My mother-in-law poured something strange into my drink when she thought I wasn’t looking, I swapped glasses with her husband and then…

From our first meeting, Gerald made it clear he had expected someone different for his daughter, someone with a desk job, a retirement plan, a company car, someone exactly like him. Diane was subtler. She’d praise my photos while asking when I planned to settle into something stable.

She’d invite me to family functions, then introduce me as the photographer instead of her son-in-law. For years, I tried to win them over. I’d bring expensive wine to dinner, show them published work, mention high-profile clients.

Nothing changed their perception that I was just passing through their daughter’s life. A phase she’d outgrow. Last Christmas, I overheard Diane on the phone.

Haley could have married Thomas, you know, orthopedic surgeon, family money. But she chose the creative one. The way she paused before creative made it sound like a disease.

Gerald was more direct. When Haley and I announced we were trying for a baby, he pulled me aside. Children are expensive, son.

Maybe think about real employment before bringing one into the world. I never told Haley these things. She loved her parents despite their flaws, and I didn’t want to force her to choose sides.

So I smiled, shook Gerald’s hand firmly at every visit, complimented Diane’s cooking, and kept my thoughts to myself. But there were signs I should have taken more seriously. The way Diane would ask Haley to help in the kitchen whenever I talked about a successful project.

How she’d accidentally exclude me from family photos. The time Gerald suggested therapy for Haley’s impulsive decisions while looking directly at me. I ignored it all, thinking time would eventually bring acceptance.

I was wrong. The Friday of Diane’s birthday dinner, I returned from Montana with raw, wind-burned cheeks and a memory card full of images that would pay our mortgage for three months. I was bone-tired but showered, put on a button-down shirt, and drove us to her parents’ colonial-style home in the expensive part of town.

Dinner started normally. Gerald bragged about a recent deal. Diane fussed over the table settings.

Haley’s brother Owen and his wife Vanessa made polite conversation. I nursed a beer and counted the minutes until we could leave. After the main course, Diane announced she’d made her famous sangria for dessert.

She disappeared into the kitchen, and I offered to help carry glasses. That’s when I saw it. She had two glasses separate from the others.

As I entered, she quickly added something from a small vial into one of them. It wasn’t a garnish or flavor. It was colorless, odorless.

And she tucked the vial away the moment she heard my footsteps. Oh, Julian! I’ve got this, she said too brightly. This one’s for you.

Special recipe for my favorite son-in-law. My throat tightened. The glass had a barely perceptible film floating on top, catching the light.

Let me help you carry these, I said, taking both glasses she’d prepared. In the dining room, Gerald was checking his phone, barely looking up when I approached. Sangria, sir…