Carol’s house screamed Christmas perfection—trees in every corner, garlands everywhere, lights twinkling just right. She loved control, from the fancy dinner spread to the last sprinkle on her desserts. Everything had to look flawless. I’ve been Eric’s wife for three years, and Christmas at Carol’s is our routine. This time, I wanted to shine. My girls, Lily and Mia, from my first marriage, adore Eric’s family, sweet and shy as they are. Carol’s all over my son Ben, our little guy with Eric, showering him with love, but she’s cooler with the girls. Once, she got Ben a shiny toy car for his birthday while tossing Lily and Mia a shared coloring book. Determined to fit in this year, I dressed all three kids in cute reindeer sweaters—red, green, and white—hoping Carol would see us as a team.
When Eric got Carol’s photoshoot invite, he just chuckled, “Mom’s obsessed with perfect pictures.” I grinned, “Then we’ll nail it.” But walking into her house, my stomach sank. Everyone wore matching plaid pajamas—Carol, her husband, Eric’s brother, his crew, even the dog with a plaid bandana. Our sweaters stuck out like sore thumbs. Carol’s smile was tight, her “Oh, didn’t I text you?” dripping with fake pity. Lily and Mia looked at me, unsure, and I forced a cheery, “We’re fine like this.” She smirked, “They do pop, don’t they?” Eric squeezed my shoulder, whispering, “Ignore her.” Carol fawned over Ben, whisking him off for photos, while I hung our coats, Mia asking softly, “Are we in the pictures?” “Of course,” I said, glancing at Eric for backup, but Carol cut in, suggesting I freshen Ben up—like a nudge to leave.
Back from the bathroom, I froze. Lily and Mia sat on the couch, tears on their cheeks, clutching their sweaters. “Grandma said we should go home,” Mia whispered. “We don’t match,” Lily added, voice breaking. Fury hit me. I faced Carol, who fiddled with her camera, all innocent. “Did you kick my girls out over pajamas?” I snapped. She waved it off, “I forgot to tell you—such a shame,” then pulled out pajamas for Eric and Ben, dressing him like I wasn’t there. Eric stepped up, peeling them off. “Why’d you leave my wife and girls out, Mom?” he asked, calm but firm. Carol stammered, “It’s not a big deal,” but Eric wasn’t having it. “You hurt them over this? I’m not playing along.” The room went quiet, no one backing her up. “We’re out,” he said, grabbing Ben and ushering us to the door. Carol huffed, “Over pajamas?” “No,” he shot back, “over respect.”
Driving home, Eric grinned, “Nobody messes with us.” That night, he snapped a photo—us in our sweaters, Ben sockless, Mia’s hair wild, but our smiles real. He posted it: “Family’s love, not outfits.” Carol never pulled that stunt again—she’d learned her lesson.
