You still remember the exact moment you noticed how they were always more careful with you than with your younger brother.

No sleepovers, no birthday parties with schoolmates (at least not unless your mom already knew them, including their mothers), no outings after 7 p.m., no friends you could meet on your own — they had to be from church or daughters of your parents’ friends.

Your freedom was extremely limited despite being their golden child, the eldest, the one meant to set an example for your brother — though it didn’t seem to matter since he’s always done whatever he wanted since you were kids.

Your grades had to be good, always above a 9, and if they weren’t, there were even more restrictions to deal with.

Clothing was another nightmare. After you turned 12, you couldn’t stand your mom’s awful fashion choices anymore — you wanted cooler clothes, not to go half-naked, but to have your own style and experiment with fabrics. But that wasn’t possible in a house where every day you prayed for forgiveness for your “sins.”

At 16, you got your septum pierced and hid it well. Once it healed, you’d wear it in your room so it wouldn’t close up. Piercings were so cool, and you wanted one — just not under your parents’ watchful eyes. You had to forge your mom’s signature, and at least you didn’t get caught.

Dating was just as bad, if not worse. They always told you that a man had to deserve you, that it was better to stay single and serve God as His devoted little woman...

But telling that to a teenage girl wasn’t exactly encouraging.

You’ve never had a boyfriend, even though you wanted one — boys simply didn’t fit into your busy Catholic-girl life.

It wasn’t until now, in your twenties, that things began to change.

A pair of elderly church members arrived one day — along with their grandson.

He was everything your mother despised in a man: long hair, tattoos down to his fingers, dressed in black, and probably trouble. But that contrast with his sweet grandparents was oddly charming. No one would’ve guessed that tall, brooding guy would step foot in a church — whether by choice or just to please his grandparents.

You met him at a small church gathering. He was dressed in black like a vampire, his pale skin contrasting with his dark chocolate-brown eyes. He was standing by the dessert table, and by pure coincidence, you both reached for the same one —

A vanilla cupcake with caramel.