My mother-in-law sabotaged my most important final exam by tampering with my alarm clock, claiming I needed to “learn my priorities.” She nearly cost me everything I had worked for—but karma has a way of catching up, and she never saw what was coming for her.
I married Roger a year ago, and I genuinely believed I had found my happily-ever-after. I had a kind husband, a stable marriage, and I was on track to graduate from Millfield University with my degree in pediatric nursing. This wasn’t just any program—it was prestigious and expensive, costing more than most people earn in a couple of years. Every exam was critical, especially the finals, which determined licensing and my entire career path.
The timing couldn’t have been worse when Lydia, my mother-in-law, showed up unannounced with enough luggage for weeks.
“Surprise!” she exclaimed at our doorway, beaming. “I thought I’d spend some quality time with my favorite newlyweds.”
Roger’s face lit up with joy. “Mom! This is amazing. Amelia, isn’t this great?”
I forced a smile though my stomach sank. Finals were in four days, and I had planned every moment for study.
“Of course it’s great,” I said, hugging her politely. “How long are you staying?”
“Oh, just three weeks. Until after the holidays.”
Three weeks. Right during the most important exams of my life.
Almost immediately, Lydia began making demands. She wanted elaborate dinners, mall outings, and visits to every relative in the area. Each time I declined, she wrapped her disappointment in guilt.
“Amelia, surely you can spare one afternoon for Aunt Martha. She’s been dying to see you.”
“I’m sorry, Lydia, but I really need to study. Maybe after my exams?”
Her smile tightened into something sharp. “I see. So your books are more important than family.”
With Roger away on work trips, I was left alone with her manipulative comments. Every hour I studied became “proof” that I didn’t care about family. Every polite refusal branded me as selfish.
I tried to explain how much my exams mattered, but Lydia waved me off. “Oh, sweetie, you’re young. You don’t know what really matters yet.”
By the end of the first week, I was fraying. Exhausted, stressed, and constantly on edge. That’s when she cornered me in the kitchen one night.
“Why are you wasting your time with this university nonsense?” she demanded. “You’re a wife now. Soon you’ll be a mother. You should be focusing on giving my son a family, not chasing silly degrees.”
Her words burned. I set my mug down carefully. “With respect, this degree is not silly. This is my future.”
She leaned closer, eyes cold. “Your future is my son. One day you’ll understand. Stop being so selfish.”
I clenched my jaw. “Roger supports me. He believes in my dreams.”
She sneered. “Roger is too nice to tell you the truth. Men don’t want wives chasing hobbies. They want women who put family first.”
She had just dismissed years of work—my dream of becoming a nurse—as a “hobby.” I walked away before anger got the better of me. But her words echoed long after.
When I vented to Roger on the phone, his response stung. “Just ignore her. You know she means well.”
“Means well.” That phrase became salt in my wounds.
By the third week, my most critical exam was the next morning. That’s when Lydia announced her grand plan.
“I’m hosting a 60th birthday dinner for myself tomorrow night. I’ve invited everyone!”
I gaped at her. “But your birthday was weeks ago. I gave you that knitting set you loved, remember?”
She smiled sweetly. “Well, I want to celebrate properly—with family.”
The timing wasn’t an accident.
“Please, can we do it the day after? This exam determines my grade.”
Her face hardened. “Oh, poor little student. Always an excuse. Fine, don’t come. But don’t expect me to forget this insult.”
She stormed off, calling over her shoulder, “I hope you’re proud of yourself for ruining my birthday.”
I should’ve known she had more in store.
That night, I double-checked my alarm. 6:30 a.m., plenty of time to review before the 9:30 exam. Confident, I went to bed early.
I woke to sunlight streaming through the curtains. The street outside buzzed with traffic. My phone said 9:30.
Panic flooded me. My alarm had been changed to 9:30.
I ran into the kitchen, where Lydia sat calmly sipping her coffee, smugness radiating from her face.
“Did you touch my alarm?!” I shouted.
She raised her eyebrows, savoring the moment. “I told you—you had time for my dinner. So I took my time back.”
Her cruelty was casual, almost playful. I grabbed my keys and ran, my heart pounding.
I sped through traffic, running red lights, begging silently for a miracle. I reached campus in 25 minutes flat. But when I burst into the exam hall, the proctor shook his head.
“Sorry, no entry after 9:15. It’s policy.”
“Please, you don’t understand. My alarm was tampered with!”
“Miss, I’ve heard it all. You’ll need to speak with the office.”
Hours of pleading followed. Eventually, they allowed me to reschedule, but the stress had drained me completely.
When I returned home, Lydia barely looked up from her magazine.
“Well, that was dramatic,” she said.
“You could’ve destroyed my future,” I hissed.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. One test won’t matter when you have babies.”
That was the moment I decided—if she wanted to play games, I’d show her how it felt.
For the next two days, I played the role of the perfect daughter-in-law. I cooked her favorite meals, did her laundry, and listened to her endless stories. She thought she had won.
The night before her flight, she reminded me, “I need to be up at three for my five o’clock flight. Don’t disturb me.”
“Of course, Lydia. Sleep well.”
At 11:30 p.m., I set every clock in the house three hours ahead—her phone, the microwave, the alarm clock, everything.
At midnight, her alarm went off.
Her panicked voice as she called a cab was music. “I need to get to the airport immediately! My flight leaves in an hour!”
By 1 a.m., she was gone, racing through the cold night to catch a plane that wouldn’t depart for four more hours.
By 1:15, my phone buzzed with furious messages.
“YOU! You did this, didn’t you? I’m sitting here like an idiot in the middle of the night! How dare you!”
I let her rage pile up while I slept peacefully.
At 8 a.m., I finally replied: “Oh no! I thought you liked surprises—just like the one you gave me before my exam.”
The silence after that was perfect.
Roger later asked, “Mom said something about a mix-up with the clocks?”
I smiled. “Strange. Must’ve been a glitch.”
“She seemed upset.”
“She’ll get over it. Just a small inconvenience. Not like it ruined her future.”
Since then, Lydia has never once criticized my studies or priorities. When she calls, her tone is polite—almost respectful.
I passed my makeup exam with top marks and graduated summa cum laude. Today, I work at the children’s hospital, loving every second of it.
In the end, Lydia taught me something valuable. Some people don’t learn through reason—they only understand consequences. And sometimes, karma doesn’t arrive on its own. Sometimes, you have to give it a little push.
And honestly? I’d do it again without hesitation.