My Mother-in-Law's $108,000 Facial

My mother-in-law, Martha, walked into the medical spa with eight of her church friends, demanding full-set anti-aging treatments for fifty dollars a person. She actually claimed she was doing me a favor by bringing in business. I flat-out refused on the spot. "Martha, the full anti-aging package is ninety-eight hundred dollars per person. For nine of you, that's nearly ninety thousand dollars. Fifty bucks won't even cover a bottle of toner." She didn't listen to a single word. Instead, she waved her friends deeper into the lobby. "You own this entire place! What's wrong with giving your own family a discount? It's not like I'm asking you to pay out of pocket!" With that, she and her posse completely took over the lobby lounge. Looking at this room full of middle-aged women waiting for luxury facials, I couldn't help but laugh. It wasn't even about the money. The real issue was that I didn't own this spa at all. My clinic was right next door. Martha made herself right at home on the most expensive aesthetician bed, a twenty-four-karat gold leaf mask smoothing over her face, sipping herbal tea a receptionist had brought over. Then, she demanded a deep-infusion eye-firming treatment. I recognized that serum instantly. It was imported from France, retailing at twenty-eight hundred dollars a vial. Her eight friends crowded onto the chairs nearby, their necks craned to watch Martha soak in the luxury, their eyes dripping with pure envy. "Oh, Martha, you're so generous, treating all of us to such a high-end spa day!" "Seriously! I heard these gold leaf masks are what Hollywood A-listers use. A single sheet costs hundreds!" "Having a son whose wife owns a place like this... Martha, you really hit the jackpot!" Basking in their endless flattery, Martha looked like she was floating on air. Her smile was practically splitting her face in two. She waved a dismissive hand, her tone dripping with smug pride. "Oh, it's nothing! My son's wife knows how to show respect. She owns this whole joint! What's wrong with bringing my girls in for a little pampering?" She turned her head toward me. "Claire, sweetie, go do whatever you need to do. Don't worry about us; we girls just want to relax." I stood there and stared at her for two straight seconds, barely swallowing a burst of laughter. Do whatever I need to do? I turned on my heel and walked straight toward the exit without lingering for a second. I knew down to the exact penny how insanely expensive this place was. The ninety-eight hundred dollars a head I had quoted earlier? That was the pricing for my own clinic. This place? It was strictly more expensive. The only reason I was even here today was to test out a brand-new, medical-grade serum they had just imported. As a clinic owner, I had to test wholesale products on my own skin before placing a massive order. Who could have guessed that by pure coincidence, Martha would barge in right then with eight of her friends? My brain had literally short-circuited when she walked through the doors. Right in front of her friends, Martha had bellowed across the room, "Look, Claire's here! Perfect timing! This is the medical spa my son's wife owns. Ladies, get whatever you want today! Fifty bucks a head, and we're getting the whole works!" I had opened my mouth to explain, but she hadn't given me a single second to speak. The eight women had already swarmed inside like a flock of seagulls. Standing in the doorway, watching the entire room packed with ladies demanding luxury facials, I had felt a strange cocktail of emotions. This spa wasn't mine. Mine was right next door. I had been running my medical aesthetic clinic for three whole years, keeping it completely hidden from Martha. It wasn't that I enjoyed keeping secrets; I simply didn't dare tell her. I knew her way too well. I knew exactly what kind of person she was. If she ever found out I owned a clinic, she would treat my business like her personal ATM. Turns out, my gut instinct was dead-on. Yesterday, I had accidentally slipped up, and today, she had showed up with an entire cavalry. My best friend had come over for dinner last night, and during our chat, she had casually mentioned a new product line arriving at my clinic. Martha had been carrying dishes out of the kitchen and overheard every single word. She hadn't said a thing at the time. Instead, first thing this morning, she had called all eight of her church buddies. At one in the afternoon sharp, nine women had marched right up to this spa's front doors. And I, by sheer twist of fate, was right there testing products. Fate truly had a twisted sense of humor. I stepped out through the front doors of the spa. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from my husband, Ethan. "Why do you have to be so petty? Martha just went in for a facial and you're already throwing a fit?" I stared at the screen for three seconds, took a deep breath, and typed back: "Martha gave them fifty dollars and demanded ten-thousand-dollar treatments. For nine people, that's nearly ninety thousand dollars."The moment I sent the text, the other end went silent for about thirty seconds. Then another message popped up. "Fifty bucks is fifty bucks. Are you really that desperate for cash? It's your own shop. Giving a discount won't kill your margins." My fingers trembled with pure rage. A discount? What kind of discount turns ten grand into fifty bucks? That was practically asking for free handouts! I texted him back plainly: "That's not my clinic." After sending that message, I thought he would finally understand the situation. Instead, his next message made me want to smash my phone against the sidewalk. "Even if you don't want Martha spending your money, you don't have to lie and say it's not yours." "Just consider this making it up to Martha." "Who told you to hide the fact that you opened a clinic from her in the first place?" Making it up to her? A ninety-thousand-dollar compensation? Ethan made sixty-five hundred dollars a month. Even if he starved himself and didn't spend a single cent, he couldn't save that much in a whole year. I stared at the screen for a long time before deciding not to reply at all. I shoved my phone back into my pocket and turned toward my own clinic. It wasn't my business, so it wasn't my problem. I had zero desire to get involved. I had been married to Ethan for three years. Before we tied the knot, I thought he was wonderful—gentle, attentive, with a decent temper. Who knew that the moment we got married, he would turn into a completely different person? Everything his mother said was gospel. Everything had to follow his mother's schedule. He had insisted we all live together, claiming he couldn't bear leaving his mother all alone. Only after moving in did I realize it wasn't that he couldn't leave his mother—it was that his mother refused to let him go. His mother, Martha, was a retired factory worker with a monthly pension of two thousand dollars. Yet she spent money far more lavishly than someone pulling in twenty grand a month. Especially in front of her circle of friends, she always had to play the generous big-shot. She was always the one treating everyone to dinners, paying for karaoke nights, and sending out cash gifts. What did she do when she ran out of money? She demanded it from her son. What happened when her son was tapped out? They came knocking on my door. Over these three years, the money I had poured into her amounted to at least a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Every single time, I had swallowed my pride and taken the hit. To keep the peace at home, to avoid screaming matches with Ethan, I had retreated again and again. But this time, I wasn't backing down. Ninety thousand dollars? Not in her wildest dreams. I walked up to the front entrance of my clinic and pushed open the glass doors. My receptionist, Chloe, rushed over, an awkward look plastered across her face. "Claire, your husband just called the front desk." I raised an eyebrow. "What did he say?" Chloe bit her lip, clearly struggling with how to phrase it. "He told us to take extra good care of Martha and her friends. He said to give them the full VIP package and make sure not to charge them a single dime." I let out a cold laugh. "How did you respond?" "I told him Martha wasn't here. He completely lost it, accused me of lying through my teeth, and cursed me out over the phone." By the end of the sentence, Chloe's eyes were rimmed with red. I gently patted her shoulder. "Ignore him. If he calls again, hang up immediately." Chloe nodded, then threw me a cautious glance. "Claire... did Martha go to the luxury medical spa next door?" "Yeah." "Their full-set anti-aging package starts at twelve thousand dollars a person." I froze for a second. Twelve thousand? That was even higher than my estimate. The ninety-eight hundred I had quoted earlier was my own clinic's rate; I hadn't actually checked their finalized service menu today. Well, isn't that fantastic. For nine people, it wouldn't just be ninety thousand. It would easily blow past a hundred thousand dollars. Right as the thought crossed my mind, my phone buzzed again. Martha had just posted on Ins. I tapped it open to find a full nine-photo grid. The first photo was a selfie of her lounging on the aesthetician's bed, gold leaf pasted all over her face, grinning so hard her wrinkles were practically folding over each other. The second photo showed her eight friends sitting in a neat row. The caption read: "Brought the girls to our family's medical spa for some self-care! Full anti-aging packages for everyone. A woman has to treat herself right!"The comment section was already blowing up. All the church friends who hadn't made the trip were practically green with envy. "Martha, you are so blessed! Your son's wife is an angel!" "That gold leaf mask looks insanely expensive! How much is it?" "Take us with you next time! Let us get a taste of the good life too!" Martha replied with a blanket response: "It's totally free! My son's wife owns the place, we can do whatever we want!" Staring at the word "free," my temples throbbed violently. Free. She really made it sound so effortless. I scrolled down the comments and spotted Ethan's reply. He had commented: "Martha, you and the ladies enjoy yourselves! Once you're done, dinner is on me. We're going to that new high-end seafood steakhouse downtown!" Martha replied in a flash: "Sounds wonderful! What a good, devoted son!" Watching this little mother-son show on social media, the corner of my mouth twitched. A high-end seafood steakhouse? That place had a minimum spend of three thousand dollars per table. For nine people, they would need at least two private dining rooms. Another massive expense. And I knew Ethan better than anyone. Whenever he bragged about treating people, the bill always ended up on my credit card. He did this every single time. All talk, all swagger, but completely empty pockets. I couldn't wait to see how he planned to cover the hundred-thousand-dollar bill today. I opened my chat with Ethan. Right on cue, another text arrived from him. "Go ahead and book a private room at the Grand Harbor Seafood Steakhouse for six tonight. Get the biggest private room they have, two tables." "We need to make an impression. Don't let Martha lose face in front of her friends." I stared at the screen, typed out a sentence, and hit send: "I'm not booking anything. From now on, I'm completely done dealing with your family's drama." The moment it sent, I slammed my phone face down on the desk. Three seconds later, the phone began to vibrate incessantly as notifications flooded the screen. "What is that supposed to mean?" "Claire, did you take crazy pills today or what?" "It's not easy for Martha to show off in front of her friends. Can't you just play along for once?" "How much could a dinner reservation possibly cost? Do you have to make such a huge deal out of this?" I didn't reply to a single word. Then came a FaceTime voice call. "Claire, what on earth is your problem right now?" My voice was dead calm. "I told you. I'm done dealing with your family's nonsense." "What do you mean, my family's nonsense? You're my wife! Martha is your mother too!" "Martha brought eight people to get a hundred-thousand-dollar spa treatment without my knowledge. You seriously think I'm supposed to clean up her mess?" Silence hung over the line for two seconds. "Claire!" "Ethan, you make sixty-five hundred a month. Martha gets a two-thousand-dollar pension. Combined, the two of you don't even make enough to pay today's bill!" "What do you actually want from me?!" "I don't want anything from you. I just refuse to be your personal ATM anymore." He inhaled sharply, his voice turning icy cold. "Are you trying to divorce me?" He had pulled this card before. Every time we argued, he used divorce as an ultimate threat to force me into line. In the past, I would have gone silent, compromised, and smoothed things over to give him a way out. But today was different. Today, my mind was clearer than it had ever been. "Yes." Crisp, clean, and final. "Fine! We'll file the paperwork tomorrow morning!" With a sharp click, he hung up. Gripping the phone, I sat frozen for a moment. Then, I let out a long, slow breath. To be completely honest, the thought of divorce had been brewing in my mind for a very long time. I had been hesitating, constantly making up excuses not to pull the trigger. Well, now I didn't have to hesitate anymore. I put my phone away and told Chloe I was heading next door to check on things. Before I even reached the entrance of the spa next door, the shouting was already spilling out onto the sidewalk. The commotion was deafening, with Martha's shrill voice cutting through the rest. "What kind of garbage scam are you running here?! We agreed on fifty dollars, and now you're demanding a hundred thousand?!" "Get your manager out here right now! You're just a receptionist, you don't call the shots!" "My son's wife owns this entire place! Do you really think I'm afraid of you?!" Her eight friends joined in, squawking in agreement, turning the lobby into total chaos. The young receptionist's voice was practically trembling. "Ma'am, our full anti-aging package is twelve thousand dollars per person. For nine people, the total is one hundred and eight thousand dollars! We have never, ever offered a fifty-dollar rate!" "You're full of crap! My son's wife told me with her own mouth that it's fifty bucks!" I pushed the door open and stepped inside. All nine women were swarming the reception counter, surrounding the poor girl whose face had gone completely pale. The moment Martha saw me, her eyes lit up. She instantly pointed an accusing finger at the receptionist. "Claire, you got here just in time! What is wrong with your employee?! Didn't you just tell me it was fifty dollars a person for the full package? Now she's demanding over a hundred grand! Why are you even keeping someone like this on payroll? Fire her right now!" I stood by the doorway, crossing my arms over my chest. Looking at Martha's outraged face, and then glancing at the expectant, smug expressions on her eight friends, I genuinely couldn't hold back a laugh. Seeing me chuckle, Martha grew even more frantic. "What are you laughing at?! Handle your staff!" I stopped smiling and slowly walked over. "Martha, when did I ever say this was my clinic?"