Last Sunday, I brought my fiancée, Mallory, to meet my parents. She’s tall, broad-shouldered, platinum blonde—and no, she’s not a size two. But she’s kind, brilliant, and the most loyal person I’ve ever met. My parents barely acknowledged her. Dinner was tense, and when Mallory stepped out to take a call, my mom leaned in and asked, “Are you sure you want to marry someone that big?” My dad added concerns about “health” and future “resentment.” I was stunned. I didn’t defend her. I just froze.
That night, Mallory sensed I was off. She asked, and I told her the truth: my parents didn’t understand her. “Are you second-guessing us?” she asked. “Never,” I said. “But I should’ve stood up for you. That’s going to change.” A few days later, I met my best friend, Mateo. He didn’t sugarcoat it: “If you don’t stand up now, they’ll keep pushing.”