I’m Lydia, and I’ve been married to my amazing husband, Alan, for three years now. He loved and accepted me for who I am, but his sister Rachel treated me like I was some kind of stray cat that wandered into their perfect family.
I work at Rosie’s Diner downtown. I sling coffee and dodge wandering hands for tips while also going to Riverside Art Institute in the evenings. Apparently, my waitress job and passion for art make me “unworthy” of her precious little brother, who happens to work at a big tech company.
“He could’ve had anyone!” she told me at their family Christmas party last year, right in front of the eggnog bowl and some curious guests. “Someone with real career prospects.”
Her words still sting like salt in a fresh wound.
So when Rachel called me last Tuesday, her voice dripping with fake honey, I nearly dropped my paintbrush. “Lydia! I was just thinking… Ashton’s eighth birthday is this Saturday, and I’d love for you to come.”
I blinked at my easel, paint still wet on my fingers. She’s never invited me to any family events. “You… want me there?”
“Of course! You’re family.”
“FAMILY” — the word she’d never used before when it came to me. My heart did this stupid little flutter of hope. Maybe she was finally coming around? Maybe she’d realized I wasn’t going anywhere and that I loved her brother with everything I had?
“That’s really sweet, Rachel. I’ll be there.”
“Wonderful! Oh, and don’t worry about dressing up. Just come comfortable.”
I should’ve heard the alarm bells then.
Saturday rolled around, and I spent an hour picking out the perfect outfit — my nicest jeans and a sweater Alan always said brought out my eyes.
I wrapped Ashton’s gift carefully: a beginner’s art set I’d saved up for, complete with watercolors and brushes. The kid had always seemed interested when I sketched during family dinners.
Alan squeezed my hand as we walked up to Rachel’s pristine colonial in Maplewood Heights. “See? I told you she’d come around eventually.”
My stomach was doing backflips but I plastered on a smile. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
The moment we rang the doorbell, I could hear children shrieking with laughter inside. Rachel opened the door wearing a perfectly pressed sundress and that smile that never quite reached her eyes.
“Lydia! You made it!”
She air-kissed my cheek, then immediately grabbed my arm. “Come here, I need to talk to you real quick.”
She pulled me into her spotless kitchen while Alan went to find the birthday boy. Other moms were scattered around the living room, all looking like they’d stepped out of a magazine.
“So,” Rachel said, her grip tightening on my arm, “I have a tiny favor to ask.”
“What kind of favor?”
“Well, it’s time for you to serve a bit. I told all the other moms that you’re an artist… which you are! And they’re so excited to meet you.” Her smile turned sharp. “Face painting starts at 1:30. After that, maybe some balloon animals? The kids would just love it!”
“Face painting?”
“You’re so creative, and honestly, it would be such a help. I was going to hire someone, but then I thought, why not keep it in the family?”
“Rachel, I don’t have any art supplies—”
“Oh, that’s fine! You can just pop over to Morrison’s Market real quick. It’s only 10 minutes away.”
The room felt like it was spinning. She hadn’t invited me as family. She’d invited me as free labor and entertainment for her perfect little party.
“You want me to buy supplies and work your son’s birthday party for free?”
“Well, when you say it like that, it sounds so… transactional,” she said, loud enough for the moms nearby to hear. A few chuckled behind their plastic cups as Rachel gave a smug little laugh and added, “I just figured you’d want to actually contribute something meaningful for once.”
I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw her perfectly arranged fruit platter against the wall and storm out. But then I caught sight of Ashton through the window, running around with his friends, wearing the biggest grin.
He didn’t deserve to suffer because his mother was a piece of work.
“Of course,” I said. “I’d be happy to help.”
Rachel’s smile widened. She actually looked pleased with herself. “I knew you’d understand. Oh, and Lydia? Try to make it look professional, okay? These women pay top dollar for their kids’ parties.”
I nodded, already forming a plan in my head. “Don’t worry, Rachel. I’ll make sure everyone remembers this party.”
Something in my tone must have sounded off because she gave me a weird look. But then one of her mom friends called her, and she fluttered away like the social butterfly she pretended to be.
Twenty minutes later, I was back from Morrison’s Market with a bag full of face paints, brushes, and supplies I couldn’t really afford. But I also came back with something else: a plan and just enough fire in me to remind my entitled sister-in-law why messing with me was a bad idea.
The kids swarmed me the moment I set up my little station on the back patio. They were adorable with their gap-toothed grins and boundless energy.
“Can you make me a tiger?”
“I want a princess crown!”
“Do Superman!”
“Me Spiderman!”
For the next two hours, I painted butterflies and superheroes, unicorns and dinosaurs. The kids were thrilled, their parents were impressed, and Rachel was basking in all the compliments like she’d personally hired Michelangelo.
“Rachel, where did you find her? She’s amazing!”
“The detailed work is incredible!”
“My daughter looks like a real fairy!”
Rachel just smiled and nodded, accepting praise for my work like she deserved it.
As the last child skipped away with a painted rainbow on her cheek, Rachel just stood there, smiling like she’d planned the whole thing, soaking in the compliments that were clearly meant for me.
“Rachel,” I said, turning toward her with the sweetest voice I could fake. “You’ve done so much today. I think you deserve a little something too.”
She blinked, surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah!” I pulled out a fresh sponge and picked up a clean brush. “It’s your party. You should be part of the fun, right? Something elegant… maybe whimsical. Just for you.”
Rachel’s eyes lit up. She glanced over her shoulder to where a few of the moms were watching. “Oh my God, YES! That would be amazing.”
I nodded toward the chair. “Go ahead. Take a seat.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Something with delicate details,” she said, settling in. “Butterflies, maybe. Or soft florals. Something classy… for my Instagram Reels.”
I smiled, dipping my brush into a swirl of color. “Don’t worry. I’ve got just the thing.”
Rachel settled herself primly, tilting her chin up like she was posing for a portrait. The other moms started gathering around, phones already out to capture her “elegant” face art.
“This is so exciting,” one of them said. “Rachel, you’re going to look amazing.”
“Close your eyes, Rachel. I want this to be a surprise,” I said.
She closed her eyes, that smug smile still playing at the corners of her mouth.
I started with white base paint, covering her entire face with smooth, even strokes. The moms were taking pictures, chattering about how professional I looked.
Then came the red — a perfect circle on her nose. Blue triangles under each eye. A wide, exaggerated smile stretching from ear to ear in bright red.
“How’s it looking?” Rachel asked, her eyes still closed.
“Oh, it’s coming together beautifully,” I assured her, adding some purple polka dots to her cheeks. “Very… you.”
I reached into my bag for the piece de resistance — a packet of rainbow glitter I’d grabbed on impulse. I sprinkled it generously over her entire face, then stepped back to admire my handiwork.
“There! Perfect!”
Rachel opened her eyes, blinking as glitter fell into her lashes. “How do I look?”
The silence was deafening. Every mom in the circle had their phones raised, jaws dropping one by one. Someone’s child pointed and started giggling.
“You look…” I paused, pretending to search for the right word. “Absolutely radiant. Very… festive!”
Rachel frowned, reaching for her phone. The moment she saw herself in the camera, she let out a shriek that probably shattered windows three houses down.
“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?”
There she sat, in front of a dozen witnesses, looking like Bozo the Clown’s long-lost sister… complete with glitter falling from her face like fairy dust.
“Oh dear,” I said, pressing a hand to my chest in mock concern. “You don’t like it? But I thought you’d appreciate being the center of attention. After all, you worked so hard planning this party.”
“GET. THIS. OFF. MY. FACE!” Rachel was frantically rubbing at the paint, which only made it worse. The glitter was spreading, and now she had rainbow streaks across her cheeks.
The other moms were trying not to laugh, but I could see them failing. Phones were out, snapping pictures and recording video. This was definitely going in the Maplewood Heights group chat.
“You know what, Rachel?” I started packing up my supplies, taking my sweet time. “I think I’ll head out now. Thanks for such a… memorable afternoon.”
“You can’t just leave! Fix this!”
“Sorry, but I don’t do touch-ups.” I slung my bag over my shoulder, then remembered something important. “Oh, but first…”
I walked over to where Ashton was watching the whole scene with wide eyes, clutching his Batman cape. I handed him his gift with a genuine smile.
“Happy birthday, sweetie. This is from Uncle Alan and me.”
He hugged the package to his chest. “Thanks, Aunt Lydia. Will you teach me how to paint sometime?”
“Absolutely.” I ruffled his hair, then looked back at Rachel, who was still frantically trying to wipe glitter from her eyebrows.
Before walking out, I leaned close to Rachel’s ear. “Next time you want to humiliate someone, make sure they don’t have more talent in their pinky finger than you have in your entire body.”
I straightened up, grabbed a slice of birthday cake from the table, and headed for the door.
“Lydia, wait!” Alan appeared, looking confused and slightly panicked. “What happened? Why does Rachel look like—”
“Like a clown?” I smiled sweetly. “Because she finally decided to show her true colors!”
Rachel’s voice carried from the backyard: “She’s insane! She ruined my face! Someone call the police!”
I laughed, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep in my chest. “The police? For what, giving you exactly what you asked for?”
As we walked to the car, Alan shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe she set you up like that.”
“I can.” I took a bite of cake, savoring the sweetness. “But you know what? I’m kind of grateful she did.”
“Grateful?”
“Yeah. Because now I know exactly what kind of person she is, and more importantly, she knows exactly what kind of person I am… someone who doesn’t take crap lying down.”
He laughed, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“Too late, you married me. You’re stuck with me forever!”
As we drove away, I could see Rachel in the rearview mirror, still standing in her driveway, covered in rainbow glitter, and screaming at anyone who would listen.
They say people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. But I think there’s a better lesson here: if you’re going to play games with someone, you better make sure you’re prepared to lose. Because sometimes, the person you’re trying to humiliate has been waiting their whole life for the perfect moment to show you exactly who’s boss.
And let me tell you, watching Rachel try to explain her clown face to the Maplewood Heights book club was going to be pure entertainment for weeks to come!
