When I offered to treat my boyfriend Jake’s family to a beach vacation, I thought it would bring us closer. His mom, Kathy, even cried when I called to invite them. “You’re already part of the family,” she said. I believed her. But from the moment we arrived at the resort, her kindness soured. That first dinner, I stepped away briefly, and when I returned, all the meat had been removed from my plate.

“We don’t eat meat in this family,” Kathy announced sweetly, “and I won’t let Sylvia be influenced.” I was stunned. I had no idea they were vegetarian. Jake, sitting silently, just shrugged. “Maybe just try it?” he mumbled. That’s when I realized—he’d never stand up to her. So I smiled and said nothing. But I was already planning my next move.

I watched Kathy closely over the next day. Her secret? A massive sweet tooth. She hoarded cookies from the lobby and stacked her dessert plate like a sugar pyramid. So I made a call to my mom, who worked at the resort, and asked for a little help. Suddenly, every dessert Kathy reached for was mysteriously “unavailable.”

She spiraled fast—accusing waiters, whispering furiously to Jake, even claiming she was being “targeted.” On day three, I leaned across the table and said sweetly, “If you expect me to respect your diet, respect mine.” Kathy’s face went pale. No one defended her.

The next dinner, she was quiet. And just before dessert, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

That’s all I wanted. Respect.

Now, I had it.