At **6:30 a.m.**, the morning of our wedding, I woke to the sound of hushed arguing in the kitchen. My heart pounded—nothing good ever came from that tone.
I turned over to see Arthur, my fiancé, rubbing his temples. “What the hell is going on?” he muttered.
We stumbled out of bed, still in pajamas, and found his **parents**—Evelyn and Richard—fully dressed, **suitcases in hand.**
My stomach dropped.
*”Are they… leaving?”*
I swallowed hard and asked, “What’s going on?”
Evelyn’s lips curled, her expression a mix of **disappointment and disgust.** “We’re leaving. And we are **against** this marriage.”
Arthur stiffened. “What?”
Richard crossed his arms. “We found out the truth last night when we did a little… *exploring* to see what kind of wife you’d be.”
I blinked. “What does that even mean?”
Evelyn sighed dramatically. “We checked your home. **We saw everything.**”
A chill ran down my spine. “You… *went through my things*?”
Arthur’s jaw clenched. “Mom, Dad—what the hell did you do?”
His mother lifted her chin. “We needed to be *sure* that Arthur wasn’t making a mistake. And, well, **we were horrified** by what we found.”
I crossed my arms. “Okay. Enlighten me.”
Evelyn scoffed. “The unorganized pantry. The **dirty dishes in the sink.** The dust on your bookshelves! A **dead plant** on your balcony. And—” she shuddered, “**takeout containers in your fridge!**”
I stared at her.
Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mom, you’re **kidding.**”
His father frowned. “A wife should keep a *proper* home, Arthur. If she can’t maintain a simple apartment, how do you expect her to manage a household?”
I let out a breathless laugh. “You *broke into my home* to… inspect my housekeeping skills?”
Evelyn didn’t even blink. “We needed to know what kind of *wife* you’d be. And you *failed.*”
Arthur’s face turned red. “That’s it. You’re **not** coming to the wedding.”
Richard huffed. “We already said we **won’t** be attending.”
Evelyn nodded. “If you choose to go through with this, *don’t expect our support.*”
Arthur stepped closer to me, his voice firm. “Then we don’t need it.”
My heart swelled as he reached for my hand.
Evelyn’s eyes widened. “Arthur—”
“No,” he cut her off. “I’m marrying her because I *love* her. Not because of how often she dusts a shelf.”
Richard scoffed. “You’re making a mistake.”
Arthur didn’t hesitate. “No, *you* are.”
He turned to me, his eyes full of love. “Let’s go get married.”
I squeezed his hand. “Let’s.”
And as his parents stormed out, dragging their suitcases behind them, I realized something.
This wasn’t a loss.
It was a **blessing.**