On Thanksgiving, my daughter-in-law thought it was funny to pour gravy on me. The family laughed. Ten minutes later, the notary knocked at the door with a folder she had prayed would stay hidden.
I had spent three days preparing for Thanksgiving. My daughter-in-law, Jessica, opened the door, her smile a masterpiece of insincerity.
Dinner was like a well-rehearsed play, and I was the only one without a script. I had been placed at the far end of the table, an island in a sea of conversation.
Thatβs when it happened.
Jessica stood up, the gravy boat in her hand. She moved behind my chair and tilted it. Hot, brown liquid spilled over my head, soaking my hair, running down my face, and staining my best blue dress.
The table fell silent for a moment. Then, my son, David, began to laugh. The others joined in, a chorus of laughter that felt like a thousand tiny cuts.
βOh my goodness, Iβm so sorry, Maria!β Jessica exclaimed, but her voice carried triumph. βHow clumsy of me!β
She wanted to reduce me to a pathetic old woman, a laughingstock. I stood up, gravy still dripping onto their expensive carpet. βExcuse me,β I said, my voice quiet but steady. βI need to use the bathroom.β
As I wiped my face, the doorbell rang. I smiled at my reflection. I no longer saw a victim. I saw a woman who had carefully planned her final move.
I returned to the dining room. David came back too, his face a mask of confusion. βMom, thereβs a notary here. She says she has an appointment with you.β
The color drained from Jessicaβs face. βA notary? For what?β
βSheβs here for me,β I said. βI have some documents that need to be witnessed.β… Watch: [in comment] – Made with AI