There are certain things you expect on your honeymoon – romance, relaxation, maybe some sunburn. What you don’t expect? Your estranged in-laws waiting on the porch with unpacked luggage. Yet there they were – Will’s parents and his perpetually coddled brother Daniel – smiling like they belonged in our private villa.
My parents had offered to pay for their stay at a neighboring resort as a peace offering. But Judith and Alan had other plans – they’d somehow gotten our villa details and arrived first, turning our romantic getaway into a family reunion we never wanted.
These were the people who’d kicked Will out at sixteen to focus on Daniel’s needs. Who’d mocked his career success at our wedding. Now they were helping themselves to our honeymoon minibar like it was their right.
I waited for Will to erupt. Instead, he got dangerously quiet. That night, while they slept in stolen beds, we met with resort management. By morning, every remaining charge for our stay had been mysteriously transferred to their room. We “went shopping” and checked into a budget hotel to watch the drama unfold.
The panicked calls started by lunchtime. By day three, they’d checked out early, their credit cards maxed out on our honeymoon experiences. Returning to our villa that evening, Will looked years younger. “They can’t hurt us anymore,” he said simply. Our glasses clinked not just in celebration, but liberation.
