When I married Ryan, I thought I’d found a partner. Instead, I’d unknowingly signed up for a lifelong audition to win the approval of his mother, Linda — a woman who believed her judgment was sacred, and her son’s wife was just a temporary obstacle.
Linda wasn’t the stereotypical overbearing mother-in-law. She was polite, polished, and poisonous in that subtle, “smile while stabbing” way. She’d say things like, “I’m not controlling, dear. I just know what’s best,” with the warmth of a compliment — and somehow, everyone except me found her charming.