Mia and Bob’s anniversary trip was supposed to be a romantic paradise—until her mother-in-law crashed it. Linda booked a room next to theirs, sabotaged every romantic moment, and whispered cruel things to Mia. But Linda had no idea that Mia was about to teach her a lesson she would never forget.
Bob and I needed this trip.
After months of stress—balancing work, parenting, and living with his mother, Linda, after our house fire—we finally had our first real break in years. To make it even better, we were celebrating our seventh wedding anniversary.
No kids. No responsibilities. Just us.
For the first three days, it was absolute paradise.
We slept in, curled up in the softest hotel sheets imaginable. We had slow, peaceful breakfasts on our balcony, watching the waves crash against the shore. We spent our afternoons lounging on the beach, sipping cocktails, and touching each other like newlyweds all over again.
For the first time in a long time, I had my husband all to myself.
Until she arrived.
I turned my head slowly, like a horror movie protagonist realizing the monster was right behind them.
And there she was.
Linda.
My mother-in-law.
“Mia! Bobby!”
That high-pitched, sing-song voice I had spent the last three months trying to escape.
She stood there, wearing a bright floral dress, oversized sunglasses, and a smug little smile on her face.
“I thought you two would get bored without me!” she chirped. “So… here I am!”
I didn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.
Bob, on the other hand, nearly choked on his drink.
“Mom? What the hell are you doing here? Are you serious?”
She strutted over to us, dug her feet into the sand, and beamed.
“I bought a last-minute ticket! I figured you two lovebirds could use some company. And honestly, I needed a little sunshine too. I deserve this, too.”
I felt my throat go dry.
“Linda,” I choked. “Where are the kids? Are they okay? Is something wrong? Why are you here?”
She waved her hand dismissively.
“Oh, don’t worry, dear. The kids are with Irene, my best friend. She missed them so much—she was thrilled to have them! Her grandkids live across the country, so this is great for her.”
My jaw was clenched.
The same woman who begged us to take this trip so we could finally have time alone… had just abandoned our three children to chase us across the Pacific?!
I turned to my husband. Bob looked like a man on death row—his face hollow, his eyes sunken and tired.
We had been so full of life just moments before.
“What do you have to say about this?” I asked him, setting my cocktail down.
Bob sighed. “She’s already here, Mia… we can’t just send her back. I’m so sorry, honey. I guess we’ll have to deal with it.”
Something deep inside me snapped.
Was he really letting his mother crash our anniversary trip?
Was he really putting me second to her, once again?
Did he really think this was okay?
Bob stood up. “I’ll get Mom a drink,” he said, already walking toward the beach bar.
Oh. My. God. It had already begun.
And then, Linda leaned in.
“Mia, do you really think you’re the most important woman in my son’s life now?” she whispered. “Don’t fool yourself. I still am.”
The ocean itself seemed to fall silent.
I had no words.
Linda booked a room right next to ours and spent the rest of the trip ruining everything.
That first night, Bob and I were supposed to have a romantic beach picnic with other couples. We had already ordered the food through the hotel’s room service menu. All we had to do was pick up the basket and head to the shore.
Guess what happened?
Linda took the entire basket to her room and helped herself.
But that wasn’t all.
The romantic sunset cruise?
Linda suddenly felt dizzy and needed Bob to escort her back to her room.
The private dinner on the beach?
Oh, Linda had “accidentally” changed the reservation to accommodate a table for three.
The couples’ spa night?
She “couldn’t sleep alone” because of “nightmares” and begged Bob to “come to her room for just a second.”
I was boiling.
But on the third night, when she knocked on our door for the fourth time, I snapped.
“Bob, don’t open it,” I whispered. “Please. Just don’t.”
“But what if she—what if she needs something?”
“DO NOT open that door,” I gritted my teeth.
I was done. More than done. I was furious. I was exhausted. My anniversary felt like a nightmare.
So the next morning, I made a phone call.
“Endless Adventures, Hawaii. How can we help?” a voice answered.
“Hi,” I whispered, stepping into the bathroom so I wouldn’t wake Bob. “I need your most exclusive experience. No, I’m not going. But my mother-in-law is. She’s going to love this.”
“No problem, ma’am. We’ll send a full itinerary to your room shortly. Just provide her details, including any health concerns.”
When Linda woke up, she had a full day ahead of her.
6:00 AM: Sunrise hike (10 miles, one break).
9:00 AM: Volcano tour (minimal shade, scorching temperatures).
12:00 PM: Traditional Hawaiian dance class (long, exhausting, and unavoidable).
3:00 PM: Cultural cooking lesson (mandatory for the package, three hours of chopping, stirring, and sweating).
6:00 PM: Private nighttime safari (for the sleep-deprived!).
Linda knocked on our door at 7:00 AM, looking sweaty and very confused.
“Did you guys sign me up for something?” she asked, waving her phone. “I keep getting these notifications, but I think I missed a hike.”
I gasped, clutching my chest like my life depended on it.
“Oh no, Linda! Did they put you in an activity program by mistake? Maybe you agreed to something at check-in. That’s so weird.”
Bob, my sweet, oblivious husband, blinked.
“Do you… want to cancel?” he asked.
She hesitated.
See, Linda had a lot of pride. She would never admit she couldn’t keep up. She would never admit she was struggling.
So if she said yes, she would lose.
Instead, she straightened up and forced a smile.
“No… no, I’ll go. I don’t want to waste the experience.”
Good.
By Day 3, she was too exhausted to text.
By Day 4, she called me.
Her voice was weak. Desperate.
“Mia… please help me. Please make it stop. I just want to go home.”
Oh, Linda. Mission accomplished.
I booked her a flight that afternoon.
As Bob helped her out of the car, I leaned in, my voice soft.
“Maybe I’m not Bob’s number one, Linda,” I whispered. “But at least now you know—I can outsmart you.”
Linda never pulled a stunt like that again.
