Think you’ve had houseguests from hell? My brother-in-law outdid them all when we let him and his wife honeymoon at our place. What started as a kind gesture turned into a nightmare when they took over our home… and our bedroom. But karma showed up to set things straight.
My husband Simon and I are blessed to call Sunset Cove our home. Picture this: rolling waves just a 10-minute walk from our front door, hiking trails that wind through pine-scented forests, and little coffee shops perched on cliffs where you can watch dolphins play in the surf. It’s the kind of place people save up all year to visit for a week.
Naturally, our guest room stays pretty busy. Friends, family, Simon’s college buddies — they all end up on our doorstep eventually, cameras in hand and that vacation glow in their eyes.
And honestly? We love it. There’s something magical about sharing this slice of paradise with people you care about. So when my brother-in-law Jack called three months ago, his voice crackling with excitement through the speaker, I didn’t hesitate for even a second.
“Gloria, you’re gonna love this,” he said, and I could practically hear him grinning. “Sally and I are finally tying the knot next month, and we were wondering… any chance we could crash at your place for our honeymoon? Money’s tight with the wedding and all.”
I looked at Simon across the kitchen table. He was already nodding, that generous smile spreading across his face that made me fall in love with him 12 years ago.
“Of course!” I said into the phone. “We’d be honored to have you guys. How long were you thinking?”
“Just a week. We promise we’ll be the perfect houseguests.”
Famous last words.
Two weeks before their arrival, Simon’s phone buzzed during dinner. He glanced at the screen and his eyebrows shot up.
“It’s Jack,” he said, swiping to read the message. His expression shifted from curiosity to something that looked like dread.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, setting down my fork.
Simon cleared his throat and read aloud: “Hey bro, quick question. Any chance Sally and I could use your bedroom while we’re there? That air mattress in the guestroom doesn’t exactly scream romance, you know what I mean?”
We just sat there, stuck in a silence so stiff it felt like a dare. Our home has two bedrooms — ours, and my home office that doubles as a guest room. We’d invested in a really nice air mattress, the kind that actually feels like a real bed, plus we keep extra pillows and blankets in there.
But our bedroom was our sanctuary, where we collapse after long days and share our dreams and fears in whispered conversations before sleep takes over.
“What do you think?” Simon asked, though his tone suggested he already knew my answer.
“Simon, that’s our space. Our bed. I can’t… I just can’t imagine someone else sleeping where we sleep… going through our things. Doing stuff… I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“I feel the same way, honey. I’ll tell him it’s not going to work.”
Simon typed back: “Sorry man, we’re not comfortable with that. But the guest room is all yours & the air mattress is really comfortable. Looking forward to seeing you guys! :)”
The response came back in minutes: “Seriously? It’s our honeymoon, Simon. One week. Whatever! 🤷🏻♂️”
“Well, that went well!” Simon muttered, tossing his phone onto the counter.
***
The day they arrived, chaos had already descended on our house. My daughter Alicia’s friends were coming over for her birthday party, and I was in full prep mode. I was held up slicing veggies into neat little sticks, threading fruit onto skewers, plating spaghetti, and icing two dozen cupcakes I’d baked that morning.
Simon was vacuuming the guest room when I heard the car doors slam outside. I glanced at the clock. My brother-in-law and his new wife were two hours early.
“Honey, they’re here!” I called out, wiping frosting from my hands.
I rushed to the front door, ready to greet them with hugs and excitement. Instead, I watched Jack and Sally march past me like they owned the place, dragging their suitcases behind them.
“Hey guys!” I chirped. “How was the drive from Pine Valley?”
“Long!” Sally replied without turning around. “Where’s the bathroom? I need to freshen up.”
“Just down the hall, but let me show you to your—”
That’s when I heard it. The distinctive sound of our bedroom door opening. Not the guest room. OUR ROOM.
My feet moved before my brain caught up. I found them in our master bedroom. Jack was already unzipping his suitcase on our bed while Sally examined herself in my dresser mirror.
“Um, guys? Your room is actually across the hall.”
Jack didn’t even look up from his unpacking. “Yeah, we talked about this. Sally gets carsick, and this room has better airflow. We’ll just crash here.”
“But we discussed this already. Simon told you…”
“Look, Gloria,” Sally interrupted, turning from the mirror with an expression that made my blood pressure spike. “It’s our honeymoon. One week. You guys have lived here for years… surely you can handle sleeping in the other room for seven nights?”
I felt like I’d been slapped. “Sally, this is our bedroom. Our home. We offered you the guest room, and it’s perfectly comfortable.”
Jack finally looked up, his jaw set in that stubborn way that reminded me exactly why Simon sometimes avoided family gatherings.
“We’re not sleeping on an air mattress during our honeymoon. End of story.”
***
I found Simon in the garage, his hand locked around the screwdriver as he worked on our son Jerry’s bike.
“They’re in our room!” I announced.
“What do you mean in OUR room?”
“They’ve unpacked in there. Their clothes are in our closet. Sally’s makeup is all over my bathroom counter.”
Simon’s face went through about five different expressions in three seconds. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“I wish I was.”
He started toward the house, but I grabbed his arm. “Simon, wait. Alicia’s friends are about to arrive. Let’s just… let’s get through the party first. We’ll deal with this later.”
Looking back, that was my second mistake. Because while we were trying to keep the peace, Jack and Sally were just getting started.
An hour later, Alicia’s friends arrived — six giggling eight-year-olds ready to celebrate. I’d spent all morning preparing their favorite foods, arranging everything perfectly on our dining room table.
When I walked into the kitchen to grab some drinks, I stopped dead in my tracks.
Jack and Sally were at the counter, tearing through the party spread like it was a buffet made just for them. They weren’t just grabbing the food… they were wrecking it. Chicken tenders were scattered on paper plates, half-eaten veggie sticks lay on napkins, and frosting was smeared across my counter.
“Oh my God!” I gasped.
Jake looked up, a half-eaten cupcake in his hand. “These are pretty dry. Did you use a box mix?”
“Those are for Alicia’s party. Her friends are here.”
Sally shrugged, reaching for another chicken tender. “Kids eat anything. They won’t care!”
“The kids are expecting their food. I spent all morning preparing this.”
“Relax, Gloria,” Sally said with a laugh that made my skin crawl. “There’s plenty left. Besides, we’re family. We should be able to eat at our family’s house.”
I looked at the demolished spread, then at my daughter’s expectant face peering around the corner with her friends. My heart shattered into a million pieces.
“Simon!” I called out. “We need to run to the store. Now.”
The drive to the grocery store was silent except for our kids’ worried questions from the backseat.
“Mommy, why did Uncle Jack eat all our party food?” Jerry questioned.
“Are we still having my party?” Alicia cried.
Each question was a knife to my heart. “We’re going to fix this, baby,” I told her. “Mommy’s going to make you an even better party.”
At the store, I grabbed ingredients for a second round of everything — more cupcake mix, more chicken tenders, and more everything. The total came to $195… money we shouldn’t have had to spend twice.
But the kids’ smiles made it all worth it.
But when we got home, I saw something that made my jaw drop — Jack and Sally were standing on our porch, suitcases at their feet, both of them red-faced and fuming.
And facing them, arms crossed and expressions thunderous, were Simon’s parents — Rob and Michelle.
“Oh no!” Simon whispered. “What are you guys doing here?”
We rushed to hear Michelle’s voice, sharp as broken glass: “You will not speak to your brother and his wife that way in their own home.”
“Mom, you don’t understand,” Jack started, but Rob cut him off.
“I understand perfectly. Alicia called us. Do you know what your eight-year-old niece said? She said Uncle Jack was being mean to Mommy and ate all her birthday food.”
My heart stopped. My daughter had called her grandparents because she thought her uncle was hurting me.
Sally stepped forward, her voice shrill. “We’re family! We should be able to stay in the master bedroom during our honeymoon!”
“Family doesn’t take over someone’s bedroom without permission,” Michelle snapped. “Family doesn’t eat a child’s birthday party food and complain it’s not good enough.”
Jack’s face was getting redder by the second. “We asked nicely! They said no! What were we supposed to do?”
“Accept their answer,” Rob hissed. “Like adults.”
Simon found his voice. “Mom, Dad, you didn’t have to come over. We were handling it.”
Michelle turned to us, her expression softening. “Honey, Alicia was crying on the phone. She said Uncle Jack made Mommy sad and ate her cupcakes. We flew in this morning for a friend’s baby shower and thought we’d stop by later. But when we heard her crying like that, we dropped everything and came straight here.”
I looked at Alicia. “Sweetheart, did you call Grandma and Grandpa?”
She nodded, her eyes wide. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I didn’t tell you because… I didn’t want to make you more sad.”
I felt tears sting my eyes. My sweet girl had tried to protect me… in the only way she knew how.
“You’re going to a hotel,” Rob snapped at Jack and Sally. “Tonight! And you’re paying for it yourselves.”
“Dad, that’s not fair!” Jack protested.
“What’s not fair,” Michelle retorted, “is taking advantage of people who opened their home to you. What’s not fair is making a little girl cry on her birthday because you couldn’t show basic respect.”
They left within an hour. No apology, no acknowledgment of what they’d done. Just angry muttering about “ungrateful family” and “overreacting.”
After their taxi disappeared down our street, Michelle hugged me tight.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I raised him better than that.”
“It’s not your fault,” I whispered, finally letting the tears fall.
Rob clapped Simon on the shoulder. “You did the right thing standing your ground. Some people need to learn boundaries the hard way.”
That evening, after Alicia’s friends had gone home and she was fast asleep clutching the new stuffed dolphin her grandparents had brought her, I sat on our porch with Simon, watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of pink and gold.
“I keep thinking about what our daughter said,” I murmured, squeezing his hand. “That she called your parents because she thought Jack was being mean to me.”
Simon took my hand. “She was protecting you. Just like we should have protected ourselves from the beginning.”
The next morning, I woke up to a text from Michelle: “Flowers are on the way. Jack & Sally owe you a huge apology, but I’m not holding my breath. Thank you for being gracious even when they didn’t deserve it.”
An hour later, a beautiful bouquet arrived with a note: “For the best daughter-in-law & grandchildren in the world. Love, Rob & Michelle.”
They also sent us money through Venmo… enough to cover the extra groceries.
Looking back now, I realize this experience taught me something crucial about family, boundaries, and self-respect. Jack and Sally never did apologize. In fact, they’ve been telling anyone who’ll listen that we “ruined their honeymoon” by being “unreasonable.”