I met my in-laws for the first time right after I proposed to my now-wife. It was supposed to be a warm, celebratory family dinner—a chance to officially join the circle of the people who raised the woman I loved. Her dad greeted me at the door with one of those firm handshakes meant to test your backbone, but he was kind, welcoming in his own gruff way. My fiancée kept squeezing my hand, whispering that her stepmom was running late from work but would arrive any minute.
Honestly, I wasn’t nervous. At least not until the front door opened.
