At 37, I thought I was finally free to date without my overbearing mom interfering. But when I invited Theo over for a quiet dinner, my mom crashed the evening—literally hiding in my closet with a headlamp and thermos, eavesdropping.
She burst out mid-date, grilled Theo like a detective, then handed him a sheet titled “RULES FOR DATING MY DAUGHTER” (complete with a typo). Mortified, I kicked her out. Theo left soon after, clearly shaken.
Three silent days later, he knocked on my door—with flowers—and a plan. “We’re going on a date,” he said. “You, me, and your mom.” What followed was a strange but beautiful day:
Theo gave a lecture on love, took us on a boat ride (where he dove in to save my mom after she slipped), and even led us on a climbing wall trust exercise.
By the end of the day, my mom—finally letting her guard down—admitted she’d been too controlling because of her own heartbreak. And Theo? He knelt, took my hand, and proposed.
I said yes.
Now, we’re a family—with healthy boundaries, a little humo
