My Future MIL Demanded 25 Gifts for Herself Before I Could Join Their Family – ‘Repayment for Every Year She Put Into My Fiancé’

I assumed my prospective MIL wanted to get to know me before the wedding when she invited me over for tea. Rather, she presented me with a list of twenty-five opulent presents to purchase for her, one for every year she “invested” in parenting Jake. I’m now wondering how far she’ll go and what sort of family I’m actually being married into.

Do you get the impression that even though someone is being kind to you, your entire body is screaming “danger”?

When Jake’s mother phoned me three weeks prior to our wedding, I felt exactly the same way.

After six months of engagement, Jake and I had been dating for over three years. Even though his mother, Linda, still referred to him as her baby boy and sliced his steak for him at barbecues, his family appeared to be normal and pleasant enough.

I chose to try my best to get along with her, blaming it on her overprotectiveness.

With a voice full of manufactured honey, Linda crooned over the phone, “Sweetheart,” “I was hoping we could have a little woman-to-woman chat before the big day.” Why don’t you join us tomorrow afternoon for tea?

“Sure,” I said. I ignored the uneasy feeling I felt about it. I think this would be the ideal chance for Linda and I to learn more about one another.

The following day, I was standing on her immaculate porch with a bottle of wine, attempting to get myself in the mood for a tea date and small conversation with my prospective mother-in-law.

I would have dressed in a full bomb suit if I had known what she was going to ask of me.

With that smile and her immaculately ironed cardigan, Linda replied. You’re aware of it. The kind that appears warm from afar but becomes colder as you approach.

She responded, “Come in, dear,” and ushered me into her drab and claustrophobic living room. “I’ve made chamomile.”

The fine porcelain cups she used to pour the tea were probably more expensive than my car payment. I waited for her to bring up the wedding or even some embarrassing Jake anecdotes.

Rather, she slid a folded piece of paper across the coffee table toward me after reaching inside a drawer.

“What’s this?” I picked it up and asked.

As if she had just given me a family recipe, Linda said, “Oh, just a little something I put together for you,” and then she settled back in her chair.

I almost choked on my tea when I unfurled the paper.

Linda handed me a sheet with a list on it.

Before the wedding, Linda’s 25 “Must-Have” presents:

1. The Neverfull MM handbag by Louis Vuitton.
2. The Love bracelet by Cartier.
3. A pendant with a Tiffany diamond.

Gucci silk scarf, Hermès perfume, spa weekends, Napa Valley vacations, Chanel No. 5, Apple Watch, personalized cashmere, and first-class flights to Hawaii were just a few of the endless items on the list. 25 things that most likely cost more than Jake and I earn in a year together.

She quickly made it apparent that she was as serious as a heart attack, even though I initially assumed it was a joke.

“Linda,” I began, laughing a little as my mind tried to comprehend what I was reading. “What exactly is this?” I said.

She smiled her practiced smile once more after taking a small sip of her tea. “My dear, it is your list of repayments. One present for each year I spent parenting Jake.

I gazed at her. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re getting a finished product, thanks largely to the work I put in to raise Jake to become the man he is today,” she continued.

She went on, “You can’t put a price on motherhood,” as though she were telling a very slow child something that was apparent. “But in this case, I have, and I think you’ll find it’s quite reasonable.”

Reasonable? I glanced over the list again. a vintage Dom Pérignon, a fancy leather wallet, diamond stud earrings, and a professionally shot and edited “thank you” movie at the bottom.

She was just insane!

“Linda,” I continued, attempting to maintain a steady tone, “marriage isn’t a trade. Together, Jake and I are creating a life. Nobody informed me that I would be required to pay a dowry, and I owe you nothing for raising your own son.”

Her smile remained constant. “Perhaps you don’t appreciate family as much as we do if you can’t respect the years I spent raising him. A small token of gratitude would assist demonstrate your sincerity in becoming a member of our family.

That day, I left her house with a headache growing behind my eyes and the list crumpled in my handbag.

I believed I had handled the matter amicably, but I underestimated Linda’s tenacity in obtaining her presents.

Jake was in the kitchen preparing dinner when I arrived home.

He asked with a smile, “How was tea with Mom?”

“Where do I even start?” I smoothed the paper on the counter after taking it out. “She gave me a list of gifts I should give her to prove my commitment to your family.”

When Jake saw it, he laughed. “Very humorous. What was it she truly wished to discuss?

“Jake,” I said, “I’m serious.”

He read the list again, more attentively, and his smile dimmed. His look changed around six times before settling on a mixture of anger and horror.

“She can’t be serious.”

“Oh, she’s dead serious.”

I was listening in the kitchen when he called her right away.

The voice on the other end was Linda’s, defending herself in the same cool tone she had used when speaking to me.

“If she can’t honor the years I spent raising you, maybe she doesn’t value family,” she said again.

Jake appeared to have been hit in the stomach as he hung up. “I really apologize. I didn’t know she would.

I told him, “It’s not your fault,” despite my curiosity about what additional surprises his family might have planned.

That seemed to be the end of it. Yes, I did. How foolish of me.

We attended Jake’s cousin’s engagement celebration two weeks later. Lots of family, a nice restaurant, and champagne toasts everywhere. Before Linda got up during the dessert course, everything was going smoothly.

“I’d like to make a toast,” she said, lifting her glass.

Everyone fell silent, anticipating a heartfelt story about family and love.

Rather, Linda turned to face me and stated, “You don’t just marry the person when you marry into a family. You pay tribute to their parents. A few of us have yet to get our gestures of gratitude.

The ensuing hush was deafening. It was as if someone had held a blowtorch to my face.

Jake got to his feet right away. “Stop this, Mom. “Now.”

However, the harm had already been done. I could almost hear the whispering beginning as twenty or so pairs of eyes stared at me. At that point, I recognized that something needed to change because we had gone from absurd to toxic. in public.

In a week, Linda’s birthday was approaching, and she had been giving me vague clues about which item on the list I should pick first. Given how frequently she mentioned it, it seems that the Cartier bracelet was her top pick.

However, I was planning a different kind of surprise. Did she want twenty-five presents? Alright. I would offer her twenty-five presents.

I meticulously curated my collection at the dollar store for the whole Saturday afternoon. She had repeatedly expressed how much she detested cats, so I chose a plastic tiara with faux jewels and a cat calendar.

I also decided to give Linda a “World’s Best Mom” mug with a chip in the handle and an off-brand perfume called “Evening Mist” that smelled like bathroom air freshener as additional tokens of my gratitude.

However, the last gift—a roll of toilet paper—was my masterwork. I added a personal touch by writing “For all the crap you’ve put me through” in gold Sharpie on the roll.

Every item was expertly wrapped by me. I chose lovely tissue paper for the inside, silk ribbons, and lovely wrapping paper for the gifts. The presentation was crucial.

The birthday dinner was at Linda’s favorite restaurant, the kind of place where they fold your napkin for you when you get up to use the bathroom.

The whole extended family was there, including some relatives I’d never met. Excellent.

During dessert, I excused myself. A few minutes later, I returned to the table wheeling a large decorative box I’d hidden in my car.

“Linda,” I said, beaming at her like she’d just won the lottery, “I wanted to give you something special. Here are 25 gifts to honor the years you spent raising Jake.”

Her eyes lit up. This was it. This was her moment.

She opened the first package.

It contained a packet of gummy worms. Her smile wavered slightly, but she held it together.

In the second package she opened, she found a mini stapler. A few people started glancing at each other.

The third package contained a bar of motel soap still in its paper wrapper. Someone coughed to cover a laugh.

By the time she opened the tenth gift, a rubber duck wearing sunglasses, people weren’t even trying to hide their amusement. Jake’s aunt was biting her lip so hard I thought she might draw blood.

Linda’s smile was shrinking with each package, but she kept going. What choice did she have? Twenty-odd people watched her with rapt attention as she unwrapped a fake plant, a pack of birthday candles, and a stress ball shaped like a hamburger.

The 24th gift was a bookmark that said, “Reading is Fun-damental” with a cartoon owl on it.

And then came gift number 25.

Linda unwrapped the toilet paper, read the gold lettering, and the entire table erupted.

Jake actually started clapping. His dad had to cover his mouth with his napkin, and Jake’s older sister was crying with laughter.

Linda slammed the lid back on the box and snarled, “You’re mocking me.”

I looked her straight in the eye and said, “No, Linda. I’m honoring you, just like you insisted. You never specified the value of the gifts you require.”

That was it. She stood up so fast her chair fell backward, grabbed her purse, and stormed out of the restaurant, leaving her untouched birthday cake behind.

The dinner continued without her, and it was honestly the most fun I’d had with Jake’s family since we’d started dating.

People kept coming up to whisper things like, “Thank you. About time someone did that.”

Even Linda’s sister winked at me and said, “She’s had that coming for years.”

Jake made it crystal clear to his mother the next day: respect me as his future wife, or don’t be part of the wedding at all. Her silence since then has been absolutely peaceful.

So yes, I technically gave her 25 gifts. But I also gave her a 26th: silence. Because even though I gave her a slew of bad gifts, I never once let her have a piece of my mind!

Though if we’re counting the applause from that birthday dinner, I’d say the real gift was watching an entire family finally feel free to laugh at the empress with no clothes.