Three years of marriage. Three years of being left out. While my husband’s siblings brought their partners to every family dinner, I was only invited occasionally. “Don’t take it to heart,” my husband would say. But how could I not?
The final straw came when he casually mentioned another dinner I wasn’t invited to. This time, I didn’t stay home. I showed up at the same restaurant, sat at my own table, and let them all see me there. The looks on their faces? Priceless.
Later, my husband was furious. “You humiliated me!” But the real humiliation was his admission: his family never truly accepted me. My race, my personality, even my past choices made me an outsider in their eyes. His mother had openly opposed our marriage.
That night, I walked out. Now, I’m staying with family, wondering if love is enough when respect is missing.
