After nearly a year of non-stop chaos, Liam and I had finally carved out a little escape. Our seventh wedding anniversary was coming up, and we needed a break — badly.
Raising three energetic kids, working full-time jobs, and — most recently — living with his mother, Judith, after a fire wrecked our kitchen… it had all taken a toll. So when the chance came to take a week-long vacation to Maui, we jumped on it.
No children. No demands. No in-laws.
Just me and Liam — the way it used to be.
And for the first three days?
Absolute paradise.
We slept in. We sipped coffee on our private balcony overlooking the beach. We lounged under the sun with fruity cocktails and wandered hand-in-hand down moonlit shores. Every kiss felt like we were falling in love all over again.
For once, I had my husband to myself.
Until I didn’t.
It was early afternoon on Day 4. We were lying in the sand, skin warm from the sun, when I heard a voice behind us. A voice I knew far too well.
“Amelia! Liam!”
I froze. You know those horror movies where the protagonist slowly turns their head, knowing something terrible is right behind them?
That was me.
Standing just a few feet away, in a blindingly bright floral dress and oversized sunglasses, was Judith — my mother-in-law.
“I thought you two might get lonely without me!” she chirped. “So I flew out!”
I stared at her like she’d grown three heads. Liam nearly choked on his drink.
“Mom?” he said, sitting upright. “What… what are you doing here?!”
She kicked off her sandals, plopped herself down on a lounger like she owned the resort, and stretched with a sigh.
“Last-minute decision! I figured you two lovebirds could use a little sunshine and some familiar company. Besides, I needed a vacation too.”
I blinked.
This woman — who had insisted we take the trip to reconnect — had left our kids with some friend of hers and followed us halfway across the Pacific?
“Judith,” I asked slowly, “where are the kids?”
“Oh, they’re with my friend Cathy. She’s missed them! It’s perfect.”
I turned to Liam. He looked as if someone had unplugged his brain. Pale. Jaw slack. Panicked.
I put my drink down. “What are you going to do about this?”
He ran a hand down his face, exhaling. “She’s already here, babe… what can we do? I’ll talk to her.”
He got up to grab her a drink.
And just like that, our romantic escape turned into a three-person circus.
Judith didn’t waste a minute before making her presence known. She sat too close, interrupted every conversation, and somehow twisted every moment to center herself.
At one point, while Liam was off grabbing us towels, she leaned in and whispered, “You do realize you haven’t replaced me in Liam’s life, right? He still listens to me. Always has.”
Her voice was sugary-sweet, but the poison beneath it was unmistakable.
I stared at her. Too stunned to speak.
And that was just the beginning.
The picnic Liam planned on the beach? She “borrowed” the basket and brought it to her room.
The sunset sail? Judith suddenly felt dizzy and insisted Liam take her back early — and “stay with her” just in case it was serious.
Our reservation at a romantic seafood restaurant? “Oh, Amelia,” she’d said brightly, “I called the hotel and added myself to your dinner. I hate eating alone!”
Even our spa night was hijacked.
“I’ve been having nightmares,” she said with big, sad eyes. “Liam, can you just… stay in my room tonight?”
By the third night, I had had it.
When she knocked on our suite’s door — again — I glared at Liam.
“Don’t open it.”
He hesitated. “What if she—?”
“I said. Don’t open it.”
My voice was low and cold. Judith had crossed every possible line.
And Liam? He was letting her.
That night, I didn’t sleep. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, boiling with frustration.
By sunrise, I had a plan.
I slipped into the bathroom, locked the door, and made a call.
“Endless Horizons Excursions, Maui. How can we help you today?”
“Hi,” I whispered. “I need your most intense, exhausting, jam-packed full-day tour. Not for me. For my mother-in-law.”
The woman on the phone chuckled. “We’ve got just the thing.”
She sent the itinerary to our room. All I had to do was fill in Judith’s info and check a box confirming she was in “adequate health.” (She never stopped bragging about her “perfect blood pressure” — she’d be fine.)
The next morning, at 7 AM sharp, Judith knocked on our door, soaked in sweat and clutching a paper.
“Did you… did you sign me up for something?” she croaked. “I think I missed… a hike?”
I gasped, hand to chest. “Oh no! Did you accidentally tick the ‘adventure itinerary’ box at check-in? That’s so weird!”
Liam frowned. “Do you want us to cancel it?”
Judith hesitated. I could see the war inside her.
Admit defeat? Or keep pretending she was the unstoppable matriarch?
She straightened up, though wobbly. “No… I’ll go. I don’t want to waste the opportunity.”
Perfect.
Here was what awaited her:
6:00 AM – Sunrise hike through uneven volcanic terrain (10 miles, one water stop).
9:00 AM – Lava field trekking, no shade, full sun.
12:00 PM – Hula dance class in full traditional gear (group participation mandatory).
3:00 PM – Hawaiian cooking class in a steamy kitchen with three hours of prep.
6:00 PM – Night safari through dense rainforest trails.
And guess what?
She went.
That evening, she stumbled back to the resort like a woman who’d been through war. Her skin was sunburned, her hair a tangled mess, her voice hoarse.
By Day 3 of her “adventure” experience, Judith was silent.
By Day 4, she cracked.
She called me.
“Amelia,” she croaked, “please… make it stop. I just want to go home.”
I didn’t say “I told you so.” I didn’t say anything snide.
I just said, “Of course, Judith. I’ll book you a flight out this afternoon.”
She was gone before dinner.
As Liam helped her into the cab, I leaned down and whispered in her ear:
“Maybe I’m not number one in Liam’s life. But now you know — I’m not someone you want to push.”
Judith hasn’t tried anything like that again.
