I knew I was in for it the moment the group text came through. It was my mother-in-law Sandra’s 60th birthday, and she was planning a “classy family dinner”—which, of course, meant we’d do all the work, and she’d soak up the praise.
Her message laid out everyone’s assignments: wine for her daughters, rolls for her niece, and “just show up hungry” for my husband. Then came mine—a full menu of five made-from-scratch dishes, complete with bolded instructions: no shortcuts.
When I showed my husband, he shrugged. “You’re the best cook.” Translation: deal with it.
So I cooked. For two full days. I prepped, baked, and made everything from scratch, including homemade pasta for the lasagna. Exhausted but proud, I packed it all with heating instructions and garnishes.
At the party, Sandra greeted me with an air kiss and told me to drop the food in the kitchen without even glancing at it. As the buffet opened and guests began complimenting the food, I heard Sandra say, “My girls really outdid themselves.”
She gestured at her daughters. Not a single mention of me.
During her toast, she even smirked in my direction and said, “Some went above and beyond. Others just showed up.” That was it.
So I calmly stood up, pulled out an envelope from my purse, and said, “Since you’re keeping track, here are the grocery receipts—$263.48. Venmo, Zelle, PayPal, or cash works.”
The room fell silent. Her husband muttered, “Fair’s fair.” Sandra? She scurried off to “check on the candles.”
She never apologized or mentioned it again. But from that day forward, I was free. No more dish assignments. No more stolen credit.
Now, I show up empty-handed—and bring something better than food: boundaries.
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