I’ve never been the type to air my private life online. Truly, I haven’t. But what happened last Easter was too satisfying not to share.
My name is Emma. I’m 35, work as a marketing director, and I’ve been married to my husband Carter for three wonderful years. He’s thoughtful, funny, and—most importantly—knows how to properly load a dishwasher.
Our marriage is solid in every way except for one uncomfortable detail: his family.
“Emma, sweetheart, since you’re heading to the kitchen, could you bring me another mimosa?” My mother-in-law Patricia called out from the patio, where she’d been relaxing for nearly an hour.
I’m not someone who complains about everything. I don’t use social media to vent or post passive-aggressive messages. But Carter’s mother and his three sisters—Sophia, Melissa, and Hailey—have a special talent for entitlement.
From the beginning, they made it clear I wasn’t exactly the wife they had envisioned for Carter.
Their compliments always came with sharp edges.
“Wow, you’re so confident to wear something that tight,” Sophia, the eldest, said once, scanning my perfectly normal outfit.
Melissa constantly commented on my food choices. “It’s refreshing how you don’t worry about calories,” she’d say with a smile that wasn’t kind.
Hailey, despite being younger than me, spoke like a judgmental aunt. “We have strong family traditions. I hope you can keep up.”
But this Easter? They truly went all out.
“Since you and Carter don’t have kids yet,” Melissa said weeks before the holiday while her children climbed all over my freshly cleaned sofa, “it makes sense for you to organize the Easter egg hunt.”
Not just hiding plastic eggs. I was expected to plan a full scavenger hunt, costumes, and even a bunny mascot—on my own budget.
“It would really show your commitment to the family,” Sophia added, sipping her coffee on my patio.
Carter tried to object, but his sisters shut him down instantly. “That’s just how we do things.”
I said nothing. I was already planning something far better.
Two days before Easter, Patricia sent me a group message—without Carter, of course.
“Since you’re already helping, you can cook Easter dinner too. Carter deserves a wife who knows how to host. 😘”
Twenty-five people. A full menu. No offers of help.
Carter was furious when he saw the messages. “This is ridiculous. We’ll order catering.”
I smiled calmly. “No. Let me handle it.”
Easter Sunday arrived with perfect spring weather.
I’d been cooking since early morning and setting up the egg hunt. The family arrived, ate, and immediately began criticizing everything.
“The ham is a bit dry.” “These potatoes need more butter.” “We usually serve gravy properly.”
The kids trashed the house. A vase broke. No one moved.
After the meal, they sprawled on the couches with wine glasses.
“The kitchen won’t clean itself,” Sophia said casually.
Carter stood up to help me. I stopped him.
“Go relax. I’ve got it.”
They smiled, convinced they’d won.
That’s when I clapped my hands.
“Kids! Who’s ready for the Golden Egg Challenge?”
They rushed over instantly.
I held up a shiny golden egg.
“Whoever finds this wins a very special prize.”
They sprinted into the backyard.
Minutes later, little Lily emerged victorious, holding the golden egg high.
I asked her to open the note inside.
Then I read it aloud.
“The Golden Egg Prize: your entire family cleans up Easter together!”
Silence.
Then the kids began chanting: “CLEAN UP! CLEAN UP!”
Carter laughed beside me.
The adults had no graceful escape.
An hour later, I was on the patio, mimosa in hand, while my mother-in-law and her daughters scrubbed dishes and counters.
Patricia glanced at me differently that day. Not angry. Almost… respectful.
Next Easter, I suspect they’ll bring their own food—and cleaning supplies.
This story is inspired by real situations but fully rewritten and fictionalized. Names, details, and characters have been changed for creative and privacy reasons.
