My MIL Took the Cash from Our Wedding Card Box for ‘Safekeeping’ – When I Asked for It Back, She Made a Scene
Tanya finds that her mother-in-law has seized charge of something that isn’t hers to touch on what should be the happiest day of her life.
Tanya and her husband discover the price of familial devotion and the power of self-determination in the ensuing conflict of boundaries, treachery, and silent retaliation.
I never imagined that I would be the bride who posts an online critique of her mother-in-law, but here I am.
I’m still working through the emotional catastrophe Sharon created two weeks after my wedding. She was noisy, opinionated, and domineering, but not malevolent, I used to convince myself.
I was unaware of my mistake.
I’ve been dating Grant for five years, and we were engaged for one of those years. He is 33 and I am 25, and until we began making plans for our future together, I didn’t realize how steady he was.
Sharon, Grant’s mother, has never been a steady person, yet she enjoys knowing everything.
When she said, “Sweetie, I’m only trying to help,” The kitchen drawers would subsequently be entirely rearranged since “this setup makes no sense, Tanya.”
I promised myself that I would put all of it aside on our wedding day and concentrate just on getting married to Grant. Even with Sharon’s actions, Grant made it all worthwhile.
Virginia’s vineyard was ideal. There were the wine rows, the ribboned eucalyptus on each chair, and a gentle wind that prevented the sun from feeling too strong.
Lila, my maid of honor, and I arranged a little table close to the reception entrance, where guests could place their envelopes in a glass card box.
To protect it, I had even purchased a lock in the shape of a heart.
Lila exclaimed, “It looks perfect, Tanya,” as she knotted a last ribbon. “If Sharon tries to alphabetize the cards, I’ll take her down myself.”
“Don’t tempt her, please,” I said with a giggle and a head shake.
I noticed Sharon loitering close to the table a few minutes prior to the wedding. She leaned over the box, her sequined outfit gleaming in the sunlight.
Sharon responded, “Don’t worry, sweetie,” as she gently placed her palm on the box. “I’ll keep an eye on this. You just focus on getting married.”
I forced a smile and said, “Thank you, Sharon. That’s… thoughtful,”
When my soon-to-be mother-in-law offered assistance on my wedding day, what else could I say?
The actual ceremony was a blur that I wanted to preserve forever. I smiled so broadly that my cheeks hurt as Grant broke down in tears first, his lips quivering as he struggled to utter the vows.
I could feel the love that was there enveloping us like a blanket as his groomsmen pushed one another while smiling at him.
People put envelopes into our hands before slipping them into the box, hugged us, and kissed our cheeks till my cheeks hurt from smiling.
The sun shone on the champagne glasses that were waiting for us as we strolled over to the vines for pictures. It was almost funny how tightly Grant grabbed my hand.
He muttered, “Don’t let me float away on the champagne,” and I smiled because it felt precisely like we were weightless.
Soon afterward, the toasts began. Grant’s brother told just enough humiliating anecdotes to keep everybody engaged without going overboard, and Lila made me laugh so hard I almost spilled my drink when she mentioned my old college hairdo.
I was overwhelmed with thankfulness every time someone raised a glass, knowing that we had all of these people supporting and encouraging us.
I had the card box in the back of my head somewhere. Just to be sure, I intended to check on it early in the evening. I kept slipping away, but someone always grabbed me by the hand, pleaded for a picture, or dragged me back to the dance floor.
I proceeded to the gift table following a few dances and the cutting of the cake. The card box was missing, but the table, candles, and small sign were still there.
I felt sick to my stomach. The cards weren’t the only thing involved. I was aware that some of them contained cash. When my family asked how they could help Grant and I start our lives together, we told them that the best way to do it was to put checks in the card box.
Near the bar, I discovered Sharon playing tennis with two of her pals.
I said, “Hey, Sharon,” trying to sound informal. “Do you know where the card box went?”
She responded, “Oh,” as though I had inquired about the location of the restrooms. “I took it for safekeeping.”
“Great,” I replied. “Can I grab it? I want to make sure everything is okay.”
She laughed and waved me away, saying, “Calm down, sweetie.” “I put it in my car. No one’s going to touch it there.”
“Your car?” I asked, blinking.
Her words, “No one will think to look,” “It’s much safer than leaving it out with all these vendors and staff milling around. You’ll get it tomorrow at the brunch event.”
I answered, “It should be inside, Sharon,” without losing my cool. “Could you bring it back? Grant and I want to keep it with us, and we want to give everyone an opportunity to put something in.”
A tiny alarm went off in my chest. A group of cousins motioned for me to come over for a picture as the band transitioned into the next set, but I told myself not to cause a disturbance.
My spouse quickly realized this and followed me a minute later.
He said, “Everything okay, love?”
“Your mom took the card box to her car,” I said. “She says we can get it tomorrow.”
He scowled and asked, “Why would she take it?”
“For safekeeping, apparently,” I responded, trying to look as though nothing was wrong.
At the hotel brunch the following morning, Grant and I noticed Sharon seated at a corner table, a dish of fruit she hadn’t touched, and a cappuccino chilling in front of her.
I tried to seem informal when I said, “Hi, Sharon,” but I could hear brittleness in my voice. “Where’s the box?”
Not even my mother-in-law batted an eye.
Her words, “I counted it for you two,” “You got about $5000. I’m keeping it for now.”
Certain that I had misheard, I demanded, “I’m sorry, what?”
She said, “I’m much more responsible with money than you two, Tanya,” in that gratingly patient tone she used to admonish others.
“By the way, I took out $500 for Aunt Marlene’s hotel room. She couldn’t afford it… and since she was here for the two of you, it just makes sense. At the end of the day, it’s about family, honey.”
I glanced at her, certain that she was kidding, but her expression stayed casual.
“What? We didn’t agree to that!” I responded.
She went on, “Oh, and $300 for Tyler,” “You know, your poor cousin just can’t catch a break, Grant. He’s between jobs right now.”
With my heart pounding loudly in my ears, I held onto the edge of the table. She wasn’t supposed to give the money to her relatives. We had been preparing for months, and it was meant to be the beginning of our baby fund.
“Sharon,” I murmured, trying not to yell, but keeping my voice steady. “That is not your money. Please give it back.”
Her head was cocked.
Stiffly, “I’m holding onto it, kids,” she said. “I’ll decide what you can use it for. Maybe a down payment someday, if you’re smart.”
The tile scratched sharply against Grant’s chair. His jaw was clenched as he leaned forward.
He growled, “Mom, give us the money. Right now.” “Don’t make a damn scene. Just return what’s ours.”
Sharon leaned back and gave Grant a childlike smile.
“Wow, you sound just like her, son. Greedy. Is this what your marriage is going to be? Only about money, money, money?”
The room moved as her words carried. Forks hovered, heads turned, and the faint murmur of conversation subsided. My cheeks were burning. I sat motionless, listening to Grant and Sharon dispute for ten long minutes, even though I wanted to disappear beneath the table.
At last, she got up.
Her words, “I’m not discussing this any further,” “You guys need to grow up first. Honestly, Grant. I told you that marrying someone younger than you will have consequences. Look now.”
She grabbed her handbag, turned, and left.
For that money, we had plans. It was for the future, not frivolities or ostentatious trinkets. We had no intention of purchasing a pizza oven or a Peloton.
We intended to launch our baby fund. Grant and I had first discussed trying within the year, but ultimately agreed to wait a few years. Late at night, we had spreadsheets open with the out-of-pocket and deductible maximums shown in yellow.
For the first few months of daycare, a car seat, and a crib, we had a set budget.
Sharon was aware of everything.
She was also aware that we had discussed trying soon, but she was unaware that our timeframe had already changed. We had made the discreet decision to hold off for a few years.
Despite the fact that no one had asked her to, Sharon had spent the previous year making remarks about becoming a grandma “before she turns 60,” a clock she kept bringing up.
Grant and I sat on the couch that evening while the silence hung heavy around us. I stared at my aunt’s sparkling wedding card on the coffee table as if it may wink and give me an answer.
Grant finally responded, “If we push her,” in a quiet voice. “Then she’ll just dig in her heels.”
I gave my temples a rub. Of course, he was correct. If we went after Sharon directly, she would turn it into a fight to show that she could prevail since she thrived on power.
Slowly, I answered, “Then we can’t push her,” “We have to let her pull.”
“Meaning what?” my spouse asked, staring at me as if I had begun talking incoherently.
“We flip the script, babe. We make her realize what her decision is costing her, not us,” I said.
Granted, “I regret not going on a honeymoon,” he said. “But okay, give me all you’ve got, Tan.”
Grant implemented the idea two days later. He put his phone on speaker and sat next to me at the dining table. Like a toddler attempting to avoid fidgeting, my hands were squeezed to my knees.
He said, “Hey, Mom,” when she responded. “We’ve been talking, and we’re going to have to push back trying for a baby for a few years.”
“What? Why?!” The other end took a sharp breath.
“Well,” his tone was level. “Without the wedding money, we just can’t afford to start a family right now. That was going to be our baby fund, Mom. Tanya and I were going to use that money for a nursery, medical bills, all of it. But now it’s gone.”
I could feel my heartbeat in my throat as the quiet dragged on. This had to work.
At last, she said, “You’re telling me you’re not having a baby because of me?”
Grant remained still.
“I’m telling you that we can’t have a baby because we can’t afford it. And the money that would’ve made it possible is with you,” stated the man.
She sputtered, her voice rasping, “Don’t you dare put this on me, Grant!” “That money was a wedding gift, and I’m keeping it safe. Babies are expensive! You’ll thank me later.”
Calmly, Grant responded, “We’ll thank you after we have our child,”
She ended the call with a click.
Our door was knocked on two days later. Sharon was holding an envelope as she stood there.
She said, “I thought about what you said,” without introducing herself. “I didn’t realize that you were serious about trying right away. I thought Tanya would want to live first… you’re so young.”
“I am,” I concurred. “But I also want to be a mother, Sharon.”
She gave the envelope to him. Grant tallied it rapidly. $5,000 in cash. She either refunded the $800 or initially overstated her withdrawals. Now it made no difference.
Sharon responded, “I didn’t want to put that on hold, kids,” in a defensively acerbic tone. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to blow it on something stupid. I’m only doing this because I want a grandchild.”
“Thanks, Mom,” explained Grant. “Now, you can leave.”
Then, as though the act itself were drawing a line she could no longer cross, he led her to the door and firmly closed it.
The following day, we deposited the money and transferred the majority to a high-yield savings account that we called the “Baby Fund.”
The label was important, even if the kid wasn’t due anytime soon. It served as a reminder of our shared goal and a pledge to one another.
Sharon called a week later.
“So?” she inquired. “Any news? Is Tanya pregnant yet?”
Grant arched an eyebrow when I glanced at him. I saw him considering his level of honesty. He spoke at last, as composed as ever.
“We decided to wait a couple of years, Mom,” he replied. “We want to travel and save more first.”
Sharon yelled, “You… you lied to me?”
“No,” said Grant calmly. “We changed our minds. But thank you for giving us our money back. We’ll put it to good use.”
She said, “I can’t believe that my own child manipulated and tricked me,” with a sudden change in tone. “I only gave you that money back under certain assumptions.”
“Well, then,” he offered. “Don’t take what isn’t yours next time, Mom. And you won’t have to worry about assumptions.”
After that, he hung up.
Sharon has been pouting ever since, accusing us of being spiteful by denying her access to her grandchild. However, families talk, and soon news spread about the true circumstances behind the card box.
And believe me when I say that she has not received the sympathy she had hoped for.
However, I can’t stop thinking about one particular instance, which serves as a reminder that nothing is trivial. It’s the expression on Sharon’s face when I requested our money back. She smiled in the way you grin at a child who doesn’t know the rules.
“I’ll decide what you can use it for. Maybe a down payment someday, if you’re smart.”
The image of her leaving brunch with her purse stuck with me more than that words did. Because it was quite evident at that point that she did not view me as a woman establishing a life for herself or as a companion to her son.
She believed she could manipulate me and “teach lessons” to me, even if it meant robbing me on the day I wed her son. I can’t sleep at night because of that memories.
Not the actual theft… but the assurance in her gaze that she had the right to control the strings.
When the house was finally quiet that evening, Grant and I sat at the dining table with two mugs of lukewarm tea and tried to take it all in.
Grant remarked, “We’ll figure it all out,” at last.
“I know,” I replied. “But I hate that she thought she could decide for us. Like we’re children.”
“Then we’ll show her we’re not. Every time,” he added, grabbing my hand and extending his arm over the table.
And now, whenever Sharon mentions grandchildren.
I answer, “We’ll see… when we can afford it, Sharon,” with a charming smile.
In addition to being the truth, it serves as a reminder that we are the owners of our lives and that we do not require her consent in order to preserve them.
