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.”
I laughed bitterly.
“The poor officer who had to explain to her that adults are allowed to be unreachable for a few hours.”
“Or that time she drove four hours to my business conference because she thought I ‘sounded sad’ on the phone?”
“And then sat in the lobby for six hours until your presentation was done?”
“With my favorite childhood blanket,” Dan added, rolling his eyes. “Because she thought I might need comfort after speaking in public.”
But this? Decorating our DOOR like we were middle school sweethearts?
This was getting uncomfortable.
“Well,” I muttered, grabbing the gift box from the bag, “let’s see what fresh nightmare awaits.”
Dan opened his first.
The second he pulled out the fabric, his face paled.
Black satin. Designer waistband. Colorful men’s boxers that screamed romance in the most uncomfortable way possible.
“What the —” He held it up like it might bite.
“Oh, hell no.”
I gagged. “Oh my God… are these sexy boxers? Dan, what the hell?
Please tell me your mother did not just buy you THESE!”
His jaw clenched. “This is not happening.”
I unwrapped mine.
Dishwashing gloves. A toilet brush.
Ah, yes.
The universal symbol for “Know your place, daughter-in-law.”
“You get satin,” I said slowly, “and I get CLEANING SUPPLIES?”
Dan blinked. “Sandra. I don’t even know what to say.”
I held up the brush.
“Is she trying to humiliate me? Does she actually think this is a GIFT? What’s she trying to say — that I’m only good for cleaning toilets?”
“Remember our wedding?” I continued, my voice trembling.
“When she insisted on helping you dress, then cried because I picked the wrong shade of blue for your tie?”
“She tried to change it while I was in the bathroom,” Dan recalled, shaking his head. “Said the one you picked wouldn’t bring out my eyes the way she knew best.”
“Or how about our honeymoon? When she called the hotel every night to ‘check if we were okay?’”
“The hotel manager thought we were fugitives!”
“And let’s not forget the ‘care package’ she sent to our room,” I added.
“With your favorite childhood snacks and that note saying ‘In case Sandra doesn’t know what you like yet.’”
Dan’s face darkened. “Or that time she brought your resume to the family barbecue and started circling jobs that would ‘give you more time to take care of her son properly.’”
“As if my career was just a hobby until you needed attention,” I scoffed.
Dan exhaled, rubbing his temples. “But this… God… we’re not reacting.
We’re not rewarding this
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