We had been looking forward to this Christmas vacation for months—a cozy mountain retreat, just Daniel, me, and our three kids: Nora, Sienna, and Jacob. No interruptions, no drama, just snow-covered hills, the warmth of a crackling fireplace, and endless hot cocoa and mulled wine. It was supposed to be our perfect holiday escape—far away from the chaos, especially Christine.
Christine is my mother-in-law.
Now, Christine isn’t evil—she doesn’t plot or cackle—but she is… exhausting. Even after ten years of marriage, she still hasn’t quite accepted me.
“You took my son from me, Tessa,” she often says, her words sugar-coated but dripping with judgment.
With her talent for passive-aggressive comments and her knack for stirring up drama, Christine can turn any peaceful moment into a circus.
But this year, Daniel and I had drawn the line. No surprise visits, no guilt trips, no sabotaged plans. This Christmas, we were reclaiming our holiday.
Daniel had been adamant about it. “We need this, Tess,” he’d said one morning over coffee. “I love my mom, but these are the memories our kids will carry into adulthood. These are the traditions they’ll pass on someday.”
And so, we booked the cabin and never looked back.
Christmas Eve began like a dream. Sunlight danced on the snow, and the kids eagerly opened small pre-holiday presents while I flipped pancakes and bacon in the cabin’s kitchen.
“Mom, fuzzy socks! Just like I wanted!” Jacob exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.
But then Daniel’s phone buzzed loudly on the counter.
“Mom calling,” the screen read.
He sighed, picking up and putting her on speaker as I continued cooking.
“Hi, Mom. Merry Christmas Eve. What’s up?”
Christine’s voice came through in a frantic, high-pitched rush. “Oh, Daniel, it’s a disaster! The pipes burst, and the entire downstairs is flooding. Your father can’t handle it alone! You have to come home right now!”
“Mom, we’re six hours away in the mountains,” Daniel reminded her, trying to keep his tone neutral.
“I know, but who else can I call? It’s Christmas Eve! Please, Daniel, I need you!”
“Why not call a plumber?” I suggested calmly.
“No, no, it’s too late for that! Everyone’s booked solid for the holidays. I just need my son!”
I exchanged a glance with Daniel. This wasn’t our first run-in with Christine’s “emergencies.” There had been the infamous July incident where she’d claimed to have fallen, only for us to find her perfectly fine, sipping tea when we arrived.
Daniel muted the call and leaned toward me, smirking. “Let’s verify this.”
He dialed his father from my phone.
“Hey, Dad. What’s going on at the house? Mom says the pipes burst, and the house is flooding.”
Philip chuckled. “Flooding? What’s she talking about? She’s upstairs in bed. I’m downstairs watching a movie. Everything’s fine here, son.”
Daniel’s smirk deepened. “Thanks, Dad. Just checking.”
Unmuting Christine, he kept his voice level. “Okay, Mom. I’ll head over soon.”
After hanging up, he turned to me. “It’s time to put an end to this once and for all.”
“Dan, this will ruin our holiday,” I protested.
“Trust me,” he said with a wink.
So, I did.
We packed up the kids and drove the six hours to his parents’ house. When we arrived, Daniel had us hang back while he approached the door alone.
Christine greeted him with over-the-top relief. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here, Daniel! It’s a miracle—the flood is gone!”
“How convenient,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Then, without missing a beat, he turned back toward the car. “Come on, kids! Let’s get inside!”
Christine’s face twisted in confusion. “Who’s here? What’s going on?”
“My family,” Daniel said, brushing past her. “Did you think I’d leave them behind in a snowy cabin on Christmas Eve?”
Before she could respond, cars began pulling into the driveway.
I couldn’t help but grin as my family arrived, carrying trays of food, decorations, and presents.
“This was your plan?” I whispered to Daniel, stifling a laugh.
“Yup. If she’s going to cry wolf, she might as well host the whole pack,” he replied.
Christine’s eyes widened as wave after wave of my family spilled into her pristine home, filling it with laughter and holiday cheer.
Her husband, Philip, was delighted. “This is the best Christmas gift ever!” he declared, roaring with laughter.
Christine, meanwhile, fluttered around like a panicked bird, trying to regain control.
“Daniel! Why didn’t you warn me?” she hissed at one point, downing a glass of wine.
“Because you lied, Mom,” he said simply.
When dinner was served, Daniel raised his glass for a toast. “To family—and to spending the holidays with everyone you love, even the ones who manipulate you into coming over.”
Philip nearly fell out of his chair laughing, while Christine’s glare could have frozen the roast.
As the night wound down, Daniel hugged his mom goodbye. “Merry Christmas, Mom. Let’s not do this again, okay?”
She didn’t reply, but her expression said everything.
As we drove back to the cabin, the kids fast asleep in the backseat, Daniel reached over to squeeze my hand.
“Best Christmas ever?” he asked, grinning.
I laughed, leaning against the window. “Definitely one for the books.”
That Christmas Eve, Christine learned the hard way that crying wolf doesn’t always go unpunished—and we got a holiday story to remember forever.
