My MIL Stole Every Single Wedding Gift While We Were on Honeymoon

Melissa and Jake, newlyweds, discover their wedding presents gone and a startling note from Jake’s mother when they return from their honeymoon. In the ensuing struggle of pride, treachery, and retaliation, a lone trashcan serves as the impetus for a flawlessly performed act of justice.

When I returned from my honeymoon, I saw a bright red trash in my backyard filled with crumpled gift bags, flattened boxes, and torn wrapping paper from our wedding, which had just been a week earlier.

All of the wedding presents were gone from the house.

What about the individual who took them? Linda, my mother-in-law.

A week prior, Jake and I exchanged vows in front of fifty of our closest friends and family members while standing beneath a string of lights in our garden. Since we didn’t have a lot of money to spend, the gifts were sentimental as well as valuable.

There were pricey items from friends who had pooled their money, family heirlooms from my side of the family, and priceless handcrafted items that I already knew I would give to our own children.

We departed on our honeymoon the morning following the wedding. Jake gave his mother an extra key so she could water our plants before we left.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Mel,” she said with a kind grin. “I’ll take good care of the place. You two go and have some fun!”

I returned the smile, assuming it was a gesture of goodwill. But it wasn’t until long later that I realized what the spark in her eyes was.

After a week, we arrived at the driveway, content and sunburned, eager to begin our new life together. I noticed the bright red dumpster in the backyard at that point.

Jake scowled and asked, “Did… someone start a renovation?” “Why else would there be a dumpster here?”

My first impression was that Linda had cleaned up the leftover turmoil from the wedding, which was a sign of her generosity.

I said, “Maybe your mom wanted to surprise us,” even though I felt queasy.

However, the truth struck me like a blow to the jaw as soon as we entered. The tidy piles of wrapped presents and gift bags had vanished, leaving the living room naked.

Our furniture and daily belongings were still there, but the only wedding presents left were the “Mr. & Mrs.” mugs, a small basket of dried rose petals my niece had sprinkled down the aisle, and a half-burned candle from our cake cutting.

I asked Jake, “Where’s… everything?”

His face darkened. “Call her. Call my mother. Now,” he said.

A note was also present. One statement, scribbled in loopy script that, even without a signature, nonetheless exuded smugness.

“I took your wedding gifts as payment for watering your plants.”

I kept looking at it for a while, almost expecting the words to sort themselves out into something logical. My chest constricted.

This must have been a joke. It was just a cheesy attempt at humor that we would discuss over coffee. However, I could tell when I looked at Jake because I could feel the muscle in his jaw ticking.

This was no joke.

Jake called Linda right away. As if nothing were wrong, she responded with a smile.

“Oh, I unpacked everything for you and kept a few things… as thanks for raising Jake and for watering plants all week,” she said. “I had a dumpster brought over for all the wedding junk.”

She had brought the presents to her home. The trash and all the wrapping paper, ribbons, and packaging she didn’t care to save went in the dumpster.

I could hear the hardness in Jake’s firm voice as he said, “A few things?”

It meant a “few things”:

My aunt and uncle gave me an espresso machine that cost $800.

My college mates’ crystal wine glasses.

Jake’s colleagues pooled their funds to purchase the KitchenAid stand mixer.

My parents’ packet of money.

and the quilt my late grandmother made by hand.

Her tone sharpened like a razor when Jake informed her that she had no right to keep them.

Flatly, “I deserve them more than you,” she declared. “I put in decades of hard work raising you, Jake. You’ll get plenty more gifts in life. Don’t be selfish. I deserve this and you both know it.”

The incredulity was turning into something heavier, and I could feel the heat rising in my face.

I said, “Linda,” in a shaky voice. “Those weren’t just things. They were given to us by people who love us! And that quilt was my grandmother’s—”

When she said, “You’re being dramatic,”

“We’re coming over. Right now, Mom,” Jake reported as he reached for his keys. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but this is ridiculous.”

Other than the buzz of the tires on the road, the drive to her house was quiet. I kept thinking the same thing: she robbed not only our presents, but also our happiness and the thrill of opening them all together.

All of a sudden, I remembered something.

Jake and I were at his mother’s house on the Christmas before our wedding, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living room with mugs of hot cocoa steaming up my glasses.

Glistening with gold ribbon and decorations gathered over decades, the piney perfume of the tree clung to the flavor of gingerbread biscuits.

We had exchanged little gifts with his family over the evening. Before Jake reached beneath the tree for a last box, there were knitted scarves from an aunt and a bottle of whiskey from his cousin. It had a ribbon tied just right and was wrapped in deep red paper—the kind of wrapping Jake always went out of his way to do for me.

“Merry Christmas, Mel,” he presented it with a smile. “I’ve been holding onto this one for a while.”

I worked with the paper slowly, enjoying the rustle, and I gasped when I opened the lid. A delicate gold necklace with a pendant shaped like a single rose and delicately detailed petals that almost felt soft was within.

It was a lovely yet understated piece that you could wear every day without losing its significance.

“Oh, Jake… it’s beautiful,” I remarked as I ran my fingertips over the gem.

Linda reached forward and grabbed it out of my hands before I could get it out of the box.

She said, “Well, would you look at this,” while laughing uncontrollably. “Jake, you shouldn’t have! For me?”

I blinked, half-thinking she would return it immediately. However, she turned to face the mirror in the darker window and held it up to her neck.

She turned to me and grinned, saying, “It really is my style, you know. And technically, since I raised him, the money he spends is…” “Well, it’s kind of mine, too.”

Except for the slight pop coming from the blaze, the room fell silent for a moment. Jake’s mouth tensed a little.

His words were steady. “It’s for Mel, Mom,” he said. “That’s my fiancée’s Christmas present.”

As if to soften the blow, she responded, “Oh, I’m only teasing,” emphasizing the term. “Go on, dear. Try it on.” She slipped the necklace toward me after placing it back in the box.

As Jake secured the clasp, I grinned for him, but the cocoa’s warmth had vanished from my palms and was replaced with a cool prickle that slowly made its way up my arms. Light as air yet piercing at the edges, Linda’s remarks replayed in my mind—the kind of comment you could act was innocuous only if you didn’t pay too much attention to it.

As if she hadn’t just claimed possession of something meant for me, she was immediately reaching for another cookie while talking about her preparations for the holidays.

I made an effort to ignore it, telling myself it was merely a crude joke—the kind of casual remark people say without truly understanding how it sounds. However, the rose pendant felt heavier than gold should have when it pressed against my collarbone, as if it had a deeper significance that I wasn’t yet ready to identify.

I would recognize that moment for what it was later on. It’s a preview, not a joke.

Linda was waiting for us at the entryway of her house when we got there. Despite my trembling, I was able to communicate.

“Linda, you need to return everything you took,” I replied.

She smirked in the way that always made me feel like a child receiving a reprimand while crossing her arms.

“They were gifts for the family. And I’m the matriarch of this family, don’t you forget it. People give gifts and I choose what stays where. If you don’t like it, maybe you shouldn’t have given me a key.”

“We gave you a key because we trusted you,” I said.

Jake clenched his jaw so tightly that I could see the muscles twitching. He was holding back from saying something that would blow the whole thing up, and I knew that look.

“Mom,” he uttered calmly. “You know this isn’t right…”

She simply shrugged, as if we were talking about a parking space rather than thousands of dollars’ worth of pilfered presents.

“Life isn’t fair, Jakey. You’ll survive.”

Before the discussion descended into a tirade, we departed. Jake’s fingers drumming on the steering wheel was the only sound during the drive home. Gazing out the window, I relived her arrogant demeanor and the way she pronounced “matriarch” as if it were a crown she had put on her head.

The dumpster was visible through the window as we sat in our nearly empty living room that evening. It seemed to be making fun of us. Now, the only things we had were the haphazard stuff we had purchased prior to moving in together.

Jake added, “We could take her to small claims court,” at last. “But it’ll be messy.”

“She looked proud, Jake,” I said, gently nodding. “Actually proud, like she’d accomplished something.”

For a moment, each of us was absorbed in our own thoughts and neither spoke.

“She loves to brag, doesn’t she? Every new handbag, every fancy meal… she just has to tell everyone about it, right?” I responded.

My husband’s brows furrowed, “Yeah… why?” “What are you thinking?”

“If she wants to show off, maybe we let her, but on our terms,” I replied plainly.

Jake gave her a call a week later.

“We want to make amends,” he said to her in a convincingly loving tone. “We’re having a small backyard barbecue. It’s just for family and a few of our friends.”

She sounded delighted as she responded, “Oh, that’s lovely! I can bring the new espresso machine so everyone can try it!” “Can I invite a few of my friends?”

“Of course, Mom,” Jake replied, approving me. “There’ll be more than enough food, you know how much Mel loves to feed people.”

Excellent.

We placed my phone in the kitchen on the afternoon of the barbecue, with the camera pointed at the location where she would hold court. As expected, my mother-in-law boasted about her new “fancy” wine glasses while strutting in with the espresso machine like it was an Olympic medal. She talked it being the “fluffiest cake ever!” thanks to the stand mixer.

She also mentioned how my quilt helped her stay warm at night when she watched movies.

What’s the best part? Everything was captured on video.

Jake and I sat at the dining table the following morning, our laptops open, our unfinished coffee getting cold between us. The rage had become more pronounced… Now it had a purpose.

Everyone who attended our wedding was invited to a private Facebook group that we set up. To make sure the appropriate people saw it, Jake also included a handful of her friends—the ones she loved to boast to.

Before I typed the caption, my fingers briefly lingered over the keyboard.

“We wanted to express our gratitude to everyone for their kind gifts, but Jake’s mother kept a lot of them for herself—as ‘payment’ for watering our plants throughout our honeymoon.

Here’s her explanation in her own words: “Please get in touch with Linda directly if you want your gift returned.”

Three times, I read it again. It seemed direct, possibly even mean. But then I saw the empty living room and the red dumpster once more. and my grandmother’s handcrafted quilt, which had always belonged to Linda, folded neatly on the couch.

I pressed “Post.”

The response was instantaneous and explosive. When my phone buzzed so loudly, it almost fell off the table. Jake’s phone came on next to mine.

Messages piled one on top of the other, comments pouring in. Some came from our pals, who were upset for us. Others were from her friends, with whom I had hardly interacted.

“I can’t believe she did this!”

“That’s beyond selfish, even for Linda!”

“Linda… how? Why?”

“Give my daughter her grandmother’s quilt or I’ll call the police.”

Jake laughed while reading the remarks. “Oh, your mom pulled the police card,” he said.

Guests at the wedding started personally tagging her. Some insisted that she return their gifts right away, while others questioned whether they ought to call the police as well.

“This is theft! Plain and simple, Linda. Give me one good reason not to go to the police!”

The calls began that evening. Linda went directly to Jake instead of phoning me. By the time he answered, her voice was already shaking.

“Jake, take it down. Please, my boy. Please… You’ve misunderstood everything. People are blowing up my phone. I’m… I’m so embarrassed.”

Jake spoke in a calm tone.

“You’ll get the video taken down when every single thing is back in our house, Mom. Not before. And for the record, you’re never getting a key again.”

The other end was silent for a long time.

“Fine,” she replied. “Just… fine.”

She followed through by the end of the week. The quilt, the cash envelope, the mixer, the espresso machine, and the crystal wine glasses returned.

As evidence that this had never been about utilizing them, only about owning them, some were still in their boxes, unopened. None of it had been necessary for her. She didn’t want to enjoy it; she just wanted to flaunt it.

She was not asked to witness us reopen them. Rather, one peaceful evening, Jake and I placed an order for Chinese food, laid a blanket on the floor of the living room, and started methodically unwrapping each present once more..

Jake handed me the package my aunt and uncle had given me and remarked, “It feels like Christmas.”

“Christmas without the awkward family politics,” I said, grinning in spite of my own discomfort.

We personally thanked each gift-giver via FaceTime. Nearly all of them chuckled and uttered some variation of:

“I’m just glad you got it back, that’s where it belongs.”

Naturally, I didn’t bring up Linda, and she wasn’t discussed either. The quiet surrounding her seemed purposeful, a decision that everyone was making together.

She is currently on an extended, permanent leave of absence from our life. Before the last call ended, Jake told her rather bluntly.

“You’re my mom, but you don’t get to treat Mel or our marriage like that. You’re not welcome in our home until you understand that properly,” he stated.

More significantly, we received something else in addition to our belongings back. The evidence that Jake put us ahead of Linda’s destructive behavior when it counted.

That’s when the audience would have erupted in applause if this had been a play. The justice, however, came from the dumpster Linda had purchased for our backyard and our choice to make vanity her downfall rather than from a flawless screenplay. This wasn’t a movie.