I thought a weekend at my future in-laws’ lake house would be relaxing — a chance to unwind and get to know Josh’s family better. But I was wrong. From the moment we arrived, it felt like I was being put to work. Cleaning, cooking, and then—when the shower broke—I had to bathe outside in a basin. Then, late that night, I overheard a phone call that changed everything.
It started when Josh’s mom called me a few days before the trip.
“We’d love to get to know you better,” she said, her voice dripping with sweetness over the phone. “Just a quiet little getaway at our lake house. Nothing fancy.”
I glanced over at Josh, who was grinning and giving me a thumbs-up from across our apartment. His excited smile made my heart flutter.
We’d been engaged for three months now, and I thought this was the perfect time to spend more time with his family.
“That sounds lovely,” I said, trying to sound as cheerful as she did. “We can’t wait.”
Three days later, I stepped out of Josh’s car, and my stomach sank.
The lake house stood in front of us, looking like it belonged in a scary movie. The air smelled damp and moldy, like something had been rotting inside for a long time.
Josh’s mom appeared from what I guessed was the kitchen, wiping her hands on a grimy old dishrag.
“There you are!” she said, hugging Josh tightly before turning to look at me.
She scanned me from head to toe and then wrinkled her nose, as if I was the one smelling bad.
“Oh, we didn’t have time to clean properly,” she said, her voice sweet but fake like whipped cream from a can. “Would you mind helping out? You know… since you’re going to be family.”
Josh jumped in, looking a little worried. “Mom, we just got here. Maybe we could settle in first?”
“Nonsense!” she waved him off with a sharp smile. “The sooner we get this place cleaned, the sooner we can relax. There are cleaning supplies under the sink.”
I caught Josh’s apologetic look, but I smiled tightly and said, “No problem. Happy to help.”
Three long hours later, I was on my knees scrubbing the toilet rim with a crusty old brush. My arms ached, and my fingers were raw.
Through the open window, I heard the unmistakable pop of a cork. Laughter floated in — Josh’s mom, his dad, and Josh himself were sitting outside on the porch, relaxing and chatting like I wasn’t even there.
I stood up and walked into the living room.
“You’re doing such a good job, sweetie,” his mom called through the screen door, her voice dripping with fake warmth. “We really appreciate it.”
I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw started to hurt.
By dinner time, the house looked as clean as it could after just a few hours, and I was starving. I went to the kitchen and asked what we were having.
“We’re grilling tonight!” Denise announced, holding up a tray piled with raw meat. “Hope you know how to work a barbecue—we like our women capable.”
She practically shoved the tray at me. Steaks, chicken, and burgers, all soaked in a garlic-soy sauce that smelled strong enough to make my eyes water.
Josh reached out to help.
“I’ll help!” he said.
“No, no,” his mom interrupted quickly, waving him away. “Let her handle it. We need to see if she can keep up with our family traditions.”
I took the tray, feeling like I had just accepted some kind of strange, old-fashioned challenge.
I flipped burgers with one hand while holding my hair back with the other. Through the kitchen window, I saw Josh’s mom watching me, glass of wine in hand, a small, pleased smile on her lips.
This wasn’t about cooking. This was a performance.
After dinner, still smelling like charcoal and cleaning spray, I finally asked the question I’d been holding in all day.
“Could I take a quick shower?”
Josh’s mom’s eyes twinkled with something that looked suspiciously like amusement.
“Oh, sweetie,” she said slowly, drawing the words out like honey from a jar. “The indoor shower’s busted. But don’t worry — we have a wash basin out back. There’s a hose you can use to fill it. And there’s even a little privacy curtain!”
She said it like she was doing me a huge favor — like bathing outside was some kind of luxury.
Josh shifted beside me, looking down at the floor. His jaw twitched, but he didn’t say a word.
“Right,” I said, swallowing my pride for what felt like the hundredth time that day. “Thanks.”
Barefoot, I walked through the damp grass with a towel clutched tight to my chest.
The plastic curtain outside flapped in the wind, barely hanging onto the rusty metal frame that surrounded the tiny “bathing area.”
The basin was metal and shallow, and the hose sputtered out water cold enough to make my teeth chatter.
I scrubbed quietly under the open sky, fighting back tears.
I had thought this trip would be a chance to bond with Josh’s family. Instead, it felt like his mom was trying to break me.
The next morning, I woke up early, my skin still sticky from the night air and the poor rinse job. Josh was snoring softly beside me on the guest bed — which was somehow too soft and too hard at the same time.
I slipped out quietly and went to the kitchen for some water.
Through a slightly open window, I heard Josh’s mom talking on the phone in the backyard. Her words made my heart stop.
“I made her scrub the whole place, cook for us, and bathe outside,” she giggled like a teenager sharing juicy gossip. “She thinks the shower’s broken. Please. It works just 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 twisted in knots.
I backed away from the window, my heart pounding.
I wanted to shout at her. I wanted to storm outside and hose her down with the freezing water I’d had to bathe in last night.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I grabbed a glass and headed to the sink to fill it.
Just then, heavy footsteps echoed behind me.
“You won’t get any water from that sink,” Josh’s dad said, stepping into the kitchen. “The plumber’s coming later to fix it, but for now, try the bathroom.”
I nodded without thinking.
I had bigger worries on my mind.
That morning, I did my best to avoid Josh’s mom. Finally, just before noon, I pulled Josh aside for a walk around the lake.
The sun shone through the trees, birds sang, 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 asked.
He sighed. “She’s just protective. Wants to make sure you’re right for me.”
“By making me scrub toilets and cook over a fire?”
“It’s not ideal, I know. But she’ll come around.”
I wasn’t so sure, but I nodded anyway.
As we rounded the bend toward the house, I noticed a truck parked in the driveway.
“Looks like we have company,” Josh said.
Then, suddenly, a loud scream shattered the quiet — glass breaking, and it was definitely his mom’s voice.
We ran the rest of the way to the house, bursting through the front door.
Josh’s dad looked confused, standing in the living room.
“What happened?” Josh demanded.
His dad pointed down 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 that was “broken.”
Just then, a man in red overalls hurried past us, toolbox in hand.
“So 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 hard 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, her face bright red with embarrassment and anger.
“Why didn’t you tell him I was here?!” she shouted at her husband.
I couldn’t help it—a small, victorious smile crept onto my lips.
“I thought the shower was broken,” I said, my voice calm but my eyes locked on hers.
Josh blinked, then looked at his mom, then at me, and then back at his mom.
“You lied?” he asked her.
She didn’t answer. Her silence said it all.
That night, we packed our bags.
Josh didn’t speak to his mother, and she didn’t try to stop us from leaving.
She didn’t need to say anything — the game was over.
As we carried our bags to the car, the lake glittered in the setting sun.
The porch swing creaked softly in the evening breeze.
Josh was quiet as he drove, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said halfway home.
“For what?” I asked, even though I already knew.
“For not standing up for you. For letting her treat you like that.”
I reached over and touched his arm gently.
“Some tests backfire,” I said.
He glanced at me, then back at the road.
“What do you mean?”
“She wasn’t just testing me, Josh. She was testing you, too. To see how much you’d put up with. I think we both learned something important.”
The highway stretched ahead, taking us far away from the lake house and all its twisted games.
Karma doesn’t knock. She just walks in when you least expect it.
I rolled down the window and let the fresh air wash over me, feeling clean for the first time all weekend.
