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.”
I nodded. “Agreed.”
No calls. No visit.
Nothing.
But of course, Diana wasn’t the type to be ignored.
The next morning, at exactly 7:02 a.m., the doorbell rang. Loud. Insistent.
And undoubtedly DIANA.
Dan groaned into his pillow. “Kill me.”
I rolled over. “If I answer, will you owe me a coffee run for the rest of your life?”
Dan sighed.
“Yes. But don’t answer.”
Too late. The doorbell rang again.
We both knew who it was.
Dan opened the door, and there she stood. Diana. Arms crossed, lips pursed, and dramatic tears already forming.
Lawrence, as usual, stood behind her, scrolling through Facebook like he wasn’t a part of this.
“Are you serious?” I mumbled, tightening my robe.
Diana didn’t even greet us. “Why didn’t you come over yesterday?”
Dan exhaled. “Mom, the gifts were weird.
We didn’t know how to respond.”
Her eyes widened. “WEIRD?”
“Don’t act surprised,” I interjected. “You know exactly what you’re doing.
The boxers for Dan? The cleaning supplies for me? It’s like you’re marking your territory!”
Diana’s face flushed.
“I don’t know what you mean. I just want to take care of my baby —”
“That’s exactly it!” Dan exploded. “I’m not your baby anymore!
I haven’t been for decades!”
“Danny, please —”
“No, Mom. Let me finish. Remember when I got that job offer in Seattle?
You faked a heart attack… a HEART ATTACK… to keep me from moving!”
Diana’s lip quivered. “I was under a lot of stress —”
“Or how about when Sandra and I bought this apartment? You showed up every day for a month with my old childhood furniture, insisting we use it because it had ‘sentimental value.’”
“I just wanted you to have pieces of home.”
“But it’s not about home, is it?” Dan’s voice cracked.
“It’s about control. It always has been.”
“Remember when I started my first job?” he continued, his voice rising. “You called my boss to ask if I could have extended lunch breaks to call you!”
Diana wrung her hands.
“I was worried about your stress levels.”
“I was 23! It was my first job. And you got me FIRED!”
“That wasn’t my fault!
If your boss had just understood —”
“Understood what, Mom? That my mother couldn’t let me grow up? That she needed to micromanage every aspect of my life?”
Diana’s tears started flowing freely now.
“How can you say that? Everything I’ve done, I’ve done out of love!”
“Love?” I stepped forward. “Is that what you call showing up at our door at seven in the morning because we didn’t respond to your inappropriate gifts?”
“They weren’t inappropriate!” Diana protested.
“I just wanted —”
“To buy your grown son underwear?” Dan ran a hand through his hair. “Mom, I’m THIRTY-SIX.”
“You’ll always be my little boy!” Her lip trembled. “And YOU,” her gaze snapped to me, “why didn’t you come?
You didn’t like your gifts?”
I crossed my arms. “Diana. You got me a TOILET BRUSH.”
Her brows furrowed.
“So?”
“SO? On Valentine’s Day? What were you trying to say?”
She sniffed.
“I was being helpful.”
“No,” Dan cut in. “You were being passive-aggressive. Like when you ‘accidentally’ forgot to invite Sandra to family dinners.
Or when you keep referring to her as my ‘current wife’ even though we’ve been married for five years!”
“Or when you gave me that parenting book last Christmas,” I added. “With all the passages about ‘maternal instinct’ highlighted. I wasn’t even pregnant!”
“I just thought you should be prepared —”
“For what?” Dan interrupted.
“To be the kind of mother you are? To never let your children breathe?”
Diana gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “I just wanted to see my son.”
“And you did it by humiliating my wife.”
“I never meant to…” Diana’s voice broke.
“Danny, remember when you were little… how you’d crawl into my bed during thunderstorms? How you wouldn’t eat unless I cut your sandwiches into stars?”
“That was 30 years ago, Mom!”
“But to me, it feels like yesterday,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “Every time I look at you, I see that little boy who needed me.
Who wanted me around. And now…”
“Now I’m grown up,” Dan said softly. “I have my own life and my own family.
And you need to accept that.”
Diana’s eyes filled with tears. “I… Dan, I love you. I just…” Her voice broke, and she looked away.
Lawrence finally spoke.
“Diana, let’s go.”
“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “When you have children… they become your whole world. And then one day, they just… leave.”
“That’s what they’re supposed to do, Mom,” Dan replied gently.
“That’s what healthy children do — they grow up.”
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page. Tap READ MORE to discover the rest 🔎👇
