Lisa worked tirelessly to afford a dream trip to Maui, only for her husband, Wade, to give her ticket to his mommy instead. Stunned but seething, Lisa starts planning the ultimate payback — one that will ensure his vacation is unforgettable for all the wrong reasons.

I stared at the Maui resort website, my cursor hovering over the “Book Now” button like it was the detonator to a happiness bomb.

The photos showed pristine beaches, infinity pools, and those little umbrellas in coconut drinks that screamed “vacation.”

After a year of endless work and juggling the kids’ schedules with the precision of a circus performer, I needed this break like a caffeine addict needs their morning coffee.

I let out a sigh of relief as I clicked the button. The confirmation page popped up with a cheerful ding, and I let loose with a little victorious air punch. I was finally getting my dream vacation!

Wade and I had agreed to split the cost fifty-fifty. I’d convinced him we needed a real vacation in January and had been working hard to make it happen all year.

I’d planned everything down to the minute: beachfront resort, sunset sail, snorkeling with sea turtles. I even scheduled in “spontaneous” relaxation time, because that’s the kind of control freak I’d become.

The kids were thrilled about staying with my sister, Jane, for the week we’d be away.

“Mom,” my 13-year-old Emma had said, “Aunt Jane said she’ll give us ice cream for breakfast!”

I pretended to be scandalized, but honestly, Jane could feed them moon rocks for all I cared. This vacation was my light at the end of a very long, very dark, very exhausting tunnel.

One week before our flight, all my dreams of relaxing on the beach came crashing down around me.

Wade’s mom was coming for dinner, so I was in the kitchen dishing up her special lasagna. She’d given me the recipe a year ago with great fanfare, like she was conveying a great honor. It was just regular lasagna with extra garlic and oregano.

I heard the front door open, and my mother-in-law’s distinctive perfume arrived about three seconds before she did.

“Something smells wonderful!” Carol’s voice carried through the house like a foghorn of impending doom.

She swept into the kitchen, designer purse swinging from her arm like a weapon. She scanned the kitchen, frowned, and then leaned out into the hall.

“Wade, honey, your wife is plating dinner already. Why aren’t you here to welcome me?”

I bit my tongue so hard that I probably needed stitches.

“Sorry, Mom, I was packing a few things. We’ve got some exciting news,” Wade announced as he bounded into the room like an overeager golden retriever. “We booked a trip to Maui!”

Carol’s face lit up like a Christmas tree on steroids.

“Oh, sweetie! You’re so wonderful for planning such a lovely vacation.” She turned to me with a dismissive glance that could have frozen Hawaii itself. “You’re lucky to have my Wade. He’s always been such a caring soul.”

“Actually,” I started to say, “I was the one who—”

“You know,” Carol interrupted, sinking into a kitchen chair with a dramatic sigh worthy of a soap opera, “I’ve been so exhausted lately. Retirement isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. All those bridge club meetings, and my garden needs so much attention…”

I turned away so Carol wouldn’t see me roll my eyes. She’d never once offered to watch the kids during their various illnesses, school events, or even that time I had the flu and was hallucinating that the kitchen sponge was giving me financial advice.

But somehow her life was always so hard… yeah, right. Carol was just one of those people who thought having life problems was a competitive sport.

I suppressed a sigh as we all sat down to eat.

Carol droned on about how exhausted she was and how much she wished she could also enjoy a “fancy getaway.”

I just nodded occasionally and tried not to groan, but Wade was drinking it all up.

Toward the end of dinner, Wade cleared his throat and turned to me.

“Hey, honey, I was thinking…”

He had that look again, the one that meant I should probably start looking up countries with no extradition treaties.

“Why don’t you let Mom take your ticket?”

I nearly choked on my garlic bread.

“Wade,” I said carefully, my voice shaking with the restraint of a saint, “I worked my butt off all year to save for this trip. I’m exhausted. I need this break more than I need oxygen right now.”

He shrugged, like I was complaining about the weather instead of the grand theft of my sanity vacation.

“A lot of women work these days,” he said. “It’s your choice. But you heard my mom… she could really use a break. Don’t make this a big deal.”

“I worked my whole life for my son and never complained,” Carol chimed in, dabbing at nonexistent tears with her perfectly manicured fingers.

I looked at Wade, really looked at him, and something inside me snapped like a rubber band that had been stretched way too far. Six years of marriage crystallized into perfect clarity.

This wasn’t about the vacation. This was about every birthday dinner he’d insisted we spend with his mother, every decision that somehow always ended with Carol getting her way, and how she still called Wade her “precious baby boy” even though he was in his 30s.

I forced my lips into a smile. “Sure, Wade. Take your mom. I’ll figure something else out.”

They both beamed, thinking they’d won. But I was already planning my revenge, and it was going to be more satisfying than all the spa treatments in Hawaii combined.

Over the next few days, I became very busy with my laptop, cackling like a witch over her cauldron.

The five-star resort? Downgraded to a budget hotel miles from the beach, with one queen bed and a mysterious stain on the carpet that the reviews said might be sentient.

The sunset sail and snorkeling? Canceled faster than a bad Netflix series. Instead, I booked them fascinating activities like “The History of Pineapple Farming: A Four-Hour Lecture Series” and “Traditional Hat Weaving: A Five-Hour Workshop with Bonus Meditation.”

Their first-class flights became economy middle seats, separated by three rows, right next to the bathrooms.

But that wasn’t all I had planned.

I also found a lawyer and filed for divorce.

By the time Wade left for the airport, I was ready to move forward with the next stage. I packed his things into suitcases and lined them up in the hallway like soldiers of liberation. The note I left took only minutes to write, but I’d been composing it in my head for days.

Dear Wade,

In these suitcases, you’ll find all your belongings — well, at least the ones worth keeping. I need a break, not just from our “marriage,” but from your mom’s constant meddling and your eternal cluelessness.

Feel free to unpack at her place. I’m sure she’ll love having her little boy back full-time.

Best wishes,

Your ex-wife

Then I treated myself to some online shopping: one ticket for a luxury Mediterranean cruise. The refunds from all those canceled Maui activities more than covered it.

I was folding clothes into my suitcase, practicing my “lounging on deck” pose, when my phone exploded with Wade’s ringtone.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” His voice cracked with fury. “It’s so selfish! This hotel is a dump, and the flight was a nightmare!”

“Oh, I thought you’d love it! A nice quiet room, some quality mother-son bonding over hat weaving… But wait until you see the surprise I arranged for when you get back.”

“What surprise? Lisa? LISA!”

I hung up, smiling like the cat who not only got the cream but also started a successful dairy company. The divorce papers were scheduled for delivery to Carol’s house the day they returned.

By then, I’d be somewhere off the Italian coast, eating authentic pasta and sipping champagne.

A few months have passed since all of this happened. The divorce was finalized smoothly and these days, I’m happily single and planning my next adventure to Disney World with the kids.

Wade is still living with his mommy, and from the sounds of things, has no plans to move out anytime soon. The kids visit him every second weekend, and I make sure to smile and wave whenever I see Carol.

Once, I even got to ask if she enjoyed her hat-weaving workshop.

Sometimes the best vacations are the ones you take by yourself — especially when they lead you exactly where you need to be.

And sometimes, the sweetest revenge isn’t served cold: it’s a pineapple farming lecture with a side of hat weaving.