After Discovering The Abnormal Relationship Between My Father-in-law And Wife, I Got Divorced-1
In Lisa's old phone, I found a text message that read: "Baby, Daddy's new bed is huge, and your mom isn't home." The sender was my father-in-law.
Meeting the Parents for the First Time
Lisa and I met at an international student gathering in college. After dating for three months, I felt it was time to meet her family. They lived in a small town in a neighboring state. A week ahead, she grew anxious, warning me that her father enforced strict rules and stressing that I must be punctual. I arrived ten minutes early at her doorstep, and she was already waiting outside. She quickly pulled me inside, whispering, "Dad hates being kept waiting." James Rollins, my future father-in-law, sat in the center of the living room on an armchair as if presiding over a meeting.
The Designated Times
His gaze swept over me with scrutinizing precision, like someone inspecting an object for flaws. He offered little warmth, his questions direct: "Young man, what are your intentions concerning my daughter?" At dinner, he corrected Lisa's fork grip twice.On the drive back, Lisa sighed with relief, saying her father thought I was "acceptable." I thought the hurdle was over. A week later, I invited Lisa to a band concert in a nearby city that weekend. After a long hesitation, she stammered over the phone, "Dad says... we can only see each other twice a week. The weekend counts as one, and you've already used up Wednesday evening." I thought I misheard. Her voice dropped lower: "It's Dad's rule. He insists that academics come first during student years." Fury left me speechless. The concert tickets I'd longed for ended up in the trash.
The Camera in Starbucks
Finally, Wednesday's "official" meeting rolled around. We were at a Starbucks near campus. Just as we sat down with our coffees, Lisa's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, stiffened immediately, and sat upright. A video call request flashed. Accepting it, she pointed the camera at me, then panned our surroundings and the nearby patrons. Her father's voice crackled through the speaker: "Hmm, the place seems decent. Come home early, Lisa—don't stay past nine." The entire call lasted less than thirty seconds. I stared at Lisa; the café's clamor suddenly felt distant. Setting her phone down, she offered a weak smile: "Dad just... worries about me."
The Six-Month Ban
As we approached three months together, on a tender evening in the park while walking me back to my dorm, I leaned in to kiss her. Lisa recoiled in near panic, her face flushing crimson. She stepped back, head bowed, fingers twisting her hem: "I'm sorry, Mike... Dad says we can't kiss until we've been dating six months." I froze, as if doused in ice water. A suffocating weight settled in my chest. When she looked up, guilt flickered in her eyes, but it was overshadowed by unwavering obedience. His word seemed law. The six-month countdown hung over me like a shackle, ticking away.
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