My spouse whisked me away to his quaint hometown to introduce me to his parents! The moment I laid eyes on his mother, I was utterly PETRIFIED—and what unfolded next left me completely STUNNED….

Before I knew it, the table was groaning with food. At the center sat a wide dish of aspic, clear as glass, with bits of meat and herbs suspended inside.

Pickles crowded around it: sauerkraut with cranberries, salted tomatoes with garlic, baked milk straight from the oven with a tempting brown crust. And a big pie stuffed with chopped eggs and green onions, its aroma so mouthwatering my stomach growled.

“Ma, I’m starving!” William exclaimed, eyeing the spread hungrily. “Mama, enough already! This is enough for a week!” he mumbled through a mouthful, biting into a thick slice of warm homemade bread with a crunchy crust.

Clara, pleased with his appetite, plunked down a frosty jug of moonshine next to the aspic. She wiped her hands on her apron.

“That’s it, all set!” she declared triumphantly. And that’s how I met William’s mom.

She and her son were like two peas in a pod: both dark-haired, with rosy cheeks and lively, slightly mischievous eyes.

But my Billy was quiet, easygoing. His mother was like a summer thunderstorm—sudden and loud.

She looked like she could rein in a stubborn horse with one hand or carry a burning house on her shoulders without blinking.

Just then, the front door slammed, letting in a gust of cold air. A short man, smelling of smoke and soot, appeared in the doorway.

It was William’s dad, George Thompson. He threw up his hands in delight when he saw us: “Well, I’ll be darned!”

Still in his grimy work jacket, he stepped toward his son and gave him a hearty hug.

“Hey, Pops!” William said, clapping his dad on the back. “Wash your hands before you start huggin’!” Clara snapped, and the man shuffled obediently to the sink.

Then he turned to me, taking my hand in his rough fingers. He smiled: “Hello, young lady!”

My father-in-law had bright blue eyes with a spark of mischief, a sparse red beard, and curly copper-tinted hair sticking out in all directions.

“Clara, dish us up some stew!” he called, rattling the tin sink. We sat down, raising our glasses.

“To you, our dear ones!” George toasted. After a drink and some food, I felt bolder…