When I caught my MIL stealing cash from our wedding envelopes, she denied it and said she was “organizing” everything. So a week later, we invited the whole family to dinner and handed her a special gift that made her scream.
Walter and I paid for most of our wedding ourselves. It was beautiful. We’d found a farmhouse B&B with a hall that had enough charm to allow us to skimp on decoration.
During the reception, my parents pulled me aside near the gift table.
My mother held out a thick envelope.
“Elena, sweetheart,” she said softly, “your father and I wanted to give you and Walter something to start your life.”
I smiled, already feeling tears press behind my eyes. “You didn’t have to do anything big. You being here is enough.”
My father cleared his throat. “We saved $5000. Use it for a home, a honeymoon, whatever helps you breathe a little easier.”
Five thousand dollars! I knew what money meant in my parents’ house. They must’ve saved for over a year to gather that much money.
“Dad,” I whispered. “That’s too much.”
He squeezed my hand. “You’re our daughter. Nothing we give you is too much.”
I hugged them both, then went to place their envelope on the gift table. Beatrice rushed forward as I approached.
“Another gift?” She reached for the envelope with a smile. “I’ll take it. I’ve organized all the gifts for you and Walter.”
“Oh… thanks,” I said.
Beatrice certainly did like to “help.” I’d noticed her scuttling back and forth all day in her designer gown, straightening flower arrangements, checking everyone was seated in the right place, and packing the gifts on the table.
I thought she genuinely was trying to be helpful, even if her smile was more polite than warm. I had no idea how vastly mistaken I was.
Later, I went upstairs to the guestroom the B&B offered us to use as the bridal suite for a breather.
When I opened the door, I stopped so hard my heel caught on the carpet.
Beatrice was standing beside the bed. Wedding envelopes were spread across the white coverlet in neat rows. A few were already open.
She held a thick wad of cash.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Oh, Elena, relax,” she sighed, sliding bills back into an envelope. “I’m organizing things for you. You’ll be busy on your wedding night, so I thought I’d count everything.”
Her tone made me feel 12 years old and unreasonable.
What happened next changed everything… continues on the next page.
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