Every Christmas with Sharon, my mother-in-law, feels like a test of endurance. But this year, her passive-aggressive jabs escalated into something downright cruel.
Advertisement
Sharon’s house was a showpiece, every corner sparkling like something out of a home décor catalog. The tree in the living room stretched to the ceiling, draped with shimmering gold and silver ornaments.
Living room decorated for Christmas | Source: Pexels
A train set whirred softly around its base, and the stockings hanging on the mantel were embroidered with perfect calligraphy. Even the air smelled of cinnamon, pine, and just a hint of fresh-baked pie.
“This is what Christmas should feel like,” Sharon announced, sweeping into the room with her apron tied in a neat bow. She adjusted the table centerpiece: a massive antique candelabra with tall, white candles flickering softly.
An antique candelabra | Source: Pexels
Advertisement
Ryan, my husband, leaned over to me. “Mom’s in her element,” he said, a little sheepishly.
“She certainly is,” I said with a polite smile, though my stomach churned. Sharon didn’t even look my way.
Howard, Sharon’s husband, shuffled in carrying a platter of glistening ham. “Where do you want this, Sharon?” he asked, looking tired.
A man holding a platter with ham | Source: Midjourney
“On the buffet, Howard,” she said, already turning back to her candelabra. She barely glanced at him.
Ryan’s Aunt Carol, seated at the far end of the room, eyed the centerpiece skeptically. “Sharon, are you sure that thing is stable?” she asked, pointing to the candelabra. “It looks wobbly to me.”
Advertisement
Sharon’s lips tightened into a thin smile. “It’s fine, Carol. I’ve positioned it perfectly.”
