Everything was all set for our much-anticipated trip to Aruba — until my passport mysteriously went missing on the morning we were supposed to leave.
When my mother-in-law casually remarked, “Maybe you weren’t meant to go,” I suddenly felt like this was more than just a coincidence. But how could I convince my husband of that?
Honestly, I almost bailed on that Aruba trip, not because I didn’t want to go — I totally did. But someone else seemed to think I shouldn’t.
Let me back up a bit.
We had been planning a family getaway to Aruba — just me, my husband Nathan, and our seven-year-old daughter, Emma. It was supposed to be our first real vacation in ages.
With work, school commitments, and all the adulting we had to juggle, we hadn’t gotten away for more than a long weekend in forever. So this trip was a big deal for me.
I needed that sunshine and relaxation like I needed air.
But then my mother-in-law, Donna, came into the picture. She had just broken up with her boyfriend and was feeling a bit lonely.
About two weeks before our flight, she called Nathan, using that sweet, helpless tone of hers: “Maybe I could join you, Natie. I haven’t traveled in so long, and I’d hate to sit at home while you all have fun…”
I definitely didn’t want to deal with my judgmental MIL on what was supposed to be my dream vacation. But at that point, I couldn’t say no without coming off as rude.
So, I forced a smile at Nathan and said, “Sure, why not.”
I thought I could handle a few awkward dinners to enjoy my beach time.
What a mistake that turned out to be!
The night before our departure, I buzzed around making sure everything was ready for our trip.
I packed everything, right down to the toothbrush caps, triple-checked our luggage, and placed our passports (mine, Nathan’s, and Emma’s) neatly in a travel folder I had left on the kitchen counter.
We were all set.
Donna insisted on crashing at our place the night before we flew out so we could head to the airport together.
Alright, I thought. One less hassle. But of course, she couldn’t just hit the hay like a normal person.
Nope! She waited until about 10 p.m. to corner Nathan, asking him how to use the Echo speaker in the guest room. “So I can adjust the fan or the temperature, Natie,” she said, acting all wide-eyed and needy.
That Echo had been in there since Emma was little, helping her nap during a regression phase with lullabies and white noise. Now it was just a handy gadget for guests. You say, “Alexa, turn on the fan,” and voilà!
But Donna? She needed a full-blown tutorial. I knew what she was up to — it wasn’t really about the speaker. She just wanted Nathan’s attention.
From the hallway, I watched her bat her eyes at him, saying, “You always made this tech stuff look so easy, Natie.”
And of course, he fell for it, sitting there like the good son he is, explaining how to say, “Alexa, lower the temperature,” while I slowly died inside.
But I kept my mouth shut. Nathan never listened when I told him Donna could be manipulative. I had learned to accept that he saw her through rose-colored glasses.
The next morning, Nathan shook me awake.
“You ready, babe? We’ve got to leave in an hour!”
I rushed through my routine, feeling that familiar pre-travel anxiety, and went to grab the travel folder.
It was right where I’d left it on the counter. But when I opened it, my passport was missing.
I froze. I checked again, rummaging through the folder like it might magically reappear if I looked hard enough.
Nothing.
I searched drawers, the trash, the pile of junk mail, Emma’s backpack, and even the fridge, but it was nowhere to be found.
Panic hit, so I dashed upstairs and burst into our bedroom.
“Nathan,” I gasped, “My passport—it’s not in the folder.”
He frowned. “Didn’t you put it in there last night?”
“Yes! I had them all lined up, and mine was on top!”
He helped me look. We flipped couch cushions and shook out laundry baskets. Still nothing.
Then, just as I was thinking we might need a miracle, Donna floated downstairs, appearing all calm.
“Oh dear,” she said, hand to her chest. “Is something wrong?”
I explained, nearly in tears, that my passport had gone missing. And her response?
“Well, sweetie… these things happen. Maybe you weren’t meant to go.”
Her eyes flickered, just a little. And that smug grin? It was practically a confession.
She did it.
But I didn’t say anything, not yet. I knew if I accused her without proof, Nathan would back her up. She’s way too good at playing the helpless victim, and Nathan, bless his heart, falls for her every time.
So I bit my tongue and made a choice.
“Go ahead to the airport,” I told Nathan. “I’ll figure this out here.”
He hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said firmly. “If you wait any longer, you’ll miss your flight. And someone should enjoy the trip.”
Donna jumped in, all fake concern, barely hiding her glee. “Go, Natie. I’ll stay with Morgan and make sure she’s okay.”
I turned to her with as sweet a smile as I could muster.
“Actually, Donna, I’ll be fine on my own. Why don’t you just go finish packing?”
“Oh, well, if you insist,” she replied, trying to hide her disappointment.
It was bad enough she sabotaged my vacation, but I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of seeing me freak out about it.
Once they left for the airport, I headed straight for the guest room. I’d already turned the rest of the house upside down in my search, and this was my last shot.
I methodically searched the guest room, like a detective on a case. This was no longer just a hunt for a lost passport — it was a mission.
And then, under a pile of Better Homes and Gardens magazines in the nightstand drawer, I spotted it.
My passport!
All my suspicions were confirmed: Donna had taken my passport and hidden it to ruin my vacation!
That was the last straw. I’d put up with her nonsense for years, but this? This crossed into “MIL from hell” territory, and I wasn’t going to just let it slide.
But how could I show Nathan that she’d taken my passport?
If I didn’t find something to prove it, he’d believe whatever lie Donna came up with about how it ended up in the nightstand.
I glanced around the room again for clues. Then my eyes landed on the small bookshelf across from the bed.
A smile crept across my face. You want to play games, Donna? Let’s see how you like them.
I grabbed my bag, slid my passport inside, and called the airline.
I couldn’t believe it! They had one seat left on the next flight out, arriving just three hours after theirs.
But I didn’t text Nathan. I wanted Donna to think she’d won.
I landed in Aruba just in time for sunset, caught a cab to the resort, and checked in at the front desk.
I asked the receptionist to book me into a suite down the hall from Nathan and Emma’s rooms.
Knowing they had a dinner reservation at the outdoor restaurant, I waited until dessert to make my move.
From a distance, I spotted Nathan, Emma, and Donna, all lit by tiki torches. Donna was laughing, sipping wine, glowing with delight.
Then I approached.
“MOMMY!” Emma squealed, jumping out of her chair.
Nathan stood up, his jaw dropping. “Morgan? You found your passport!”
Donna nearly dropped her wine glass. “But… how did you—?”
I smiled.
“It was exactly where you left it, Donna. In the Ziplock, under the magazines. In the guest room.”
The table went totally silent. Nathan looked at his mom, his face a mix of disbelief and betrayal.
“Mom?” he asked, shocked.
Donna stammered, “That’s ridiculous. I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
“Oh? Luckily, Alexa recorded what you said, so let me jog your memory.” I whipped out my phone and hit play.
The recording began with Alexa saying it was adjusting the temperature. Then, Donna’s voice rang out clearly.
“She doesn’t deserve this vacation. If she can’t keep track of her own passport, maybe she shouldn’t go. Natie will finally relax without her nagging.”
Donna looked like she’d seen a ghost.
Nathan glanced between us, stunned, while poor Emma clung to my leg, looking totally confused.
Then Donna stood up.
I expected her to argue or make excuses, but she just walked away.
Later that evening, Nathan and I sat on the balcony while Emma snoozed.
“I thought it was odd that your passport just disappeared, but I never imagined Mom would go this far,” he admitted.
“You didn’t want to see the truth,” I replied. “But this is the line. We can’t let her control our lives anymore.”
He nodded. “You’re right. I’m so sorry.”
When we got home, Donna tried to mend things. She cried and begged, but then got angry.
“I was just trying to protect my son!” she shouted through the screen door one day. “You’re a bad influence! You control him like a puppet!”
“You’re not welcome in our home anymore,” I told her firmly before shutting the door in her face.
A few weeks later, I booked a solo spa weekend. All-inclusive. No Donna. No drama.
And the best part?
I paid for that trip with the refund from the flight she tried to sabotage.
