I lived with a man for two months, and everything was fine until the exact moment he suggested that I meet his mother: after just 30 minutes at dinner, I realized I couldn’t take it anymore and simply ran away from that house and from that strange family 

Daniel and I started living together a few months after we met. I didn’t see anything wrong with it: we were both adults, over thirty, and it was reasonable to think about starting a family. He seemed calm and reliable: he worked in IT, didn’t drink, didn’t disappear at night, and loved order and quiet. We lived in his apartment.

Not even two months had passed when one day my boyfriend suddenly said:

— Lina, do you mind if I invite my mom over for dinner? I want to introduce you to each other. I should warn you in advance, though—she’s a strict person, she used to work at a school. But I’m sure she’ll like you.

I agreed. I bought a dessert and chose a simple dress, nothing fancy. I was nervous, like any normal person before the first meeting with the mother of the man she lives with.

On the day of the meeting, my future “relative,” her name was Tamara, arrived exactly at seven and walked in confidently, looking around as if she hadn’t come for a visit but for an inspection. She scanned the hallway with her eyes, paused at a shelf, nodded slightly, and went into the kitchen.

At the table, she sat up straight, folded her hands, and looked at me attentively, barely blinking.

“Well then,” she said. “Let’s get properly acquainted. Tell me about yourself.”

“I work for a logistics company,” I replied. “I’ve been there for several years.”

“Is your income stable?” she asked immediately. “Is your contract official, or, as people like to do these days, just verbal? Can you show some kind of certificate?”

I was taken aback, but tried to speak calmly.

“My income is official. It’s enough for me to live on.”

At that moment, Daniel was serving the food and pretending nothing unusual was happening.

“Good,” she continued. “And what about housing? Do you have your own place, or did you move straight in here?”

“I have my own apartment,” I answered. “I’m renting it out at the moment.”

“I see,” she nodded. “We just don’t want any surprises. Sometimes women look independent at first, and then end up living off the man.”

I felt the tension rising inside me, but I still hoped it was just an awkward conversation that would soon change.

It didn’t.

The questions kept coming one after another. Had I been married? Why did I break up? Who do my parents live with? Are there any health problems in the family? How do I feel about alcohol and debt? I answered briefly, trying to keep myself together. Daniel stayed silent the entire time, staring at his plate.

After about half an hour, she pushed her cup aside and said something that made me simply run away from that house…  I shared the continuation of this strange introduction in the comments

“All right, let’s get to the main point. Do you have children?”

“No,” I replied. “And I believe that’s a personal matter.”

“That’s not a personal matter,” she said sharply. “You live with my son. We need to understand what we can count on. He wants a family, his own children, and we don’t need someone else’s kids. Also, you need to go to a doctor and bring me a certificate proving that you have no health problems and that you’ll be able to give me grandchildren. Of course, you will pay for all the tests and examinations yourself.”

I looked at Daniel, waiting for him to finally step in, but he just shrugged.

“Lina,” he said quietly. “Mom is just worried. Maybe you really should go to the doctor and bring a certificate. So everyone can feel at ease.”

At that moment, it became completely clear to me where I was and what role they had assigned to me.

I stood up from the table.

“Where are you going?” my boyfriend’s mother asked in surprise. “We’re not finished yet.”

“I am,” I answered calmly. “It was nice meeting you, but this is our last meeting.”

I went into the hallway, and Daniel followed me.

“You’re taking everything too personally,” he said. “Mom just wants what’s best for me.”

“Daniel,” I replied, putting on my jacket. “Your mother isn’t looking for a wife—she’s looking for a servant. And you completely agree with that. I have no interest in being part of this.”

I packed my things quickly. There weren’t many of them. I went back to my place and felt relief.

Later, he texted and called, saying I had overreacted and that normal women know how to adapt to a man’s family. I didn’t argue.

I was grateful for only one thing: that this happened now, and not after a wedding and several years of living together.