In-Laws Took Us Out To A Fancy Restaurant, But Demanded I Pay The Bill. What Happened Next Was Absurd!
Life After the Exit
I'm Alex Chen, 35, and I've recently joined the ranks of the 'early retired' after selling my tech startup.
Not for billions—I'm no Zuckerberg—but enough that I don't need to work again if I choose not to.
After nearly a decade of grinding 80-hour weeks, missed holidays, and 'sorry, can't make it' texts to friends, I finally have my life back.
These days, I sleep until my body naturally wakes up. No alarms. No emergency Slack notifications. Just me, my wife Emily, and whatever we feel like doing that day.
The transition has been... weird, to say the least. People don't know how to process someone my age without a job. 'So what do you do now?
' they ask, their faces a mix of confusion and poorly disguised judgment. I usually just smile and say 'whatever I want,' which doesn't exactly win me points with Emily's more traditional family.
They still think I'm 'between opportunities' or having some kind of mid-life crisis. What they don't understand is that I didn't escape work—I escaped the hamster wheel.
I traded stock options for options in life. But not everyone sees it that way, especially not Emily's parents, who were about to give me a master class in awkward family dynamics during our upcoming weekend visit.
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The Invitation
Emily brought it up over breakfast one morning. 'My parents have been asking when we're coming to visit. It's been almost a year.
' I nearly choked on my coffee. Since selling my company, I'd managed to avoid these trips with convenient 'work emergencies'—a luxury I no longer had.
Her father still introduced me as 'the guy who makes computer games' despite my countless explanations about enterprise software.
And her mother's biological clock seemed to tick louder than ours, with her not-so-subtle hints about grandchildren.
'It'll just be a weekend,' Emily promised, squeezing my hand. 'Two nights, and we're out.' I nodded reluctantly.
'Fine, but if your dad starts in on how I'm 'wasting my potential' again, I'm sleeping in the car.' As we packed our bags that Friday morning, something felt off.
Emily mentioned her mom had been texting her non-stop about 'special plans' they'd made. When I asked what that meant, she just shrugged.
'Probably just another attempt to fatten us up with home cooking.' But the gleeful tone in her mother's messages made me uneasy.
I tossed my weekend bag into the trunk with a sinking feeling that this wouldn't be the usual awkward family visit—they were up to something.
The Drive to Mapleton
The four-hour drive to Mapleton gave us a much-needed buffer between our life and whatever awaited us at Emily's parents' house.
As we cruised down the highway, Emily's playlist—a mix of 90s hits and indie folk—provided the soundtrack to her childhood stories.
'See that water tower?' she'd point occasionally. 'I got caught climbing that in tenth grade.' I noticed how her voice shifted when talking about her parents—warmer when mentioning her mom's apple pie, tighter when recalling her dad's 'career talks.
' We strategized like we were prepping for a business meeting, not a family visit. 'When they ask about what you're doing now, just say you're consulting,' Emily suggested.
'It sounds more... active.' I laughed. 'So lie?' She squeezed my hand. 'Selective truth-telling.' As we passed the 'Welcome to Mapleton' sign—a faded wooden board that had seen better decades—Emily's grip tightened.
'Just two days,' she whispered, 'then back to our life.' I nodded, but couldn't shake the feeling that her parents' mysterious 'special plans' were about to make these forty-eight hours feel like an eternity.
The GPS announced our arrival in five minutes, and I swear I could already feel her father's disapproving stare through the windshield.
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The Wilsons' Welcome
The Wilsons' colonial-style home stood exactly as I remembered it—pristine lawn, freshly painted shutters, and that overwhelming sense of judgment waiting just beyond the front door.
Robert Wilson greeted us with a handshake that felt more like a strength assessment. 'So, Alex, found any real work yet?
' he asked with a laugh that didn't reach his eyes. I forced a smile while Emily shot her father a warning glance.
Inside, I immediately noticed new leather furniture and what appeared to be recently installed hardwood flooring—interesting choices for someone who constantly complained about being 'on a fixed income.
' Margaret descended upon Emily like a well-dressed tornado, holding her at arm's length. 'Oh honey, you look so tired! And too thin!
Doesn't she look too thin, Robert?' Before Emily could defend her perfectly healthy appearance, Margaret was already ushering us toward the dining room where tea and an interrogation awaited.
As we walked through the house, I counted at least three major renovations since our last visit. The kitchen had been completely redone with high-end appliances, and there was definitely a new entertainment system in the living room.
For people so concerned about my employment status, they certainly weren't hurting for cash. When Margaret mentioned they had 'special dinner plans' for tomorrow night, I caught the meaningful glance she exchanged with Robert, and my internal alarm bells started ringing at full volume.
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