Will We Ever Be Family? My Struggle to Connect with My Future Daughter-in-Law

“Is it always going to be this awkward?” The question ran through my mind like a broken record as I stood by the kitchen island, nervously slicing apples for the pie. The clock above the stove ticked louder with every passing second, matching the rhythm of my anxious heart. I heard the front door open, and then my son Ben’s voice floated in, warm and easy. “Hey, Mom! We’re here!”

I put on my best smile, the one I’d practiced in the mirror for weeks. “Hi, sweetheart! Hi, Emily!” My greeting sounded too cheerful, too staged. Emily’s eyes flickered up to meet mine, her lips curving into a polite, tight-lipped smile. She always looked slightly uncomfortable, like she was bracing for something.

Ben came over and hugged me, but Emily hovered just behind, clutching her bag. “Can I take your coat, Emily?” I asked. She hesitated, then handed it over, her fingers brushing mine for the briefest moment. Her eyes darted to the floor.

We moved into the living room, where I had set out snacks and tried to make everything look inviting. Ben and Emily sat together on the couch, their hands intertwined. Ben chatted about his job, the wedding plans, the weather—anything to fill the silence. I tried to chime in, but every question I asked Emily seemed to fall flat.

“So, Emily, how’s your new job at the marketing firm?” I tried, keeping my tone light.

She answered with a short, “It’s good, thanks,” and glanced at Ben as if searching for rescue.

The silence that followed was suffocating. I could feel my cheeks burning. Ben jumped in, talking about their apartment hunt, and Emily visibly relaxed. It was like she was allergic to any interaction with me.

Later, as we sat down for dinner, I made another attempt. “Emily, I remember you mentioned you love hiking. Have you checked out any of the trails around here?” I asked, hoping to connect over something she enjoyed.

She nodded. “Yeah, we went up to Bear Mountain last weekend.” Her answer was clipped, and she immediately turned to Ben, whispering something in his ear that made him laugh softly.

I watched them, feeling like an outsider in my own home. After dessert, Emily excused herself to the bathroom. I leaned over to Ben, lowering my voice. “Is everything okay? Does Emily…not like me?”

Ben sighed, running his hands through his hair. “Mom, she’s just shy. She gets nervous around people she doesn’t know well. Give her time.”

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. I wanted to believe him, but it felt like every time I reached out, Emily recoiled. Was I doing something wrong? Was I too overbearing? Or was it just that we were so different?

After they left, the house felt emptier than before. I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the untouched pie. My husband, David, came in and squeezed my shoulder. “You’re trying,” he said gently. “That’s all you can do.”

But it didn’t feel like enough. I replayed every interaction in my mind, picking apart my words, my tone, my gestures. Maybe I asked too many questions. Maybe I was too eager. Or maybe she just didn’t want a relationship with her future mother-in-law.

Weeks passed, and each visit followed the same script. I’d clean the house, cook her favorite meal (at least, what Ben told me was her favorite), and try not to let my nerves show. Emily remained polite, distant, and never lingered after dinner. Family gatherings were even worse. My sister, Karen, would comment on how reserved Emily was, and my mother would shake her head in disapproval. I felt judged by everyone, as if Emily’s reluctance was a reflection of my own failure.

One evening, after another unsuccessful dinner, I broke down in front of Ben. “I just don’t understand, Ben. I want to have a good relationship with Emily. I want her to feel welcome. But nothing I do seems to work.”

He hugged me, his eyes soft with concern. “Mom, you can’t force it. She had a tough childhood, and she’s always been slow to trust people. It’s not you.”

“But how can we ever be a family if she won’t let me in?” I whispered.

Ben looked away. “Just keep being yourself. She’ll come around.”

But as the months wore on, my hope faded. I started questioning everything. Did I come off as judgmental? Was I too quick to offer advice or opinions? I remembered my own mother-in-law, how she always made me feel like I was never enough. I swore I’d never make my future daughter-in-law feel the same way, but maybe I was repeating history without realizing it.

The wedding day crept closer. At the rehearsal dinner, I watched Emily laugh with her bridesmaids, her guard down for once. When she caught me looking, the wall went back up. During the speeches, Ben thanked both families, and Emily gave a polite nod in my direction. My heart ached. I wanted more than politeness. I wanted warmth, acceptance, a real connection.

After the wedding, Ben and Emily moved into their new apartment. I called to check in, but Emily always seemed busy. When I suggested we get together, she offered vague excuses. I tried to tell myself it was just the adjustment period, but deep down, I feared this was how it would always be.

One evening, I received a text from Emily: “Thank you for everything you did for the wedding. I appreciate it.” It was the longest message she’d ever sent me. I sat staring at my phone, torn between hope and resignation.

I wrote back, “You’re welcome, Emily. I’m here if you ever need anything.”

No reply.

I wish I could say there was a breakthrough, a moment where everything changed. But real life isn’t like that. Some relationships take years to grow. Others never quite blossom the way you hope. I keep trying, in small ways—sending birthday cards, inviting them over, respecting her space. I remind myself that love can’t be forced, only offered.

Still, I wonder: Will we ever be family, or am I destined to always be on the outside looking in? Have any of you faced something similar? What would you do if you were in my place?