When Elara’s mother-in-law moved in, Bronte refused to lift a finger, claiming she was just a “guest” in their home. Instead of kicking her out, Elara got creative and gave her the full VIP treatment until she couldn’t take it anymore.
Elara never expected her mother-in-law to be a neat freak, but she also didn’t expect to become her personal maid.
When Caspian told Elara his mom, Bronte, had sold her condo and needed a place to stay “for a little while,” Elara hesitated. The last time they spent more than a weekend together, Bronte had criticized everything from Elara’s cooking to the way she folded towels.
“Just until she figures things out,” Caspian promised, like that made it any better.
“How long is ‘a little while’?” Elara asked, already regretting the conversation.
He shrugged. “A couple of weeks? Maybe a month?”
Elara sighed, knowing she was going to regret this. “Fine. But we need ground rules.”
“Of course,” Caspian agreed without hesitation, which was mistake number one—thinking he would help enforce anything.
Bronte moved in the following weekend with three suitcases, a collection of houseplants, and zero respect for personal space.
At first, Elara convinced herself it wouldn’t be so bad. Bronte unpacked, filled Elara’s kitchen with organic tea she never drank, and made passive-aggressive comments about how “young people these days” relied too much on microwaves instead of “real cooking.”
By the second week, it became painfully clear that Bronte was not just a temporary guest. She was a full-time problem.
She left dirty dishes on the table, promising to rinse them later, but later never came. Elara’s bathroom mirror was constantly smeared with makeup and fingerprints, a daily reminder that Bronte had no intention of wiping anything down.
Laundry? Oh, she didn’t do her own. Instead, she casually tossed her clothes into Elara’s hamper, as if Elara was just dying to wash Bronte’s sweatpants along with her work blouses.
Elara tried to be nice about it.
“Hey, Bronte, do you mind tossing your towel in the hamper?”
Bronte gave Elara a sweet, clueless smile. “Oh, honey, I’m just a guest! You wouldn’t ask a guest to do chores, would you?”
A guest. In the home Elara paid for.
Meanwhile, Caspian was absolutely useless.
“She’s my mom, babe,” he said when Elara vented to him. “Can’t we just let her be comfortable?”
Comfortable.
Bronte was living like royalty while Elara ran around cleaning up after two adults.
Elara swallowed her frustration and let it go.
Until the coffee incident.
Saturday morning. Elara’s one sacred day to sleep in, the only morning she could truly relax. Elara shuffled into the kitchen, barely awake, already craving the one thing that would make her feel human—her special coffee, the expensive brand she bought just for herself as a small indulgence.
And Bronte was there.
Bronte, sitting at Elara’s table, sipping from Elara’s favorite mug, drinking the last cup.
Elara stared at her, willing herself to stay calm, but then her gaze drifted to the sink. She saw three plates, a coffee mug, crumbs everywhere, an entire disaster zone left for Elara to clean up.
Elara took a slow, deep breath. “Bronte, would you mind helping with the dishes today?”
Bronte didn’t even bother looking up.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Bronte said, waving a dismissive hand, “I’m sure you’ll get to it.”
Something inside Elara snapped. But she didn’t yell. She didn’t argue.
She smiled.
Because in that moment, a beautiful, perfect idea started forming in her head.
Bronte wanted to be treated like a guest? Fine. Elara was going to treat her exactly like one.
For the next week, Elara played the perfect host, smiling sweetly while she carried out her plan. She didn’t nag, she didn’t complain, and she certainly didn’t ask Bronte to clean up after herself anymore. Instead, Elara made sure Bronte got the full guest experience.
On Monday morning, Bronte woke up to a neatly printed menu placed on her nightstand. At the top, in elegant script, it read:
“Welcome to the Family B&B! Please select your complimentary breakfast option.”
Underneath were three simple choices:
☕ Cereal & Milk – Served in the finest ceramic bowl.
🍞 Toast & Butter – Lightly crisped to perfection.
🍛 Chef’s Surprise – A delightful mystery from last night’s leftovers.
Bronte walked into the kitchen, menu in hand, looking confused. “What’s this?”
“Oh, just a little something I put together,” Elara said cheerfully. “I know you’re a guest, so I figured you shouldn’t have to fend for yourself in the mornings.”
Bronte frowned. “But where’s my omelet? You always make eggs on Mondays.”
Elara gave her a sympathetic look. “Oh, sorry! The upgraded breakfast package isn’t included in the complimentary stay.” Elara gestured to the counter. “Would you like cereal or toast?”
Bronte huffed but took the cereal.
One small victory for Elara.
Bronte had a little habit—she loved to watch YouTube and scroll through Facebook well into the night, giggling at videos while the rest of them tried to sleep. That’s when Elara introduced her next change.
Tuesday night, right around 11 p.m., Elara switched off the WiFi router.
Not five minutes later, Bronte came stomping out of her room. “Elara! The internet’s not working.”
“Oh, right,” Elara said, stifling a yawn. “We have an automatic shutoff system now. It’s part of our house security protocol—reduces cyber threats and keeps everything running smoothly.”
Bronte blinked. “That’s ridiculous. I was in the middle of a show.”
“Sorry, house rules! It turns back on at 7 a.m. Have a good night!”
Bronte muttered something under her breath but stomped back to her room.
By Wednesday, Elara took things up a notch. Every time she cleaned up Bronte’s mess, Elara left a laminated sign in the area:
“Housekeeping in Progress! Do Not Disturb!”
One on the bathroom mirror after wiping off Bronte’s makeup smudges. Another in the kitchen after scrubbing Bronte’s crusty plates. One draped dramatically over the couch where Bronte left crumbs.
Bronte scowled every time she saw one. “What’s with all these signs?”
“Oh, it’s just a reminder that housekeeping is an important part of any guest experience,” Elara said with a smile.
Bronte’s eye twitched. Elara almost felt bad. Almost.
By Thursday, Elara stopped making dinner. Instead, she left a neatly stacked pile of takeout menus in Bronte’s room.
That evening, Bronte stood in the kitchen, looking bewildered. “What’s for dinner?”
“Oh, I figured you might want to pick something yourself! Guests should have options,” Elara said, handing her a menu. “There’s a great Chinese place down the street. Or pizza, if you’re in the mood.”
Bronte’s lips pursed. “But you always cook.”
Elara shrugged. “I didn’t want to impose. Enjoy!”
Caspian, of course, just grabbed a menu and went along with it, oblivious as ever.
Sunday morning, Bronte found an envelope on her dresser. Inside was a neatly written invoice:
Laundry Services – $50
Maid Service – $30
Coffee & Breakfast Supply Fee – $20
Hotel Convenience Charge – $15
At the bottom, Elara had written:
“Thank you for staying at the Family B&B! Please settle your balance by the end of your stay.”
Elara was halfway through her first sip of coffee when she heard an outraged gasp from down the hall. She immediately knew this was going to be good.
Seconds later, Bronte stormed into the kitchen, waving the bill Elara had left on her dresser. Her face was red, her lips pressed so tightly together they nearly disappeared.
“What is this?” Bronte demanded, shaking the paper at Elara like she had personally insulted her.
Elara took another slow sip of coffee. “Oh, just an invoice for your stay. Standard hospitality rates.”
Bronte’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “I am not paying to live in my own son’s house!”
Elara tilted her head. “Oh? I thought you were a guest? And guests don’t stay for free, Bronte.”
For a moment, Bronte was too stunned to speak. Then she turned to Caspian, who had just walked in, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Caspian,” Bronte sputtered, thrusting the bill at him. “Your wife is trying to charge me for staying here!”
Caspian blinked at the paper, then at Elara.
“Babe,” he said slowly, “is this real?”
Elara smiled sweetly. “Of course not. I’m not actually charging her. I’m just following her logic. Guests don’t clean up after themselves, so they pay for service instead.”
Caspian looked between Elara and his mother, realization sinking in. Meanwhile, Bronte’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air.
“This is ridiculous!” Bronte shrieked. “I don’t feel welcome here anymore!”
Elara raised an eyebrow.
And then—oh, it was beautiful—Bronte said it.
“I guess I’ll just find somewhere else to stay!”
Caspian hesitated, but Elara shot him a look that said, I dare you to argue. He sighed, rubbing his face.
“Mom… maybe that’s for the best.”
And just like that, Bronte was gone within a week.
The house was peaceful again. No more dirty dishes left on the table. No more towels on Elara’s furniture. No more waking up to passive-aggressive comments.
Caspian, finally free from his guilt, admitted, “Okay… maybe you had a point.”
And Elara? She poured herself a fresh cup of her special coffee, stretched out on her guest-free couch, and savored her victory.
Bronte may have been too special to clean up after herself. But in the end?
She cleaned herself right out of Elara’s house.
