Marriage is supposed to be about two people, but in mine, there was always a third — my husband Dan’s mother, Diana. She never respected boundaries, constantly treating Dan like her “baby boy,” guilt-tripping us when we didn’t visit, and meddling in our lives. On Valentine’s Day, her obsession took an awkward turn when we returned home to find our door covered in hearts and balloons, and inside, bizarre gifts: sexy boxers for Dan and cleaning supplies for me. The message was clear, and uncomfortable.

Diana’s constant interference wasn’t new. She had shown up unannounced at holidays, recreated Dan’s childhood birthday parties, and even called his workplace to check on him. Though she insisted all of this was out of love, it felt more like possession. We had tried to tolerate her overbearing ways, but the Valentine’s Day stunt was the breaking point — an intrusion on our marriage disguised as affection.

When confronted, Diana broke down, confessing she just wanted to keep her “baby” close. But Dan made it clear that he was a grown man with his own life now, and her actions were hurting, not helping. Love, he said, should mean knowing when to let go, not controlling every detail. We agreed that firmer boundaries were necessary for our relationship to survive.

As Diana left, heartbroken but defiant, I realized that while her love came from a deep place, it had become unhealthy. Dan was no longer her child but my husband, and together, we would protect our marriage from control disguised as care. Sometimes, love means stepping back — even when it hurts.