When Mia first met Daniel’s parents for the first time, she had worn her best navy dress and carried a box of handmade chocolates. His mother, Eleanor, greeted her with a practiced smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You didn’t have to bring anything, dear,” she said, taking the box anyway.
Dinner that night was compliments wrapped in comparisons. “You’re very poised for someone from a small town,” Eleanor remarked, as though Mia’s background were an obstacle she’d admirably overcome. Daniel laughed nervously, trying to smooth the tension, but Mia could feel the scrutiny behind every sip of wine and polite nod.