—ever since our house burned down—stress had taken over our lives. Finally, we had our first real break in years. Even better, it was our seventh wedding anniversary.
No kids. No duties. Just us.
For the first three days, it was bliss.
We slept in luxurious hotel sheets, enjoying slow breakfasts on our balcony while watching the waves crash against the shore. Afternoons were spent lounging on the beach, sipping cocktails, and touching each other like newlyweds all over again.
For the first time in a long while, I had my husband all to myself.
Then she showed up.
Like a horror movie character realizing the monster is right behind them, I slowly turned around.
There she was.
Linda. My mother-in-law.
“Mia! Bobby!” That high-pitched, sing-song voice I had spent three months trying to avoid.
She stood there, smug, wearing a bright floral dress and oversized sunglasses that looked too big for her face.
“I thought you two might get bored without me,” she chirped. “So here I am!”
I was frozen. Breathless.
Bob almost choked on his drink.
“Mom? How the hell did you get here? Are you serious?”
She strutted over, dug her heels into the sand, and smiled like she owned the place.
“I bought a last-minute ticket! Figured you lovebirds might want some company. Honestly, I needed some sunshine, too.”
My throat tightened.
“Linda,” I asked, voice shaking, “Where are the kids? Are they okay? Is something wrong? Why are you here?”
She waved her hand dismissively.
“Oh, sweetheart, don’t worry. The kids are with Irene, my best friend. She missed them so much and was thrilled to have them—her grandkids live far away, so this was perfect for her.”
My jaw clenched.
The same woman who begged us to take this trip to have alone time… had just left our three kids to follow us across the Pacific?!
I looked at Bob. His face was hollow, eyes sunken and tired—he looked like a man on death row.
We had been so full of life just moments ago.
“What do you think about this?” I asked, setting my drink down.
Bob sighed. “Mia, she’s already here. We can’t just send her back. I’m sorry, honey. We’ll have to deal with it.”
Something inside me broke.
Did he really let his mom crash our romantic trip? Was he really putting her ahead of me again? Did he really think this was okay?
Bob got up, saying as he walked toward the beach bar, “I’ll get Mom a drink.”
Oh no. It had already started.
Then Linda put her hand on mine.
“Mia, do you really think you’re the most important woman in my son’s life?” she whispered low. “Don’t fool yourself. I’m still here.”
The ocean seemed to stop talking.
I couldn’t reply.
Linda had booked the room right next to ours and began ruining everything.
The first night, Bob and I had planned a romantic dinner on the beach with a few other couples. We ordered a special basket through room service and were just about to take it to the shore.
Guess what happened?
Linda took the entire basket and helped herself.
But that wasn’t all.
The sunset cruise?
Linda suddenly got dizzy and needed Bob to escort her back to her room.
The dinner alone on the beach?
Linda “accidentally” changed the reservation to a table for three.
The spa night for two?
Linda claimed she “couldn’t sleep alone” and begged Bob to come to her room “for just a second.”
I was boiling.
Then on the third night, Linda knocked on our door for the fourth time.
I whispered, “Bob, don’t open it. Please.”
“But what if she needs something?”
I gritted my teeth. “DO NOT open that door.”
I was done. I was furious and exhausted. It felt like a nightmare on what was supposed to be my date.
The next morning, I called the hotel.
“An endless adventure in Hawaii,” the person greeted me. “How can we help?”
“Hi,” I said quietly, slipping into the bathroom to avoid waking Bob. “I need your top-notch experience. I’m not going. My mother-in-law is. Please make her trip memorable.”
“No problem, ma’am,” they said. “We’ll send a full schedule to her room. Just let us know about any health issues.”
Linda woke up with a packed itinerary:
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6:00 AM: 10-mile sunrise hike (with breaks)
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9:00 AM: Volcano tour (scorching sun, very little shade)
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12:00 PM: Long traditional Hawaiian dance class
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3:00 PM: Three-hour cultural cooking lesson (chopping, stirring, sweating)
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6:00 PM: Private nighttime tour (perfect for sleep-deprived guests)
At 7:00 AM, Linda knocked on our door, sweaty and lost.
“Did you sign me up for something?” she asked, waving her phone. “I keep getting alerts but think I missed a hike.”
I gasped, clutching my chest like it was a heart attack.
“No way, Linda! Maybe they accidentally put you in an exercise program. Strange.”
Bob looked at me. “Want to cancel?”
Linda wouldn’t admit defeat. She forced a smile.
“No, I’m going to try. I don’t want to waste this chance.”
By Day 3, she was too tired even to text.
On Day 4, she called me, voice weak and pleading.
“Mia, please help me. I want to go home.”
Mission accomplished.
I arranged her flight that afternoon.
As Bob helped her into the car, I whispered to Linda, “Maybe I’m not Bob’s number one. But now you know—I’m smarter than you.”
Linda never pulled a stunt like that again.