He was right. I told him about our plan—to move to California and open a small cooking studio. Mallory’s dream, our future. We were going to announce it after the wedding, but now it felt urgent. We invited my parents over for dinner. Mallory made her famous lasagna. Over the meal, I told them: we’re getting married soon—and we’re moving to California to open the studio. My mom was stunned. My dad asked if we were really leaving everything behind. “No,” I said. “We want you in our lives. But this is our decision.”

When my mom started to bring up Mallory’s size again, I stopped her—calmly but firmly. Mallory returned, heard the tension, and spoke with grace: “I know this is a big change, but your son means the world to me. We just want to build something we love.” My mom softened. “Well… we can’t stop you. I guess we’ll visit.” A week later, my dad asked to meet. Sitting on a bench outside a coffee shop, he admitted, “We come from a different generation. But I don’t want to lose you. I need to let you live your life.”