I met Olivia at a concert. She was standing near the stage, singing along to every word, her energy electrifying. We struck up a conversation during the intermission, bonding over our shared love for music. By the end of the night, I had her number and a feeling that I’d just met someone extraordinary.
Our relationship took off from there. Olivia was everything I’d ever wanted—charming, passionate, and endlessly supportive. After eight months together, I proposed during another concert, the same band playing in the background. She said yes, and I thought I was the luckiest man alive.
We hadn’t met each other’s families yet, but Olivia spoke highly of her parents, describing them as “fun and old-school.” When they planned a trip to visit us, she suggested celebrating our engagement with dinner at an upscale restaurant. I was eager to make a great impression.
I spent the day preparing—pressed my best suit, rehearsed polite conversation, and even Googled topics to connect with her parents. As we entered the restaurant, Olivia squeezed my hand and whispered, “They’re going to love you.”
But as soon as we sat down at the table, her father made me regret coming. 
