I recently finished a grueling year of chemo for breast cancer, which left me physically and emotionally drained. My long hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes were gone, but my husband, Caleb, stood by me through it all, even shaving his own head in solidarity. His mother, Carol, on the other hand, is a woman who cares only about appearances.
Just before a family wedding, she showed up at our house with a wig. She told me to wear it because she didn’t want me to “embarrass the family” or “distract” from the event with my appearance. I was crushed, but when I told Caleb, he was furious. He promised to teach her a lesson she wouldn’t forget.
At the wedding, I proudly wore a long green gown with no wig, refusing to hide who I was. When my MIL saw me, her face turned bright red, and she tried to confront me. Caleb stepped in, and in front of everyone, kissed my bald head in a loud, deliberate act of devotion. Later, during the toasts, he took the microphone and exposed her cruel request, telling the entire room that she had tried to shame me for my appearance. The room fell silent, then erupted in applause.
My MIL, utterly humiliated, left the reception. The next day, she called Caleb, sobbing and admitting her mistake. She later sent me her treasured diamond tennis bracelet with a note that read, “Forgive me. Teach me.” I don’t know if I can fully forgive her, but her gesture was a sign that she might finally be changing. My husband’s public defense didn’t just defend me; it showed me the difference between a shallow obsession with appearances and true, unwavering love.