Easter Sunday arrived with the promise of good weather, a well-planned feast, and, of course, Carter’s family — which meant a day full of smiles, laughter, and, inevitably, a whole lot of passive-aggressive comments from his mother and sisters. But this year, I was ready for them.

I’ve been married to Carter for three years now, and while we have a solid, loving relationship, his family has never exactly warmed up to me. They’ve always been a little… entitled. I’m talking about the kind of people who think they can tell you how to live your life, even if they’ve barely made an effort to understand it.

Last month, Patricia — my ever-demanding mother-in-law — casually informed me, “You and Carter don’t have kids yet, so it would make sense for you to organize the Easter Egg Hunt this year.”

She wasn’t asking, of course. It was more of a command. And not just a few eggs. No. I was supposed to turn our entire backyard into a scavenger hunt, complete with costumes, clues, and — wait for it — hire a bunny mascot. Out of my own pocket.

“Think of it as an investment in our family,” she added, sipping her latte like she had just made the most reasonable suggestion in the world.

Meanwhile, her husband Frank and the other sisters, Sophia, Melissa, and Hailey, sipped their drinks and nodded as if this was all perfectly normal.

And what about me? Well, I didn’t have a choice. I swallowed my frustrations, bit my tongue, and promised to handle it. But I also began to plot.

Days before Easter, the family group chat exploded. Of course, Carter was conveniently left out of these chats. The messages came pouring in from Patricia and the girls, asking me to cook a full Easter dinner for 25 people. Ham, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, deviled eggs, rolls, and of course, two pies. And I was supposed to do this alone.

When I showed Carter the text, he was furious. “That’s ridiculous, Emma. I’ll talk to them,” he said, his hands clenched into fists.

“No,” I replied calmly, “I’ve got this. Don’t worry about it.”

And so, I spent Easter morning hiding eggs in the backyard, preparing the feast they demanded, all while silently plotting my revenge. When they all arrived, loud and messy as always, I put on my best smile and got to work. They criticized my cooking, of course. Patricia said the ham was dry. Melissa complained the potatoes needed more butter. And Sophia had to point out that I’d served gravy in a “measuring cup, not a proper boat.”

I bit my lip, took a deep breath, and continued. The worst part was, after the kids had eaten, they sat down on the couches like it was all my responsibility to clean up after them.

“Emma, the kitchen isn’t going to clean itself,” Sophia commented, stretching out on the couch with a smug smile.

“Oh, honey,” Patricia added, “Now you can clean everything up. Time to show you’re real wife material.”

I forced a smile. “Absolutely, I’ll handle everything.”

I could feel them relaxing, satisfied that they had won. But little did they know, I had a little surprise hidden up my sleeve.

“Kids!” I called out cheerfully, clapping my hands. “Who’s ready for the special Easter Egg Hunt now?”

The children, eager and excited, scrambled toward the back door, thrilled for what they thought would be the usual hunt. But this time, there was something extra. I pulled out a glittering golden egg from my pocket.

“This is the Golden Egg Challenge,” I said with a wink. “The winner gets a very special prize.”

Sophia’s daughter, Lily, looked at me wide-eyed. “Better than candy?” she asked, practically bouncing with excitement.

“Absolutely,” I grinned, “An all-expenses-paid prize!”

The children scrambled for the back yard, eager to find this elusive egg, but I wasn’t just offering candy or toys. I was offering something else entirely.

When Lily finally found the golden egg, I made a big show of reading the note inside. “Congratulations, Lily! You’ve won the GRAND PRIZE: Your family gets to handle the ENTIRE Easter clean-up!”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“What?” Sophia sputtered, choking on her wine.

“Lily has to clean?” Melissa’s son asked in confusion.

The kids, not missing a beat, started chanting in unison: “Clean up! Clean up!” They eagerly began picking up wrappers and trash from the yard, thrilled to be part of the challenge.

The adults, however, were less than thrilled.

“I can’t believe you did this, Emma,” Sophia said, her face flushed red.

“I’m just following family traditions,” I said sweetly. “You’ve always told me how important they are.”

Patricia’s expression hardened. “Emma, dear, this isn’t funny.”

“Oh, is it?” I asked innocently. “More inappropriate than expecting one person to do everything for 25 people without help? More inappropriate than criticizing my cooking?”

The kids, meanwhile, were having the time of their lives, dragging the trash bags, sweeping the floor, and cleaning the kitchen without hesitation. It was the best moment of the day. Carter was absolutely losing it with laughter.

“Come on, guys,” I said, sipping my mimosa on the patio. “Let’s make sure everything gets done.”

Finally, after much grumbling and mumbling, Sophia muttered, “Fine,” and donned a pair of rubber gloves. Melissa followed suit, and even Patricia reluctantly joined in. The family spent the next hour cleaning up, while I sat back and enjoyed my well-earned drink.

By the time they left, I had seen a change in them. Monica was stiff, but there was something new in her expression. Respect, perhaps? Or was it just the realization that I wasn’t someone to be walked all over anymore?

Next Easter? I have a feeling they’ll be bringing their own potluck dishes… and maybe a mop.