The morning after our wedding, I was exhausted but excited.
My husband, Daniel, and I had planned ten quiet days at a resort in Florida. After months of wedding stress, I wanted nothing more than to relax with him.
Then, halfway to the airport, Daniel turned onto a familiar street.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To Mom’s.”
I laughed, thinking he had forgotten something there.
Then he said, “She’s coming with us.”
I thought he was joking.
He wasn’t.
Apparently, his mother, Carol, had complained that she had never been to the beach resort we booked. Daniel felt bad and changed the reservation so she could join us.
Without telling me.
“She’ll have her own room,” he said. “You’re always so understanding.”
That sentence made me even angrier.
When we arrived at Carol’s house, Daniel got out to load her luggage.
I stayed in the car.
Then I opened the airline app.
Our tickets were refundable.
So was my portion of the hotel reservation.
I canceled my flight, booked myself into a small spa hotel two hours away, and ordered a rideshare.
When Daniel returned, he stared at the empty passenger seat.
I called him.
“You two enjoy your vacation,” I said. “I’m taking my honeymoon by myself.”
He couldn’t believe I was serious.
Carol apparently got angry too.
But I didn’t change my mind.
For four days, I slept late, ordered room service, read by the pool, and ignored my phone.
Daniel came home early.
And when we finally talked, I told him the real problem wasn’t his mother.
It was that he had made a major decision about our marriage assuming I would simply accept it.
