When my sister-in-law had to move in with us after years of insulting everything I owned, I knew karma was about to serve her a lesson. What she did to my skincare routine crossed every line, but what happened to her face the next morning? I can never forget that.
I’ve never been the type of woman who gets satisfaction from tearing other people down. You know those women who seem to feed off making others feel small? That’s never been me.
I’m what my friends call a “girl’s girl.” The kind who believes in lifting each other up instead of knocking each other down.
Friends holding hands | Source: Pexels
When one of my friends is having a bad day, I’m the one showing up with chocolate and telling her to fix her crown, not gossiping about her problems behind her back.
I genuinely believe in sisterhood. Life is hard enough without women making it harder for each other.
That’s actually what drew me to my husband, Arnold, in the first place. He’s cut from the same cloth. He’s the kind of man who builds people up instead of tearing them down.
A man standing outdoors | Source: Midjourney
When we met two years ago, I was immediately attracted to his kindness and the way he spoke about everyone in his life with genuine respect.
We got married a year ago, and honestly, life has been pretty wonderful. Arnold and I wanted to build something beautiful together. We were that couple our friends actually enjoyed being around because we weren’t constantly bickering or competing with each other.
A couple holding hands | Source: Pexels
Then Janice entered our lives.
Janice is my sister-in-law, married to Arnold’s older brother Ben. I’d heard stories about her before we officially met, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality of dealing with her in person.
Our first real encounter happened about six months ago when I decided to host a family dinner at our house. I was nervous about making a good impression, so I spent days preparing. I cleaned every corner, cooked Arnold’s family’s favorite dishes, and even bought fresh flowers for the dining room table.
Flowers on a table | Source: Pexels
Janice walked through our front door like she was judging a home design competition. She had perfectly manicured nails, hair that looked like she’d just stepped out of a salon, and was carrying a handbag that probably cost more than our monthly mortgage payment.
Her oversized Stanley cup was covered in expensive stickers, and everything about her screamed, “I have opinions about your choices.”
A Stanley cup | Source: Pexels
Before she’d even sat down, the comments started.
“Oh, this is so cute!” she said, looking around our living room with wide eyes. “It’s like… dollhouse cozy. Must be fun playing real life in such a tiny space. Honestly, I’d lose my mind without proper closet space, but you’re making it work!”
I felt my cheeks burn, but I smiled and thanked her for the compliment.
As we sat down for dinner, she continued her commentary tour of my life choices.
Food on a table | Source: Pexels
“Amelia, you know what? You’d look so much more awake with a proper concealer,” she said. “That brand you’re using has such, uh, drugstore energy. Bless your heart for trying, though.”
Arnold squeezed my hand under the table, and I could see the tension in his jaw. But we’d both agreed beforehand that we wanted to keep things peaceful in our family. Arnold and his brother were close, and I didn’t want to be the reason for family drama.
So, I smiled again and changed the subject to safer topics like work and weather.
A close-up shot of a woman’s eyes | Source: Pexels
But Janice wasn’t done.
Throughout the evening, she managed to comment on everything from our furniture (“So brave to go with secondhand pieces!”) to my cooking (“I love how you’re not afraid to experiment with simple ingredients”).
By the end of the night, I felt completely drained. Arnold and I cleaned up in silence while processing what had happened.
“That was…” he finally said, scrubbing a plate with unnecessary force.
A man washing dishes | Source: Pexels
“Awful,” I finished. “She spent the entire evening making me feel terrible about our home, my appearance, and basically everything about me.”
“I’m sorry, babe. I had no idea she was like that.”
Neither of us knew that this was just the beginning.
A man looking at his wife | Source: Midjourney
After that dinner, I made a conscious decision to kill Janice with kindness. Every time we saw her at family gatherings, I’d smile through her comments and refuse to sink to her level. When she’d make remarks about my “brave fashion choices” or my “interesting home decor decisions,” I’d just nod and change the subject.
It wasn’t easy. Her comments stung more than I wanted to admit.
Arnold would find me staring at myself in the mirror after family events, wondering if my makeup really did look that cheap or if our house actually seemed as small and pathetic as she made it sound.
A living room | Source: Pexels
“Don’t let her get to you,” Arnold would say, wrapping his arms around me. “She’s just insecure and taking it out on everyone else.”
“I know,” I’d reply. “I just don’t understand why she has to be so mean. We’re supposed to be family.”
But I stuck to my principles. I believed there had to be a better way to handle the situation than stooping to her level. Maybe if I continued being kind, she’d eventually realize that her behavior was unnecessary and hurtful.
That strategy lasted until three weeks ago when Ben called Arnold in a panic.
A man talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
“Their building had a major plumbing disaster,” Arnold explained after hanging up the phone. “The entire floor flooded. They need somewhere to stay for a few days while the repairs are being done.”
My heart sank, but what could I say? They were family, and they genuinely needed help.
“Of course they can stay here,” I told Arnold, even though every fiber of my being was screaming in protest.
So, Janice and Ben moved into our guest room, which, according to Janice, was “quaint” and “like camping, but indoors.”
A guest bedroom | Source: Pexels
She managed to make even our hospitality sound like a favor we should be grateful she was accepting.
The first few days were manageable. Ben was genuinely grateful and helpful, offering to cook dinner and clean up after himself. Janice, on the other hand, treated our home like her personal hotel.
That’s when I started noticing things in my bathroom.
A bathroom | Source: Pexels
It began subtly.
My expensive moisturizer seemed to be running out faster than usual. The eye cream I’d splurged on last month suddenly looked half empty. A brand-new vitamin C serum that I’d been carefully rationing appeared to have been used generously by someone else.
At first, I thought I was imagining things. Maybe I was using more product than I realized, or perhaps the containers were just designed to look fuller than they actually were.
But then I caught her.
A woman using skincare products in the bathroom | Source: Pexels
I was coming out of the shower one morning when I saw Janice in front of my bathroom mirror. She had my $80 retinol serum in her hands while she was applying it liberally to her face.
“Janice?” I said, wrapping my towel tighter around myself.
She jumped, nearly dropping the bottle. “Oh! Amelia! I was just… I ran out of my serum and thought I’d borrow a tiny bit. You don’t mind, right?”
“Actually, that’s a pretty expensive serum,” I said carefully. “And it’s specifically formulated for my skin type.”
A woman looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
She gave me that wide-eyed innocent look that I was starting to hate.
“What?” she said. “No, I would never just take your stuff! I have my own skincare routine. This must be a misunderstanding.”
But over the next week, it kept happening. My products continued disappearing at an alarming rate. When I’d confront her, she’d always have the same response.
“I’d never use your things without asking,” she’d say. “I have my own products.”
Sure, Janice. Your own products that were apparently invisible, because I never saw a single skincare item of hers in our shared bathroom space.
Skincare products | Source: Pexels
The final straw came when she had the audacity to comment on my “drugstore skincare routine” during dinner with Ben and Arnold.
“Bless your heart, Amelia,” she said. “You’re so brave for using such basic products. I could never sacrifice my skin like that, but good for you for being so low-maintenance.”
This was coming from the woman who’d been stealing my high-end skincare products for two weeks straight.
That night, lying in bed next to Arnold, I made a decision. If Janice wanted to play games, I was ready to play along.
Windows of a house at night | Source: Pexels
The next morning, I put my plan into action.
I had an old serum bottle in my medicine cabinet. It had contained a gentle vitamin C serum months ago, but now it was going to serve a very different purpose.
I carefully cleaned out the bottle and filled it with something special: a prescription-strength keratosis treatment that my dermatologist had given me for a rough patch on my elbow. The stuff was serious business. It was designed to remove thick, stubborn skin buildup.
A woman using a serum | Source: Pexels
It didn’t smell bad and felt normal when you first applied it, but if you used it on regular facial skin? Well, let’s just say it would create a very uncomfortable learning experience.
It wasn’t dangerous, just incredibly irritating and likely to cause some temporary redness and peeling. Perfect for someone who needed to learn about boundaries.
I placed the decoy bottle right where Janice would see it, next to my other serums. Then I waited.
The next morning, I was sipping my coffee in the kitchen when I heard a muffled shriek from the bathroom followed by frantic footsteps.
A woman walking | Source: Midjourney
“Oh my God, oh my GOD, what the hell is happening to my face?!”
Janice burst into the kitchen looking like she’d tried to hug a tanning bed. Her face was blotchy, with some orange and red spots. She was fanning herself frantically, her eyes watering from the burning sensation.
“Amelia!” she gasped. “Something’s wrong! My face is on fire!”
I looked up from my coffee with perfectly innocent concern. “Oh no! What happened? Did you try a new product?”
A woman holding a coffee mug | Source: Pexels
“I mean… maybe I used that little glass bottle? I thought it was, like, for everyone to use?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, honey, no. That’s a prescription treatment. Super strong stuff. Definitely not a ‘for everyone’ kind of product.”
Her face went from orange-red to pure rage. “Why the hell don’t you label it?! You need to put warnings on these things!”
I took another sip of my coffee. “You know what, Janice? Next time, maybe just don’t go through other people’s personal belongings? That works both ways, don’t you think?”
A woman using her makeup bag | Source: Pexels
She stared at me, blinking through the stinging sensation, finally understanding that I knew exactly what she’d been doing all along.
Without another word, she stomped back to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face.
The rest of their stay was blissfully quiet. Janice kept her hands off my belongings and her comments to herself. No more remarks about my “brave” skincare choices or my “interesting” decorating style.
Lamp in a bedroom | Source: Pexels
When they finally moved back to their repaired apartment a week later, Janice couldn’t make eye contact with me. Ben thanked us profusely for our hospitality, completely oblivious to the silent war that had been waged in our bathroom.
As I watched them drive away, Arnold put his arm around my shoulders.
“You seem pretty pleased with yourself,” he said with a knowing smile.
A man smiling | Source: Midjourney
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I replied innocently. “I’m just glad we could help family in their time of need.”
Sometimes karma needs a little help finding its way. I’m glad my plan worked exactly the way I wanted it. The best part was that Janice never made another comment or touched my stuff again.
Do you think I did the right thing? What would you have done if you were in my place?
If you enjoyed reading this story, here’s another one you might like: When my husband Mark started complaining that I spent “forever” in the bathroom, I tried explaining that all those hours were for him, so I’d look beautiful and smell amazing. But his complaints got worse every single day. That’s when I decided to teach him a lesson he’d never forget.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
Để lại một phản hồi