Marriage is supposed to be about two people.
But in mine, there were three — me, my husband Dan, and his mother, Diana.
She never understood boundaries, but this time, she outdid herself.
And on Valentine’s Day, we realized just how far she was willing to go when we unwrapped her “special” gifts.
There’s a fine line between a mother’s love and outright suffocation. My mother-in-law, Diana, erased that line a long time ago. I knew she was obsessed with Dan before I even married him, but I never imagined it would be THIS bad.
She still calls him her “baby boy.” Still reminds him to wear a jacket when it’s cold.
And still guilt-trips him when we don’t see her every weekend. It’s like she refuses to believe he’s a grown man with a wife and a life that doesn’t revolve around her.
The first time I noticed it was during our engagement party. She’d insisted on hosting it at her house, despite my parents offering their larger backyard.
I still remember her face when Dan announced we were moving in together before the wedding.
“But Danny,” she protested, her voice trembling, “what about your room here? I’ve kept it exactly the same since you were in high school!”
That should have been my first warning sign. We got married, and life was fine — except somehow, there was more of “Diana” in it than Dan or me.
By the time Dan and I got home that Valentine’s Day evening, we were exhausted.
The subway had been packed, our offices had drained us, and all I wanted was to kick off my shoes, order takeout, and relax.
“Chinese?” Dan suggested, already loosening his tie.
“God, yes.”
But as we approached our apartment, I stopped short.
Our door was covered in pink and red paper hearts. Some were big, some small, all scribbled with the messages:
“Miss my Danny!”
“My Baby Boy!”
“Love you always!”
“Come visit soon!!”
Two huge “Happy Valentine’s Day” balloons bobbed in the hallway, and a bright red gift bag sat at our doorstep adorned with smaller glittery balloons.
I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Your mother.”
Dan groaned.
“Oh my God.”
Diana and her husband Lawrence lived just 20 minutes away, but to her, that was TOO far. She needed to see Dan constantly. If we went more than two weeks without visiting, she’d start texting — “Are you forgetting about us?
Is Sandra keeping you busy?”
“Remember last Thanksgiving?” I said, shaking my head. “When she showed up unannounced because we hadn’t confirmed our plans yet?”
Dan’s shoulders tensed. “How could I forget?
She brought that bib she’d saved from when I was a baby, saying she’d ‘kept it clean just in case.’”
“And Christmas,” I added, “when she wrapped all your gifts in the same teddy bear paper she used when you were five?”
“Or my birthday last year,” Dan muttered. “When she insisted on recreating my fifth birthday party… clown and all… even though I explicitly said I wanted a quiet dinner.”
“I still have nightmares about that clown,” he laughed.
“Remember when we tried to go on that weekend getaway to the beach?” Dan’s voice was tight with frustration. “She called the Coast Guard because we didn’t answer our phones for three hours.”
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
