I thought it was perfect. He was everything I’d wanted. A romantic getaway, just us. A beautiful villa, overlooking the sea. Our escape. A celebration. Then he mentioned his mom. “Just a few days,” he said. “She deserves a break.” My heart sank, but I smiled. I wanted to be the “cool girlfriend.” What’s a few extra days? I told myself it would be fine.
She arrived a day later, full of praise for the place, for me. “Oh, you’re too generous, dear,” she cooed, squeezing my hand. She brought gifts. See? She’s lovely, I thought, ignoring the tiny voice that whispered she’s trying too hard. That first night, she ordered for everyone. “Oh, you like the salmon, don’t you? You’re so good at eating healthily.” I preferred pasta. I said nothing. It’s just one meal.
It wasn’t just one meal. It was every meal. Breakfast, she’d dictate my fruit portion, commenting on pastries. “You’re so disciplined, I could never resist!” Lunch, she’d frown at richer options, suggesting salad. “Better for your figure, dear. You have such a lovely figure to maintain.” My stomach clenched. I felt watched, analyzed, judged. Was I gaining weight? I started to feel self-conscious.
He didn’t notice. Or he brushed it off. “Oh, that’s just mom, she means well. She worries about everyone.” Worries about everyone? She wasn’t telling him what to eat. It was always me. My resentment simmered, hot beneath my forced smiles. I paid for this trip. Every single penny. And here I was, feeling like a child being scolded.
Then came the breaking point. At a quaint café, famous for its decadent desserts. I’d looked forward to their triple-chocolate cake all day. I ordered it, a tiny rebellion. As the waiter walked away, she leaned across the table, a sickly sweet smile. “Oh, dear. Are you sure? That’s terribly rich. And you’ve been so good. Perhaps a small spoonful of my fruit tart? It’s much lighter. You don’t want to ruin all your hard work, do you?” Her eyes were cold, assessing. It wasn’t about my health. It was about control.
Something snapped. The villa, the cost, his indifference, her relentless comments. I looked her dead in the eye. “Actually,” I said, my voice steady, “I do want this. I paid for this trip, and I will eat exactly what I want. Thank you.” His fork clattered. Her face crumpled, a flicker of something – shock? shame? – before she composed herself. The rest of the meal was silent, heavy.
The atmosphere for the rest of the trip was icy. She barely spoke to me, directing all conversation to him, her voice tinged with wounded politeness. I felt awful, but also a strange liberation. I ate my cake. I ate what I wanted. I didn’t care. She deserved it, I thought, trying to justify my outburst.
When we got back, things were strained. He kept telling me I was unfair, that I’d hurt his mom. I felt guilty, but stood my ground. A few weeks later, he called, his voice tight. He’d visited her to smooth things over. He found her kitchen. It was filled with empty wrappers. Candy wrappers, cake boxes, ice cream tubs. All hidden in recycling bins. A secret stash. My stomach dropped. OH MY GOD.
He’d confronted her gently. She broke down. She confessed she’d been a secret binge eater for years, battling severe body dysmorphia and a crippling sugar addiction. She’d controlled my food, projecting all her own shame onto me – the younger woman she saw as having everything she’d lost. My public indulgence, my refusal to be controlled, had been her undoing. It forced her to confront her demons. She’d started therapy. But he told me she’d completely lost her appetite for sweets. The thought of them now made her sick. She lost her sweet tooth, literally and figuratively, because of me. Because I refused to let her control me on a trip I paid for.
I stare at my phone, tears blurring my vision. He’s heartbroken for his mom, and still angry at me. Was I wrong? Was I too harsh? I don’t know. All I know is I went on that trip expecting romance. Instead, I broke a woman. And now, I can’t look at a slice of chocolate cake without seeing her crumpled face, or those endless wrappers. I just wanted to eat my damn cake.
