Things were serious—Michael and I had talked about a future together, and I believed this was it. Yet he refused to introduce me to his family, citing his “complicated” mother. All I saw was love and excitement over holiday cards and vague protectionism.
But then he grew distant—odd hours, weird excuses, frequent cash withdrawals. I found myself wondering: proposal or cheating? When I confronted him, he denied any infidelity and finally said, “It’s time I introduced you to my family.”
I prepared endlessly, convinced a proposal was imminent. But then Kate and I spotted him at the mall—holding hands with another woman, buying her coffee and smiles. My world shattered.
Determined, I tracked them to her house and stormed in, flinging a smoothie. She screamed; I fled. That night, Michael played it off like nothing—with lipstick still faint on his cheek. My heart sank. Had he planned a proposal or a breakup?
The next night, his mom—yes, the woman I attacked—walked through our door, calm and poised. Shocked, I realized who she was. Michael spoke, I confessed, he defended me—and then, he got down on one knee.
He proposed. I said yes.
His mom stormed out, but we stood strong.
Despite the chaos, we chose each other.