My MIL Ordered Me a Dress Four Sizes Too Small for Her Party, Saying, ‘It’s Time for You to Lose Weight’ – Karma Didn’t Take Long to Catch up with Her

“What? I’m not going to lie to her.”

Then she pinched the fabric near her own waist.

“This dress doesn’t flatter you either. It looks cheap.”

Simon’s voice cut across the room.

“Mom. Enough.”

Everything seemed to go quiet.

Clara stared at him.

“I’m trying to help your wife.”

“No. You’re insulting my wife.”
Her cheeks flushed.

“I only want what’s best for you, Simmy.”

Then she looked directly at me.

“My son deserves a more attractive woman.”

Something inside me went completely still.

I looked at Simon.

But suddenly, I didn’t want anyone defending me.

I didn’t want to stand in the middle of somebody else’s anniversary celebration while an entire room debated whether my postpartum body was acceptable.

“I need the restroom.”

Simon reached toward me.

“Jen…”

“I’m fine.”

I wasn’t.

But I desperately needed five minutes alone.

Inside the restroom, I locked myself in a stall and sat on the closed toilet.

I was angry.

At Clara.

At myself for still letting her comments hurt me.

And a little at Simon too.

Because years of telling me to ignore his mother had apparently taught her that she could say absolutely anything and still be welcomed into our lives afterward.

Then the restroom door opened.

Two women walked in talking.

“Did yours fit?”

“Eventually.”

“What does that mean?”

“Clara had the boutique alter the sleeves.”

I stopped breathing.

The other woman gave an uncomfortable laugh.

“Mine too. She said my arms don’t photograph well.”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.”

Their voices faded as they left.

I remained in the stall staring at the door.

My dress wasn’t an isolated incident.

Clara hadn’t simply bought me something inappropriate.

She had been redesigning women.

Changing sizes.

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