Exhausted after a twelve hour shift to find suitcases in my hallway

I work an incredibly high-stress corporate corporate compliance job in the city and look forward to long holiday weekends as my absolute only time during the quarter to completely disconnect, turn off my phone, and rest my mind. My husband knows this dynamic explicitly. We had discussed our plans for this specific summer weekend three weeks in advance, agreeing to keep our schedule completely empty so we could just rest, cook simple meals together, and enjoy our quiet suburban home.

Last night, I came home utterly exhausted after a grueling 12-hour shift at the office, dealing with a major systems audit. My head was pounding, and my only goal was to take a hot shower and slide into bed. When I unlocked the front door and stepped into the entryway, my heart sank. The main hallway was completely blocked by three massive, soft-shell fabric suitcases and an array of children's backpacks. I heard loud screaming and running coming directly from our living room floor.

I walked into the kitchen and found my husband's older brother, his wife, and their two toddlers sitting around our dining table, which was covered in dirty paper plates and spilled soda. My husband smiled nervously, walked over to me, and whispered: "Surprise\! They were planning a holiday road trip and their hotel booking fell through, so I told them they could save money and stay in our guest room and the living room for the next five days."

He didn't send a single text message, he didn't call my phone to ask if I was okay with this, and he waited until they were physically inside our house to inform me. When I pulled him into the guest bathroom and told him that this was a massive violation of our marital communication, especially given my burnout state, he immediately turned the blame on me. He accused me of being an anti-social, heartless corporate robot who hates his family and lacks basic hospitality. He stated that because it is his house too, he shouldn't have to get formal written permission to host his own biological relatives in an emergency.

Now, instead of getting the recovery rest I desperately need to function at my corporate job next week, I am trapped inside my own home, forced to help cook, clean, and manage the chaos of six people in a space meant for two. The noise is constant, the boundaries are completely gone, and the emotional tension between my husband and me is completely unbearable. He is acting like I am the villain of the family for wanting a quiet house.