Days before Christmas, my brother and his wife, Lindsey, unexpectedly showed up to stay with us after their heating system broke. Despite my reservations, Nathan and I welcomed them, but things quickly went south.
Lindsey took over our master bathroom, left my clothes in her suitcase without asking, and then, on Christmas Eve, did the unthinkable—she threw out my mother’s ashes, which had been placed on the mantel to honor her wish to “spend” Christmas with us. When I confronted her, she dismissed it as “just ashes,” infuriating me beyond words.
The next night, disaster struck again: Lindsey caused a massive sewage backup in the bathroom. As she screamed, I couldn’t help but think it might be a strange form of karma for what she’d done. Christmas Day wasn’t much better—Lindsey was unusually quiet as the rest of the family ate dinner, and my brother, Ryan, apologized for his wife’s behavior.
By the end of the night, everyone had turned on Lindsey after hearing about her actions, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of justice. Nathan joked that maybe my mom was with us in spirit after all. I smiled, knowing that, even though the holidays had been stressful, things had a way of working out.
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