My relationship with Sharon, my husband Greg’s mother, was a masterclass in passive aggression. She had never approved of me, a quiet girl from a working-class family, for her brilliant, college-educated, only son. In her eyes, I was simply not a good enough match. But my husband, Greg, insisted we go.

“Leah, Mom will be offended if we don’t show up,” he’d said that morning, his voice already laced with the familiar tension he always had when his mother was involved. “You know how she is.”