I met Nancy on the subway — a moment straight out of a romantic movie. She dropped her wallet, cards and cash scattering across the grimy floor. I lunged for them, our hands brushing. Our eyes locked, and in that instant something clicked. We laughed, chatted, and exchanged numbers. It felt like fate. What started on that noisy train turned into something deep and real. Nancy was everything I’d ever wanted: smart, funny, kind, and with a laugh that chased away the darkest thoughts. Every day with her felt like a dream.
We moved in together quickly, our lives fitting together like old friends. I’d never known such peace, such effortless joy. When I found the perfect ring, I knew what I had to do. On a rainy Saturday at our favorite park bench, I asked her to marry me. She said yes through tears, and I felt like the luckiest man alive. Wedding planning began in a whirlwind of happiness.
My mom lived a thousand miles away in a tiny town where “social media” meant using a landline to call your neighbor. So she and Nancy had only spoken on the phone — dozens of long, warm conversations. My mom always ended each call with, “She sounds like such a lovely girl, son. You finally found a good one.” I would beam every single time. They bonded over recipes and gardening tips, and I pictured them laughing together in person one day, like old friends who’d known each other forever.
Two months before the wedding, we finally booked flights to visit. I could hardly contain my excitement — the moment my mom and Nancy would finally meet felt monumental.
The drive from the airport felt endless. I couldn’t stop smiling, Nancy’s hand warm in mine. We pulled into the driveway, the porch light glowing, and there she was — Mom — framed in the doorway with a wide smile. Everything felt perfect.
Nancy stepped onto the porch first, her shy grin lighting up the night. Then something strange happened: her smile vanished. She froze like a statue. In the same moment, my mom’s warm expression changed into something I’d never seen — confusion mixed with horror and pure, blazing fury.
“Nancy? Mom? What is it?” I whispered, the air turning thick and heavy with tension.
Then my mom’s voice — raw, guttural, and filled with disbelief — tore through the silence. “YOU ABSOLUTELY CANNOT MARRY THIS WOMAN!” she screamed, her face twisted with emotion.
I stood frozen. Nancy was still silent, pale as the porch light. My heart pounded harder than ever. “Mom! What are you talking about? Why?” I pleaded. This couldn’t be real — not after everything we’d shared.
My mom pointed at Nancy with a trembling finger, her voice shaking with pain and venom. “Why?” she echoed back at me. “Because THIS WOMAN… IS MY DAUGHTER!”
Time seemed to stop. In an instant, my world shattered. The ground beneath me gave way, and the fairytale I’d believed in dissolved into something I couldn’t comprehend.
