When Eric proposed, I believed we shared a natural, loving connection. But at our engagement dinner, his mother Martha stunned me with a bizarre ultimatum: I had to pass a “family wife test” before marrying Eric. This outdated tradition meant cooking a three-course meal without a recipe, deep cleaning their entire house, ironing shirts perfectly, and hosting a tea for the family elders—all with a smile. It felt more like an audition than a celebration.

I tried to stay calm, but I wasn’t willing to jump through humiliating hoops just to prove my worth. Eric shrugged it off, telling me it was “just tradition” and “nothing personal,” then handed me the symbolic dust cloth. That’s when I realized I wasn’t marrying just Eric—I was marrying a whole family stuck in the past. When I refused to play along, I ended the dinner abruptly, leaving everyone shocked.

Eric pleaded with me later, saying he just wanted everyone to get along, but his silence during the ordeal spoke volumes. I spent the night locked out in the guest room, then left for my friend’s house, needing space and clarity. I ignored Eric’s texts, including his last desperate apology, knowing that love should never require me to pass a test to be accepted.

Though I still loved Eric, I understood that real love means respect, not tradition-bound trials. The wedding is on hold as I decide if Eric will stand up to his family or if I must walk away—for good.