She Mocked My Skin Care for Years—Then Got a Lesson She’d Never Forget
I’ve never been the kind of woman who tears others down just to feel better. I believe in lifting other women up, not knocking them down. My friends call me a “girl’s girl”—the type who shows up with chocolate on a bad day and reminds you to fix your crown, not gossip behind your back.
So when my sister-in-law, Janice, moved into our house after years of insulting everything I owned, I knew something big was about to happen. Karma had been watching… and it was finally ready to strike.
Let me back up.
When I met my husband Arnold two years ago, I was drawn to his kindness. He treated everyone with respect, never a bad word about anyone. We got married a year ago, and our life together was honestly wonderful. No drama, no games—just two people building something beautiful.
Then came Janice.
Janice is married to Arnold’s older brother, Ben. I’d heard stories about her—how she always had something snide to say—but nothing prepared me for the real thing.
Our first real meeting was at a family dinner I hosted six months ago. I went all out. I scrubbed the house, cooked dishes Arnold’s family loved, and even added fresh flowers to the table.
Janice walked in like she was a judge on a home makeover show. Manicured nails, flawless hair, an expensive bag swinging from her arm, and that iced coffee cup that just screamed look at me.
She looked around and said with a fake smile,
“Oh, this is so cute! Like a little dollhouse. I’d go crazy without proper closet space, but hey—you’re making it work!”
I blushed but smiled politely.
At dinner, the comments didn’t stop.
“Amelia, have you ever tried a real concealer? What you’re using has such… drugstore energy. Bless your heart for trying though.”
Arnold squeezed my hand under the table. His jaw was tight, but we had promised each other we’d avoid family drama. So I changed the subject and kept smiling.
She poked fun at everything—our secondhand furniture, my cooking, even my outfit.
“So brave to go with secondhand pieces!” she said.
“I love how you’re not afraid to experiment with simple ingredients.”
By the end of the night, I was drained. Arnold and I washed dishes in silence. He finally said,
“That was…”
“Awful,” I finished. “She made me feel terrible about everything.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was like that.”
But that dinner was only the beginning.
After that, I made a decision—I’d kill her with kindness. Every time we saw her, I’d smile and pretend her comments didn’t sting. But they did.
Arnold would catch me staring at myself in the mirror after seeing her.
“Don’t let her get to you,” he’d say. “She’s just insecure.”
I’d nod and try to believe it. But inside, I was exhausted.
Then, three weeks ago, karma knocked on our door. Ben called Arnold in a panic.
“There was a plumbing disaster,” Arnold told me. “Their whole floor’s flooded. They need a place to stay for a few days.”
My heart sank. But I said,
“Of course they can stay here.”
Even though every part of me wanted to scream NO.
Janice and Ben moved into our guest room, which Janice described as
“quaint… like camping indoors.”
Ben was great—he cooked and helped clean. Janice? She treated our home like a hotel.
Then I noticed something strange.
My expensive moisturizer started running out faster. My eye cream—half gone. My $80 vitamin C serum? It looked like someone had taken a bath in it.
At first, I thought I was being paranoid. But then… I caught her red-handed.
I stepped out of the shower and found Janice in front of my bathroom mirror, slathering my retinol serum all over her face.
“Janice?” I said, holding my towel tight.
She jumped.
“Oh! Amelia! I ran out of my serum and thought I’d borrow just a bit. You don’t mind, right?”
“Actually, that’s a very expensive serum… made for my skin type,” I said, trying to stay calm.
She looked at me all innocent.
“No, no, I have my own products. This must be a misunderstanding.”
But it kept happening. My products kept vanishing. And when I confronted her again?
“I’d never use your stuff without asking. I have my own routine!”
Sure, Janice. A routine made of invisible products, apparently, because I never saw a single one in the bathroom.
Then came the final straw.
One evening, while we were eating dinner, Janice looked at me and said,
“You’re so brave for using such basic products. I could never risk my skin like that. But hey, good for you!”
That was it. The woman stealing my $80 skincare was mocking me for being “cheap.”
Lying in bed that night, I came up with a plan.
I found an old glass serum bottle I’d saved. I cleaned it out and filled it with something special—a prescription-strength cream my dermatologist gave me for keratosis on my elbow. Super strong. Not dangerous, just seriously irritating for delicate facial skin.
I placed it next to my real products and waited.
The next morning, I was sipping coffee when I heard a loud shriek from the bathroom.
“OH MY GOD, WHAT IS HAPPENING TO MY FACE?!”
Janice ran into the kitchen, face blotchy and red, fanning herself wildly.
“AMELIA! My face! It’s burning!”
I blinked at her calmly.
“Oh no! Did you try something new?”
“I thought that little glass bottle was just… for everyone to use?”
I took a slow sip of coffee.
“Oh, sweetie, no. That’s prescription. Super strong stuff. Not exactly a ‘for everyone’ product.”
Her face twisted in rage.
“You should’ve labeled it! Put a warning on it!”
I smiled.
“Maybe don’t go through other people’s things next time? Just a thought.”
She stared at me, blinking, realizing I knew. I always knew.
She stormed back to the bathroom, and for the rest of the week, she was quiet. No more snide comments. No more stolen products. She didn’t say a single word about my skincare or my home.
When they finally moved out, Janice couldn’t even look at me. Ben thanked us over and over. He had no idea what had really gone down in that bathroom.
As I watched their car pull away, Arnold slipped his arm around me.
“You seem proud of yourself,” he said with a smirk.
“I have no idea what you mean,” I said with a grin. “Just happy we could help family.”
Sometimes karma just needs a little push. And Janice? She never touched my stuff—or my nerves—again.
