“Your son loves me, and I love him,” I countered gently. “That should be enough. I may not fit your idea of perfection, but I make him happy. Isn’t that what you ultimately want for him?”

There was a heavy silence as my words hung in the air. She seemed to contemplate them, her expression softening ever so slightly. Perhaps, somewhere underneath her rigid exterior, there was a mother who genuinely wanted her son to be happy.

“I’m willing to work on this relationship,” I continued, “but it has to be mutual. I can’t keep enduring this hostility. We need to find a way to coexist peacefully, for his sake and ours.”