ADVERTISEMENT
She called every morning without fail, dropped by unannounced to “help,” and treated his adulthood like a temporary phase. To her, I wasn’t a future wife—I was a rival. At first, I excused her behavior as loneliness. A widowed mother clinging to her only child, I told myself. But as our wedding plans moved forward, her concern sharpened into control.
She didn’t just offer opinions; she tried to dominate the entire process. She criticized my dress fabric, claimed sudden allergies to flowers I’d chosen, and constantly reminded me of how Ryan “preferred” things—usually things I disliked. Whenever I asked Ryan to intervene, he brushed it off with the same line: “That’s just how she is. Let’s not turn it into a problem.” What he didn’t realize was that avoiding conflict allowed her to erase me bit by bit. By the time the wedding arrived, she had expanded our guest list by over a hundred people, turning what was meant to be intimate into her personal showcase.
ADVERTISEMENT
