I worked in a museum, adored art history, lived in my own apartment, had a bank account, and had two degrees… Yet every time I saw “Mom calling” on my phone, I instinctively straightened my posture.

She controlled everything. From when I should go to bed to what color I painted my nails.

Once, I ordered salmon delivery, and 20 minutes later, she called.

“I saw him go into your house. Was that him?”

“Mom, are you spying on my house?”

“I just sat in the car nearby. In case of suspicious movement.”

She had binoculars. And a notebook. She called it “just in case.”

As a child, it was cute. At 20, it got annoying. By 30, I began to question our “normal.”

At 37, I met Theo.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t tell her right away.

It was my first grown-up secret. And, of course, it lasted exactly three days. Until Mom ruined everything.

But I’ll tell you that in a moment.

***

I was preparing for my dinner with Theo. I baked a pie I found online, not from Mom’s sacred recipe book.

Even if it came out a bit burnt and the chicken was a little dry — those were my mistakes. My life.

I could already imagine my mother’s face if she saw the meal — a guaranteed explosion. I smiled quietly to myself while checking the candles.

A week earlier, she declared, “I want to meet him. In person. At my house. At the table. With my questions.”

“Mom, let me be an adult for once. I’ll decide when to introduce you.”

She backed off for once. It felt odd, but I didn’t think much of it. Big mistake.

That night, Theo came over for the first time. He brought tulips, non-alcoholic wine (knowing I was tired after work), and a cake from the bakery I always visit during lunch.