Birthday Betrayals: How Suitors Got the Boot for the Wrong Presents

A Woman Invites Her Suitors to Her Birthday – She Kicks Them Out after Seeing Their Gifts

Rina is not at all happy when her mother invites her in-laws to dinner on her birthday. She knows quite well that she is disliked by her mother-in-law. Her mother is adamant, though. However, the evening of the dinner starts with a birthday cake being thrown, followed by a terrible present and a yelling match.

The aroma of a well prepared birthday supper mixed with the scent of my mom’s favourite flowers filled our living room.

Mom’s special day was here, and she got precisely what she desired.

The day before, when we were shopping for her dinner, she grinned at me from behind the shopping cart and said, “Tulips for the table, Rina.”

“Always tulips,” I said, smiling despite my annoyance.

Since my mother was vital to me, I planned to give her the birthday she had always desired.

As we browsed the store, we added items to our basket while our mother crossed them off her list.

She yelled, “Champagne!” while we waited in queue to pay.

I yelled, “Coming right up,” as I dashed down the aisle to get a few bottles.

When I returned to the cart, she remarked, “And what about the rest of the drinks?”

I said, “Timothy said he’ll sort it out,” referring to my husband who was in charge of the beverages and dessert.

My sole complaint for the evening was that, in spite of my explicit request, my mother had invited my in-laws.

She said, “It’s nothing fancy, Rina.” “We’re just celebrating my birthday at home with dinner. Everything is normal but the cake.”

I complained, “But you know how they are,” as I sipped my tea.

“They’ll be fine; they cannot say anything to you in my home,” she replied.

Timothy’s parents had always made no secret of their contempt for me, in spite of what my mother believed. Other than Timothy returning home to a living person rather than an empty house, there was nothing about me that they found endearing.

“Everything will work out,” my mom assured me. “Anyway, the dinner is still one week away. They might decide not to go at all.”

They would, of course.

My mother would be able to unwind, so Timothy and I hosted the meal.

I informed her, “You will fuss over everything if we have it at your place, Mom.” In this manner, you may simply relax and allow Tim and me to handle everything.”

She eventually gave in.

Timothy and I were getting ready in our bedroom together on the day of the dinner. He was pondering whether or not to wear a tie as he stood in front of the closet.

“Do you think your parents will try anything with me?” Searching for earrings that would go with my dress, I asked.

He asked, buttoning his shirt, “Like?”

As you are aware, they are. Many slights directed towards the individual. I laughed and replied, “Your mother is probably waiting to insult me.”

There were a lot of things that I couldn’t stand, even though I attempted to laugh it off with my spouse. Timothy’s parents, especially his mother, spoke to me in a way that I detested. She constantly gave the impression that I wasn’t who I was.

She was always criticising everything about me, including the meals I prepared, my wardrobe, and the music I liked.

My mother-in-law insisted on having a Sunday family meal twice a month, which I could hardly make it through. I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing because it felt uncomfortable and forced.

Timothy started playing barman as the visitors started to arrive, whipping up his own drinks as he went along.

Everyone arrived famished as soon as I laid the table.

When it came time to open the gifts after supper, my mother, who was always trying to please everyone, decided to open my mother-in-law’s gift first.

My mother-in-law Sandra said, quite softly but clearly smiling.

Sandra remarked, “It would be better if you opened it alone.”

Mom scoffed at me, but I felt awkward.

I was aware that Sandra would do all in her power to make me look bad, even if it meant including my mother. She was the kind of woman that this was. She was only concerned about herself.

My mother remarked, “This is going to be good then.”

She removed the layers of tissue paper. When the paper struck the floor, the room fell silent, and Mom opened the box.

When my husband opened the gift and saw the startlingly exposed latex outfit inside, he gasped.

My mother’s face had lost all colour, and the laughter had died in her throat.

My mother’s anguished expression made my eyes water and my heart hurt.

I was unable to control myself. Sandra’s bullying of me, her daughter-in-law, was one thing, but I wouldn’t stand for her to start going after my mom.

“What’s this all about? Sandra, what sick joke is this? I enquired. “My mother would never wear this.”

I was about to descend into an angry spiral, but Timothy reached out to grab my hand and pull me back.

“Why not, Rina?” Sandra questioned, her voice brimming with contempt as she blinked slowly. “Why shouldn’t she? Ultimately, her daughter dresses however she pleases and acts however she pleases.”

All in the room gasped at once. The insult was viscerally weighty and hung in the air.

I started to argue with her, my words driven by years of unreleased resentment, and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks.

Sandra was a legitimate opponent in a fight. She responded to my rage with a caustic sarcasm, hurling obscenities at both my mother and myself.

“Perhaps if your mother had raised you right,” she remarked, taking a sip from her wineglass. “My son’s life wouldn’t be such a mess if you weren’t.” Come to the party with what exactly? I’ve only seen you invite folks over to the house and dress skimpily.”

I was unable to speak. I really had nothing to say for once. Unable to take the weight of what she had spoken, I slumped back in my chair and cupped my head in my hands.

Suddenly, my spouse stepped in to try to protect us, but his mother silenced him.

“Shut up, Timothy,” was her direct statement. You’re just too stupid. This girl was your choice.”

But my mother rose above the confusion, a picture of composure in the face of conflict.

She took up the latex costume, carefully folded it, and put it back in the box.

She faced my mother-in-law and spoke in a steady yet stern tone.

Sandra, I’m grateful for your gift,” she remarked. “I’ll be sure to use it at some point.”

She took the birthday cake, the gorgeous three-tiered vanilla sponge cake that she had been anticipating all week, and hurled it directly into my mother-in-law’s shocked face, a move that none of us could have predicted.

With everyone focused on the sight in front of them, the room suddenly became quiet.

Covered with berries and icing, my mother-in-law stood still, a picture of angry fury.

“What?” inquired my mother while Sandra dabbed at the frosting on her face.

“Can’t speak anymore?”

Sandra erupted, and the entire room sensed her anger.

She spit out, “How dare you?”

“No,” interrupted Timothy. “You are so daring?

Sandra’s eyes met her son’s.

She hissed at him, “What?”

“You enter my house and talk to my wife as if she’s a complete stranger? And you treat her mother in the same way after that? What’s wrong with you, exactly?

My husband gestured to the door without waiting for her to respond.

“I believe it’s time for you to go,” he said.

Rather than being yelled, the order was given with such conviction that my mother-in-law, who was still cleaning cake out of her eyes, had no choice but to follow.

My spouse felt embarrassed. He expressed his sincere regret to my mother and me, promising that such an incident would never occur again.

The visitors left shortly after, leaving Timothy and me to tidy up.

Using a mop, he started to remove the remaining frosting that had become smeared on the tiles.

He pledged to speak with his mother in private once more as we cleared up the emotional and physical wreckage.

After the day’s events, my mother and I went down on the couch and drank tea to decompress. She touched me with her hand.

“Never let anyone dim your light,” she murmured, her eyes displaying a furious protectiveness in addition to the flicker of the room’s ornamental candles.

She went on, “Especially not in your own home.”

Now that I make sure I get care of myself before his mother, Timothy is okay when I turn down the invitations to the family meal.

I’m going to start therapy to help me heal because I’m still not feeling great about how supper ended.

How would you have responded in that situation?

Here’s another story for you if you liked this one.

My daughter received handmade dolls from my mother-in-law; after learning the truth about them, I banned her from visiting us.

When Katie confronts her mother-in-law after learning that she has been crafting bizarre dolls for her daughter, she learns that the elderly woman has been clinging to her sorrow her entire life. However, what does that imply for the enigmatic dolls? And the young girl who engages in play with them?

Despite my young age, I always thought of my grandmother as someone who loved and cared for me. I therefore always knew that I wanted my children to experience the affection of a grandmother when I became a parent. I had that exact wish when my daughter Lila was born.

Lila and my mother have a more virtual relationship because my mother lives several hours away from us.

The bright spot, though, is my mother-in-law, Susan. She enjoys spending time with Lila and only lives a few streets away.

Susan has been my child’s adoring grandmother ever since Lila was born. She came over and spent time playing and teaching Lila small cooking skills while also preparing food.

My mother-in-law and Lila have recently developed a passion for creative pursuits; they frequently paint or make beaded bracelets.

“Gran makes such great things, Mom!” One time while I was preparing Lila a sandwich, she told me.

“Gran is really good with her hands,” I replied. “She can do all sorts of things!”

Susan’s obsession right now is wanting to create handcrafted dolls for Lila.

“It seems to me that handmade toys have a unique quality,” she said to me during our supermarket shopping excursion. “I have lots of fabric ready.”

During a family meal a few weeks prior, Susan gave Lila a present box.

“Darling, look what I made for you,” she remarked.

With astonished eyes, Lila unlocked the package and saw the first of the handcrafted dolls inside.

Lila pushed her fork aside and said, “Wow!”

I said, “Okay, put your toy away for now,” and served cake for dessert. “You can play with her later.”

“No,” answered my mother-in-law. “Lila, let her sit next to you.”

With a beaming expression, Lila attempted to perch the doll on her leg as she sat at the table.

Lila was gushing about her grandmother’s gift all night long when she was brushing her teeth.

But then things started to become more bizarre. A strange doll separated from a strange dollhouse.

I was using my laptop in the dining room when my daughter raced in after Susan dropped Lila off at home the other day.

She cried out, “Mom!” her eyes glimmering with the excitement of a found treasure.

“What happened?” I questioned her, happy to see my child so happy.

She exclaimed, “Gran made these for me!”

Lila set three exquisitely made dolls on the table beside me. It was inevitable that they were beautiful.

“This is lovely!” I let out a cry. “Gran really is good, huh?”

“Gran said that she’ll also make me a dress for my birthday!” With a practically bounce, Lila said.

With a sewing machine, my mother-in-law was an expert; the more she used it, the more proficient she became. As Lila developed, she had made a couple dresses for her.

Lila said, “These dolls have names,” and followed me into the kitchen so I could start preparing dinner.

“Introduce them to me!” I stated.

My daughter called out the dolls’ names, placed them on the counter, and caressed each one of their heads.

She introduced herself as “Judy, Vivi, and Kara.”

“Those are some pretty interesting names,” I replied. “Where did you get them from?”

Innocently, “I didn’t pick them,” she admitted. “Gran accomplished. I’m going to hold a tea party with them in my room right now.”

Lila then got up and moved on.

Her curiosity was aroused, and a sense of dread descended. Those were names I was familiar with. My mother-in-law had three younger siblings who all died when they were toddlers, thus these three sisters were a part of the family’s troubled past.

My husband Justin once told me, “They were just really sickly children.”

“I can’t imagine that heartache,” I replied.

However, now that Susan had given the dolls their sister’s names, something didn’t feel quite right.

I started chopping veggies for supper when my mind kept racing. I grabbed up my phone, wiped my hands on my pants, and called my sister-in-law Jenna.

I said, “Hey, Jen,” as soon as she responded. “I need you to check something in the family album. It has to do with the dolls Lila’s mother has been producing.”

A pause occurred, and quiet descended.

Jenna responded, “Sure,” after a brief silence. “What’s up?”

I had to be careful what I said because I didn’t want to offend anyone.

“It’s probably nothing,” I said as I once more picked up the knife. “However, could you email me the picture of Mom’s sisters? The trio of children? Lila made an odd statement today, and I just need to double verify.”

She answered, “Sure thing, Katie,” and hung up.

Jenna sent me a message with the picture attached a few minutes later. As I studied it, my heart fell: three little girls, captured in a moment, with identical clothing and hairdo to Lila’s dolls.

It couldn’t have been a coincidence—it was too exact and planned.

That evening, I had to tell Justin about my finding when he got home from work.

“Katie,” he addressed her. “I believe you’re overanalyzing the whole thing. In a way, Mom presumably merely wanted to introduce Lila to her sisters. similar to angelic guardians or something.”