I Let My Parents Think I Was Single—Then Brought My Fiancé, The Prince Of Monaco, To Easter

Hi, I'm Diane Harper. For three years, I let my family believe I was desperately single, the unmarriageable daughter who couldn't land a decent man. They pitied me at every holiday, set me up on blind dates with men they deemed acceptable, and whispered about my ticking biological clock like it was a countdown to failure. What they didn't know was that I was engaged to Prince Laurent of Monaco. And when I walked into Easter dinner with him on my arm, wearing his grandmother's sapphire ring, the look on their faces made every second of silence worth it. But this story isn't about revenge.

It's about the moment I realized that the people who should have celebrated me were the same ones who had spent my entire life making me feel invisible. Before we jump back in, tell us where you're tuning in from, and if this story touches you, make sure you're subscribed because tomorrow, I've saved something extra special for you. The rain hammered against the windshield as I sat in my car outside my Seattle apartment, phone pressed to my ear, listening to my mother's voice drip with manufactured concern.

Her tone had that particular quality she reserved for conversations about my personal life, sweet on the surface but laced with disappointment underneath, like honey poured over vinegar. Diane, sweetheart, I've been meaning to talk to you about Easter. Your father and I think it would be wonderful if you came a day early this year. We're having a small gathering on Saturday, just family and a few close friends.

Victoria Harper never did anything small, and her close friends were usually people she wanted to impress or network with, but I let her continue. There's someone I'd really love for you to meet. He's a cardiologist, just moved back to Portland from Johns Hopkins. His mother and I serve on the symphony board together, and Diane, he's absolutely accomplished. Educated, established, and he comes from a wonderful family. I closed my eyes and counted to five, a technique I'd developed over years of these conversations.

The rain created a steady rhythm against the roof of my car, almost drowning out the sound of my mother's expectations. This would be the fourth setup in six months. Before Dr. Cardiologist, there had been the venture capitalist who spent our entire dinner talking about his cryptocurrency portfolio, the corporate attorney who asked if I'd be willing to sign a prenup on a first date, and the hedge fund manager who told me my humanitarian work was cute but not a real career.