When my fiancé invited me to dinner with his family, I expected warmth, laughter, and maybe a few awkward moments. What I didn’t expect was a question that would shake the foundation of our relationship.
His parents welcomed me with open arms. His brothers joked and teased like I was already part of the family. I felt seen, accepted. But then, his youngest sister-in-law leaned forward and asked, “So is she going to take the test?”
Confused, I asked, “What test?”
His mother smiled—tight-lipped, rehearsed—and said, “The family compatibility test. All our daughters-in-law take it.”
I laughed nervously, thinking it was a joke. It wasn’t.
After dinner, I was handed a printed questionnaire. Pages of invasive questions—about my upbringing, beliefs, finances, even fertility. There were sections on obedience, loyalty, and how I’d handle conflict with in-laws. It felt less like a compatibility test and more like an interrogation.
I looked at my fiancé, expecting him to intervene. He didn’t. He just said, “It’s tradition. Everyone does it.”
I felt betrayed. Not just by the absurdity of the test, but by his silence. He knew this was coming and didn’t warn me. Worse, he didn’t defend me.
Later that night, I told him I wouldn’t take the test. I wasn’t marrying into a cult—I was marrying him. Or so I thought.
He said, “If you love me, you’ll do this. It’s just a formality.”
But love isn’t proven through compliance. It’s proven through respect, trust, and protection. And in that moment, I realized he didn’t see me as a partner—he saw me as someone to be evaluated, approved, and absorbed.
So I left.
Not just the dinner, but the relationship.
Because when someone asks you to prove your worth through a test, they’ve already failed the one that matters most: knowing your value without needing validation.
